❥ 𝓗OW TO BAG A HOT DILF: 5-STEP BEGINNER’S GUIDE !
𝓼ummary: the hot, grumpy dad next door won’t give you the time of day? here’s how to make him fuck you stupid anyway. warning: side effects may include pregnancy.
❥ STEP 1 — commit to the bit (and the bit is wanting him SO bad you’re willing to risk federal charges)
you don’t believe in love at first sight. you’re not that kind of girl.
but lust at first sight?
yeah. that one had you in a chokehold the second you saw him hauling a case of bottled water into his apartment, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a faded black tank top— one that clung to the broad curve of his back like it owed you something. like it knew what it was doing.
he didn’t even look at you. not really. just grunted out a soft “hey” when you passed, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, and disappeared into the dark crack of his doorway with a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, muscles flexing under golden skin and black ink.
you’ve been down so fucking bad ever since.
toji fushiguro.
your across-the-hall neighbor. father of one. age: probably late thirties. height: unfair. attitude: uninterested.
the kind of man who walks around the building shirtless at night with a beer in hand, who leaves his door cracked open when he’s working out in the living room, who definitely has a “don’t talk to me” aura and the look of someone who’s been burned by love and never really recovered from it.
and of course, of course, that’s exactly your type.
(but in your defense, it’s not like this came out of nowhere. you’ve always had a thing for older men. it’s the deep voice, the scars, the rough hands and emotional unavailability. it’s the way they look at you like they’ve lived five lives and none of them ended well. also? your dad never called you back after your high school graduation. so. connect the dots.)
it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were just supposed to move in.
fresh start. new city. small apartment, low rent, okay view. the listing said “quiet neighborhood” and you said “sure, whatever” because all you needed was a clean kitchen and decent lighting. you didn’t ask for a brooding, musclebound dilf living directly across the hall like some kind of cruel test of character.
but now?
you’ve memorized the exact time he leaves in the morning. you know which beer he drinks. you know the sound of his shower turning on. you’ve adjusted your hallway appearances to “casually hot girl next door” levels and tried every combination of crop top and pajama shorts known to man.
and the worst part?
he hasn’t made a single move. not one. no smirk. no side-eye. not even the classic “didn’t know girls like you lived around here” line. he’s just… normal. silent. borderline rude. polite only when necessary, otherwise acts like you barely exist.
you wave when you see him— he nods.
you held the elevator door once and he told you, “don’t worry about it,” like he was doing you a favor by taking the stairs.
you’ve walked past him in tight leggings, skimpy pajama shorts, cute little tank tops with no bra underneath, but still, nothing.
not even a flicker of interest. not even a glance.
at first, you thought maybe he wasn’t into it. maybe he had a secret wife. maybe he was— god forbid— celibate.
but then you caught him on the balcony one night. shirtless. sweaty. cigarette between his fingers, hair pushed back, staring off into the distance like he was thinking about his tragic backstory. and when you stepped out to water your plants, leaned just slightly over the railing in your tiniest shorts—
his eyes dropped.
slow. deliberate.
right to your thighs.
then back up to the skyline like nothing happened.
and that’s when you knew.
he’s not blind. he’s just resisting.
which brings you to now.
standing in front of his door like a fucking maniac, heart pounding like you’re about to ring the bell at the gates of horny hell, holding a suspiciously clean, never-before-touched envelope you pulled from the depths of your junk drawer ten minutes ago.
it’s addressed to his unit, obviously.
but it’s been in your apartment the entire time.
because you’re a liar.
and you’re going to get your neighbor’s attention if it kills you.
the door opens faster than you expect. no warning creak, no slow reveal— just a single click and then bam, it’s open, and there he is.
up close. full resolution. shirtless again. grey sweats again. taller than he looked in the hallway. and staring down at you like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re here to sell something or commit a crime.
his hair is messy— fresh out the shower messy, strands curling a little at the ends, pushed back and damp like he towel-dried and gave up halfway. a faint scratch trails down his collarbone. there’s a tattoo peeking from under his left pec. you are not okay.
“…yeah?” he asks, voice still that same low, unbothered gravel. like he was just in the middle of something. like you interrupted him.
you blink once. then twice. and hand him the envelope as if it’s some kind of peace offering.
“this was in my mailbox,” you say, a little too fast. “but it’s for your unit.”
he glances down. doesn’t take it yet. his brow furrows.
“…you live in 402, right?”
your heart drops. you manage a nod. “yeah.”
he looks back at the envelope, then back at you, and cocks his head a little. “this says 404.”
“right,” you nod again, smiling like a liar. “which is your unit.”
there’s a pause. a long one.
toji squints slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or suspicious. then— finally— he sighs, takes the envelope from your hand with two fingers, and mutters, “thanks.”
and then. then. a small voice behind him:
“who’s at the door?”
you peek past him instinctively—
and there he is. a kid. dark-haired, serious-looking, big eyes and bigger pout. tiny arms crossed over a cartoon t-shirt like he pays rent. he clocks you immediately, gaze traveling from your face to your outfit and back again, like he’s judging you in 4K.
toji looks over his shoulder. “just the neighbor. ‘gumi, go back inside.”
“you said we could watch something,” the kid says, very clearly not moving. very clearly invested.
“yeah, and i will,” toji sighs, the kind of sigh that sounds like he’s already used to negotiating with a tiny lawyer. “in a minute.”
you’re standing here braless, in a crop top and fluffy socks, trying to flirt with a dilf, and his child— his ten-year-old child— is right there in the background watching this all go down like it’s an episode of Love Is Blind: Divorce Court Edition.
you panic. you smile. you crouch slightly like a Girl Who Is Good With Kids™ and wave.
“you were singing in the stairwell yesterday,” he adds, like he’s filing a noise complaint.
toji exhales through his nose, clearly already tired. “alright,” he mutters, shifting his weight as if he’s trying to end this conversation with his entire body. “thanks for dropping this off.”
you panic again. you’re spiraling. this is not going to plan. you were supposed to be effortlessly hot, a little mysterious, maybe get invited in for a drink. instead you’re sweating through your tank top, getting stared down by a ten-year-old and dismissed like some door-to-door scam.
abort mission. regroup.
you nod, stepping back quickly. “no problem! anytime.”
he doesn’t respond. just closes the door halfway and disappears, voice fading as he calls back to megumi— “pick a movie that isn’t garbage this time” —before the door clicks shut behind him.
silence.
the hallway feels colder now.
you stand there for a second. maybe two. then turn on your heel and march straight back to your apartment, locking the door behind you with a little more force than necessary and collapsing onto your couch with a dramatic, miserable groan.
okay. so maybe the fake-mail delivery thing was a bust. maybe you didn’t make the strongest first impression. maybe megumi’s gonna go to school on monday and tell his friends he saw a thirsty neighbor try to seduce his dad and fail in real time.
but you’re not giving up!
because toji fushiguro isn’t oblivious. he looked. you know he looked.
he’s just being difficult. reserved. nonchalant. you love that shit. it’s practically a challenge.
which brings you to:
❥ STEP 2 — establish neighborly rapport (aka: force more interactions)
you’ve already had contact. now it’s time for consistency. eye contact. hallway banter. the illusion of familiarity. you’re gonna bump into him enough that he has no choice but to acknowledge your existence— and then? then you’ll break him down. slowly. methodically. emotionally.
you have a plan.
a little awkward start isn’t gonna stop you. not when he looks like that with wet hair and lazy sweatpants. not when his voice sounds like it could ruin your entire sense of self-worth with a single sentence.
step two starts tomorrow.
or tonight, depending on how bold you feel. your package is supposed to arrive soon— you could just happen to be outside when it gets delivered. or drop something near his door again. or, worst case scenario, start a small fire and see if he comes running.
you’re in too deep to turn back now.
besides— if megumi’s already seen you at your worst, there’s nowhere to go but up.
you start running into him a lot more.
not in a weird way. you’re not, like, stalking. you’re just… situationally strategic.
like this morning— how coincidentally, you happened to take your trash out the exact moment he left for a run. and when he walked past you in those same criminally low-hanging sweatpants, headphones in, shirt clinging to his chest like it wanted you dead? yeah. totally natural timing.
you smiled. waved. gave a little “morning!”
he gave you a nod and kept jogging.
progress.
and yesterday? you timed your laundry schedule to line up with his, based purely on auditory research (aka: eavesdropping through the vents), and when he came down to switch out his load, you were already bent over the dryer in your tiny shorts like a good little trap.
he walked in. saw you. paused.
you straightened up way too fast and bumped your elbow, trying to look breezy while hiding the way your heart rate doubled on sight. “oh- hey! laundry day?”
toji looked at you. then at the dryer. then back at you. “…yeah.”
another pause.
god, he’s so fucking impossible.
you gave him your brightest smile and added, “mine too! small world.”
“…we live in the same building,” he said, completely deadpan, before opening the washer and pulling out a fistful of dark clothes like you weren’t trying to orchestrate a meet-cute over tide pods. he moved with the exhausted efficiency of a man who hated small talk and suspected you might be trying to sell him essential oils.
you wanted to scream. you smiled instead.
“right,” you laughed. “duh. neighbors.”
he didn’t answer. just shoved his clothes into the dryer, grabbed his detergent, and left the room like it was a hostage negotiation and you were the threat. didn’t even look back. but you saw it.
the twitch in his jaw when you bent over again. the extra second of eye contact before he left. the little crack in his silence when you giggled at your own joke and his mouth twitched— barely, but it did. you’re starting to learn his tells.
like tonight— when you caught him coming back from the grocery store, arms full of bags, and offered to hold the elevator door open for him again.
“you don’t have to,” he said, almost automatically.
but this time you didn’t let him off so easily.
you flashed a cheeky smile, cocked your head to the side, and replied, “well i want to. unless you wanna take the stairs and pretend you’re not tired.”
that got you a look. brief. amused. his lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not nothing either.
he stepped in and stood beside you, towering and silent and pretending he wasn’t eyeing your legs in the reflective elevator wall. you leaned against the side and grinned to yourself like a lunatic.
“what floor?” you asked, already knowing the answer. playing dumb. living your sitcom fantasy.
“…same as yours,” he muttered, setting the bags down for a second. “you know that.”
you beamed. “just making conversation.”
he sighed. quiet. tired. maybe even a little fond, but you couldn’t tell.
and then, just as the doors opened, a sleepy voice echoed from down the hall— “dad?”
toji blinked. glanced up.
megumi stood outside their apartment in socks and Spider-Man pajamas, squinting at the two of you like he was already judging this moment for future therapy sessions.
“you took forever,” he said. “i thought you died.”
“well i didn’t,” toji grunted, picking up the bags again. “get inside.”
you waved. again. because apparently, this is your life now. it’s not enough to get embarrassed in front of your crush— his preteen son also has to witness your descent into neighborhood whore madness.
megumi stared. then looked at his dad. then back at you.
“…hi.”
victory.
you’re three days into operation ‘establish rapport’ and you swear it’s working. slowly. he’s still playing it cool— gruff, quiet, annoyingly unaffected— but you’re catching those little cracks. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. the tiny pauses before he responds. the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you smile too wide. the way he takes just a little too long to look away.
he’s slipping.
and you’re gonna be right there to catch him.
❥ STEP 3 — engineered domestic proximity (create a situation where he owes you and then emotionally blackmail him with kindness!)
it starts with a fake injury.
not like, hospital fake. just a little casual suffering. something light and flirty and “damn she might be unwell” coded.
you pick a thursday. the hallway’s quiet. you hear his door open— the soft clink of keys, the slow creak of the hinge— and then you strike.
toji turns the corner just in time to see you slumped against your apartment door, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off your shoulder, clutching your ankle like a romcom extra who’s about to fall in love with the first man who offers her an ice pack. you even let out a pitiful little “ugh,” as though gravity personally attacked you.
he stops. eyes narrow.
“…what the hell happened to you?”
you wince, voice trembling perfectly as you look up at him with wide eyes and say, “i tripped on the stairs.”
technically true. you did, in fact, trip. you just made sure it was today. and loud enough for him to hear.
“you didn’t even leave your apartment,” he deadpans, looking absolutely done.
“…gravity’s everywhere.”
he sighs like you’re the world’s most annoying problem. runs a hand over his face. and then crouches down.
you try not to short-circuit.
his hand wraps around your ankle— casually, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and his thumb brushes over your skin, rough and warm and way too distracting. he presses, checks the joint, and you flinch very dramatically.
he doesn’t react. “it’s not broken.”
you pout. “still hurts.”
toji gives you a long, tired look. then rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking drama queen,” but reaches out anyway. big hands slide under your legs and back, and suddenly you’re being lifted. literally carried.
you make a noise that is not normal.
“jesus,” he grunts, shifting you in his arms. “what the hell do you eat?”
“excuse me??”
“relax,” he says, toeing open your apartment door. “you’re light.”
you are going to die here.
he carries you across the threshold like a goddamn bride and sets you down gently on the couch, muttering something about “needy neighbors” as he tosses your throw blanket over your lap. then pauses. stares at you for a second too long. his brows draw together like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be.
“…don’t move,” he says finally. “i’ll get an ice pack.”
he disappears into your kitchen— uninvited, completely aware of where your freezer is— and you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s holy protection from your own bad decisions and whisper:
“oh my god.”
step three is officially a success.
after that, things shift.
slow. subtle. like the hallway air is warmer now. like he doesn’t avoid you anymore.
the next time you make too much pasta (on purpose), you knock on his door and offer leftovers. “just in case,” you say with a smile. he raises an eyebrow, gives you a long look, but takes the container anyway.
“it’s good,” he mutters a few days later, passing you in the hall.
you blink. “what?”
“the pasta. wasn’t bad.”
you nearly trip over your own shoes.
when you run into him carrying groceries, you casually ask if he needs anything next time you go. he grunts something about paper towels. the next day, you drop off a pack at his door with a sticky note that says ‘paper-towel princess strikes again >:)’ and you swear you hear him laugh. just once. low. barely there.
and megumi? megumi is your new little buddy.
you “accidentally” bump into them on the stairs one weekend and ask him about school— next thing you know, you’re helping him with a science project at your dining table, glitter on your shirt and glue in your hair, and he actually smiles at you when it lights up. his eyes go wide. he looks proud. you melt.
toji shows up to get him an hour later.
he stops in the doorway, arms crossed. eyes flick between you and megumi on the couch, surrounded by worksheets and snacks and a movie playing softly in the background.
“…you don’t have to babysit, y’know.”
you glance up, then nudge megumi with your shoulder. “he’s cool. we’re having fun.”
toji stares. unreadable. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. and then he nods. once. slow.
“…yeah. he’s good.”
he leaves with megumi five minutes later, and you spend the rest of the night curled into your couch like a girl who just got emotionally married in the hallway.
a few days pass.
and then— he knocks on your door.
you open it and nearly fall over, because he’s standing there in a black t-shirt, holding a plastic container full of something that smells like soy sauce and heaven. his hair’s messy. his jaw’s tight. he doesn’t look like he wants to be here. but he is.
“we made too much,” he says. pauses. adds, almost begrudgingly, “me and ‘gumi.”
your brain goes static.
you accept it like it’s a holy relic. your hand brushes his. it’s fine. you’re normal.
“thank you,” you breathe, like it’s something sacred.
you eat together on the steps between your units that night. plastic forks. beer for him, water bottle for you. megumi’s inside watching something with way too much volume. the hallway buzzes with soft domestic noise.
he chuckles— an actual, real chuckle— when you tell him about your failed ankle stunt getting you out of gym class in high school. it sounds like it surprises him. like it doesn’t happen often. you want to bottle the sound and save it for winter.
and then, as you’re wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth, he gives you this long, unreadable look. his eyes flick to your mouth. linger.
“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”
you almost pass out.
“yeah,” you say, smiling slow. “but i’m cute about it.”
he laughs again. soft. huffed. the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the worst/best way.
note to self: a chuckle = an emotional orgasm in dilf language.
❥ STEP 4 — desperate times, horny measures (blur the line between “friendly neighbor” and “would let you hit raw if you asked nicely”)
you’ve played the long game. you’ve laid the groundwork. you’ve smiled, cooked, lingered in doorways and memorized his hallway habits. you helped his child with a diorama. you have earned your place in this man’s orbit. and now, you’re upping the ante.
tight tank tops with no bra? daily.
asking if he needs help lifting shit? always.
bending down in front of him for no reason whatsoever? the moment requires it.
you’ve “accidentally” dropped your keys outside his door. twice.
you’ve complimented his cologne when he wasn’t wearing any.
you’ve said the phrase “you must’ve been crazy hot in your twenties” with a completely straight face and full eye contact— just to watch his eyebrow twitch like he was deciding whether to argue or kiss you.
and toji?
toji has looked.
slow. restrained. but it’s there.
the way his gaze drops and lingers. the way his hand flexes when you laugh too hard. the way he sometimes says your name like it annoys him to have it on his tongue, like he’s chewing on it instead of swallowing. you’re getting to him. you know you are.
especially tonight.
it’s late. you’re bored. your hair looks good and your shorts are criminal. and you know he’s home because you heard the clink of a beer bottle hit his counter through your shared wall. so naturally, you text him:
you up?
no response…
you try again:
i’m making cookies and need a taste tester. u down?
there’s a pause. long enough to make you regret it. then finally:
don’t burn your kitchen down.
which— okay. rude. but also? not a no.
you show up at his door with a plate of warm cookies and the dumbest smile imaginable, leaning against the doorframe like a horny little housewife in denial, praying your lip gloss doesn’t smudge when you inevitably start smiling too hard.
the door swings open. and there he is.
shirtless, because of course. low sweatpants, towel around his neck, hair still damp. a vein in his bicep flexing like it’s personally here to ruin you. he raises an eyebrow when he sees you.
“you actually baked something?”
you pout. “don’t sound so shocked.”
he huffs. not quite a laugh. steps aside and lets you in. silent permission. another small victory.
you sit on the couch, drop the plate between you. he takes a cookie. you take a risk.
“so…” you say, crossing your legs slowly, letting your voice dip soft and sweet. “what do i get if they’re good?”
toji chews. swallows. side-eyes you. “…you want a prize for not poisoning me?”
you tilt your head, smile like trouble. lean a little closer, so your thigh brushes his.
“i want something,” you murmur.
he watches you. unreadable.
your heart’s racing. your leg’s touching his. the tension is so thick it could suffocate a small village. he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a second— a single, traitorous second— you believe. believe he’s going to touch you. say something filthy. kiss you.
and then— he stands up.
you freeze.
no.
he walks to the door.
absolutely not.
he opens it.
“go home, sweetheart.”
you blink. “…what?”
he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even flinch.
“you’ve had your fun,” he mutters, voice low. final. “time to go.”
the plate of cookies is still on the table. your lip gloss is still perfect. and this man— this walking thirst trap of a dilf— just opened the door and told you to leave as if you were an inconvenience.
you stand there for five full seconds. staring at the wood grain like it personally wronged you. your mouth opens. closes. no words come out.
no explanation. no thank you. not even a cookie to-go.
you take the hint.
you walk home— five steps that feel like a funeral march— let yourself back into your apartment with hands that won’t stop shaking, and close the door behind you like it might collapse if you don’t hold it up. then you crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head, and try very, very hard not to cry over a man who never asked you to try this hard in the first place.
❥ STEP 5 — let him come to you (the part of the spiral where you stop trying, and he starts breaking)
you’ve stopped trying.
no more cookies. no fake run-ins or conveniently timed errands. you’re done bending over near his door like some desperate domestic goddess waiting to be claimed. no more lingering glances, no flirty texts, no smiles he could possibly mistake for an invitation
you go cold. polite. distant.
“hey,” he mutters in the hallway one morning, voice a little rough from sleep.
“morning,” you reply. clipped. unreadable. no smile.
you don’t linger. don’t wait for anything in return. you catch him glancing over when you pass, but you don’t look back. just keep walking like you’ve got better things to do than pine for a man who slams doors in your face.
when megumi finds you on the stairs the following weekend and asks if you want to help with another project, you smile softly, press a hand to the top of his head, and say, “not this week, bud. busy.” he frowns a little. you ruffle his hair, and walk away without looking up.
you start going out more.
wearing new outfits. dresses you hadn’t felt bold enough to wear before. lip gloss that makes your mouth look mean. you let strangers hold the door for you. let them compliment you. you let them linger.
you laugh too loud outside your apartment one night, on purpose, after coming back from a date with someone who isn’t him. your heels click against the floor. your voice drips with honey. you lean against your door while someone says something into your ear and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
you know he’s listening.
you feel his eyes on you like a bruise forming slow.
and then the shift begins.
it’s subtle, at first.
he starts speaking more.
“mornin’,” he grunts one day, voice thicker now. rougher.
you nod, toss him a quiet “hey.”
“new dress?” he says one night when you pass in the hallway.
you glance down at it, fingers brushing your hip. nod again. “yeah.”
he stares a second too long.
you keep walking.
the next week, he holds the elevator for you. for the first time.
you step inside without looking at him, lean against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. he stands beside you, silent for a second too long.
“…got plans tonight?” he asks.
you glance at him. his hand’s on the railing. his eyes are on your legs. the heat between you is palpable.
“maybe,” you shrug. “why? you wanna know if i’m free?”
he doesn’t answer. just scoffs. looks away.
but his jaw tightens. you see it.
and you smile to yourself when the elevator dings.
you don’t stop. you don’t wait.
and then— one night. late.
a knock at your door.
you weren’t expecting it. you’re in your tank top and sleep shorts, hair still a little messy, face clean of makeup. for a second you debate not opening it at all.
but then you do.
he’s there.
black t-shirt. low voice. tension rolling off him like heat. his eyes sweep over you once— bare legs, bare face, bare everything— and settle on your mouth.
you open your lips to say something but nothing comes out. for a second, he doesn’t speak. just stares. like he’s trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
“you done with your little game?” he asks finally, voice rough, jaw set.
you blink. tilt your head. heart stuttering.
“why?” you say. “you jealous?”
he exhales slow. like he’s holding something in. then steps forward, just once. close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. the hallway hums with silence. you can feel it thickening between you—every breath, every second, every inch of space closing.
he looks down at you, jaw clenched. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. his gaze drops to your mouth. lingers.
“you think i haven’t thought about fucking you since the first day you moved in?”
jackpot.
you smile. slow. wicked.
“well,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to tug him inside, “what are you waiting for?”
❥ STEP 5.1 — fuck the dilf. repeatedly!! (aka: daddy finally breaks, and so does your spine)
the door isn’t even fully closed before he’s got you pinned against it, one hand slamming it shut behind you while the other grips your jaw hard enough to tilt your head back. his mouth crashes into yours— hot, hungry, furious— like he’s trying to erase every other man who’s ever looked at you, every laugh you gave someone else, every second you weren’t his.
his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, your throat, your jaw. rough. greedy. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through sheer force, like he doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, dragging you closer, forcing your body flush against his so you can feel him— hard, heavy, pressing insistently between you.
“this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growls, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. “walkin’ around like that every damn day- no bra, tiny little shorts, always smilin’ at me like a fuckin’ tease—”
you gasp when he shoves his thigh between yours, grinding hard, forcing your hips to rock against him. your pussy’s already soaked— soaked enough that the friction makes your head spin, a broken little whimper slipping out before you can stop it. he feels it. of course he does.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he watches your face fall apart. “already wet. knew it. knew you were walkin’ around like that for me.”
“you shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, even as your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, nails digging into his back like you’re scared he’ll disappear and you’d rather die than have him pull away now.
“don’t fuckin’ care,” he snarls, cupping your pussy through your panties, pressing just enough to make your knees buckle. his thumb drags over you, feeling how drenched you are through the thin fabric. “been thinkin’ about this cunt for weeks.”
you moan— full body, spine-arching, dignity-leaving moan— as he yanks your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you without hesitation. nothing stops him. your body takes him easily, molded for him, as though his hands belong there and they’ve always known exactly where to go.
you’re so wet it’s obscene. it squelches. it gives around him immediately, your walls fluttering, clenching like they recognize him, like they’ve been waiting.
“shit,” he hisses, pumping his fingers slow just to feel it, watching the way your face twists. “tight little thing. messy already. all that attitude just ‘cause you needed a cock in you, huh?”
you nod, crying out, grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat, chasing the friction, chasing him, hips moving on instinct, your body no longer yours to command.
he slaps your cunt. hard. you jerk, a broken sob ripping out of you.
“use your words.”
“yes, fuck, yes, i wanted this, wanted you, please- needed you so bad- been thinking about you too—”
“yeah?” he mocks, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your knees give out. “needed daddy’s cock that bad? all that work just to get it, huh?”
he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, making eye contact while his tongue drags over his knuckles— savoring you, devouring every trace with the hunger of a man who’s finally getting what he’s craved.
you feel your face burn. your thighs tremble. your body aches.
“needy lil thing,” he mutters. “so desperate for daddy’s cock you made friends with my kid to get it.”
your mouth drops open.
“fuck,” you whisper, humiliated, horny, heart beating out of your chest. “i-i didn’t—”
“yeah, you did,” he cuts you off, voice low and certain, already tugging his sweats down. “i saw right through you. every little look. everytime you bent over in front of me like you were askin’ for it.”
his cock springs free— massive, thick, veiny, heavy against your stomach, already leaking. it twitches when he drags it through your folds, smearing your wetness all over himself, groaning under his breath at the feeling.
“watchin’ me, droppin shit in the hallway, showin’ up all cute with cookies—” he continues, voice roughening. “all so i’d fuck you like this.”
he grabs your hips. lifts you like it’s easy.
you wrap your legs around him on instinct, clinging, desperate, your ankles locking behind his back.
he slams you against the wall and shoves in deep.
you scream.
it burns for half a second— then it’s just full. overwhelming. he stretches you open, every inch fitting so perfectly it feels intentional, inevitable— your body made to take him, built around the shape of him alone.
“this what you wanted?” he growls, already moving, already setting a brutal pace, hips snapping hard into yours. “wanted daddy to stuff this sloppy little cunt so full you can’t think?”
you’re crying already. sobbing into his shoulder, nails clawing at him, dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines. “yesyes- oh my god- yes please- don’t stop, don’t stop—”
he doesn’t. he can’t.
he fucks you hard. no mercy. no build-up. just punishing, deep, filthy strokes that slam into you over and over, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your body jostling against the wall, the wet sound of it echoing in the room— proof of how wrecked you are for him.
“listen to that,” he grunts, one hand coming down to grab your ass, spreading you open, forcing himself even deeper. “fuckin’ soaked. takin’ me so easy.”
“toji—”
“nah,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, eyes blown wide, mouth open, completely ruined. “say it right.”
“daddy—” you choke.
his hips stutter for half a second. then he loses it.
“yeah,” he groans, fucking into you harder, deeper, pace turning reckless. “that’s it. say it again.”
“daddy, fuck, daddy please- please don’t stop—”
“good girl,” he breathes, voice wrecked now, forehead pressing against yours. “knew you’d sound pretty sayin’ it.”
he keeps going until your legs shake so hard you can’t hold yourself up, until your body goes limp in his arms, until you’re nothing but weight and noise and need. then he drags you away from the wall, carries you like you weigh nothing, and drops you onto the couch.
your shirt’s gone in seconds. your tits spill free, bouncing when he grabs them, squeezing hard, biting one, then the other, tongue dragging over the marks he leaves, teeth sinking in just enough to make you cry out.
you whine, arching into him, completely gone, hips lifting even though you can barely move.
“look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ ruined already.”
he spits on your chest. spreads it with his thumb. then shoves you back, spreading your legs open, staring at your dripping cunt like it’s dinner, like he could spend hours there.
“not done with you yet,” he mutters.
then he dives in.
he eats you out starving— insatiable, greedy, nothing held back. hasn’t touched anyone in years, and now he’s buried in you, treating your pussy like a lifeline. his tongue moves everywhere— flicking, sucking, pushing deep, groaning into the mess he’s making, matching your desperation, needing this with the same feverish hunger you do.
“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk violently. “all for me, huh? all this just for me?”
you’re shaking. crying. your hands in his hair, grinding down onto his face, desperate, greedy, nasty.
“yes- fuck- yes—”
he hums, pleased, and the vibration sends you over immediately.
you cum once. then twice. he doesn’t stop. he eats you through it, moaning into your pussy while you scream and sob and claw at the cushions like a feral bitch, your thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch.
“too much, too much—”
“nah,” he mutters, holding you down, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise. “you can take it.”
and you do. you take it until your body gives out and you’re nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess under him, tears streaking your face, chest heaving.
when he finally pulls back, his face is soaked. his chin’s messy. his pupils are blown so wide he looks dangerous.
he strokes his cock over your twitching cunt, dragging it through your folds, tapping your clit just to make you jolt, smearing your wetness back over you.
“you want daddy to put a baby in you next?” he growls.
your brain breaks. completely.
you whimper, nodding frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “yes please”
he grins. dark. cocky. dangerous.
“fuckin’ knew it.”
and then he slams back in and fucks you like he means it— like he’s trying to knock you up, ruin you, break you down and rebuild you around his dick. your body takes it, greedily, desperately, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let him go, like you want to keep him there.
“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy now, deeper somehow, grinding into you. “gonna keep you full of me.”
you’re sobbing. babbling. “pleasepleaseplease—”
he finishes deep. thick. hot. doesn’t pull out. just buries himself as far as he can go and groans into your neck, hips stuttering while you feel it— feel him— filling you, spilling inside you, too much, too warm, your body fluttering around him.
he stays there. holds you. keeps you plugged with his cock while your body trembles and leaks around him.
“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, softer now but still possessive. “took me so well.”
his hand slides down your stomach. presses there. like he’s already imagining it.
“you’re mine now.”
you barely come back to yourself before he’s moving again.
you’re still shaking. still sensitive. your cunt is pulsing, aching and full and leaking around him, your thighs sticky, your body limp and boneless against the couch. every nerve feels raw, like your skin’s been turned inside out.
and he’s still inside you.
still hard.
you let out a weak, broken sound when he shifts his hips, cock dragging inside you— slow, deliberate— he’s reminding you exactly where he is.
“toji—” you whimper, voice wrecked, barely there.
his hand tightens on your hip immediately.
“what’d i tell you?” he mutters, low and sharp.
you choke on a breath. “d-daddy—”
“yeah,” he exhales, satisfied, rolling his hips again, slower this time, savoring it. “that’s better.”
you feel everything now. every inch. every drag. the way he stretches you again even though you’re already so fucked out it hurts. your walls flutter around him uncontrollably, oversensitive, and he groans at it— deep, filthy.
“fuck,” he hisses. “still squeezin’ me like that? after all that?”
“too much,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his chest, even as your hips betray you, rocking up into him. “i can’t—”
“you can,” he cuts you off, already pulling out halfway just to slam back in. you sob.
“you will.”
your body jerks with it, your tits bouncing weakly with each thrust, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. everything feels too intense— too deep, too full, too good.
“s-sensitive—” you gasp, nails digging into his arms.
“i know,” he mutters, almost mean about it, dragging his cock against that spot again on purpose. “that’s the point.”
you cry out, back arching hard, your whole body trembling as he starts fucking you again— slower than before, but somehow worse. deeper. more intentional. every thrust aimed to make you feel it, to drag it out of you.
“so fucked out already,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head up so you have to meet his eyes. “can’t even think anymore, huh?”
you shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “no—”
“all that attitude gone,” he continues, voice low, almost mocking, thumb brushing your lip. “all that mouth, and now you’re just- what?”
you swallow, breath hitching. “yours—”
his grip tightens.
“say it again.”
“yours,” you sob, louder this time. “i’m yours—”
“yeah you are,” he groans, pace picking up just a little, just enough to make your head spin again. “fuckin’ made for me, aren’t you? takin’ me like this, still beggin’ for more—”
“i’m not—” you try, voice breaking, but your hips roll into him again, chasing it, proving him right.
he laughs. low. mean.
“yeah,” he breathes. “that’s what i thought.”
his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit— already swollen, oversensitive, aching.
you jolt hard.
“nono, please- s’too much—”
he circles it anyway.
slow.
you squeal.
your body spasms instantly, thighs clamping around him, back arching so hard it almost hurts. it hits you out of nowhere— another orgasm ripping through you before you can even process it, your cunt clenching down on him so tight he curses.
“fuuuckk,” he groans, thrust stuttering. “that’s it, there it is—”
you’re sobbing now. full-on crying. your body shaking uncontrollably as he keeps moving, keeps rubbing, using you through it.
“can’t take it- can’t—” you gasp, voice dissolving into broken sounds.
“you are takin’ it,” he says, not slowing down, not stopping, cock dragging in and out of your fluttering, oversensitive cunt while your body keeps spasming around him. “look at you. still squeezin’ me. still want it.”
you don’t even know if that’s true anymore. you just know you can’t stop reacting, can’t stop feeling.
he shifts suddenly— grabs your hips, flips you over like it’s nothing.
you yelp, barely catching yourself before your face hits the couch.
“stay,” he mutters, pressing you down, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding himself back in.
you whine the second he pushes back inside— somehow deeper like this, your body folding around him differently, more exposed, more helpless.
“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips tight. “yeah. this is better.”
and then he starts again.
hard.
faster this time.
your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek pressed into the cushions, your fingers clawing at the fabric as the sounds get louder, wet and messy.
“daddy—!” you cry, voice muffled, broken.
“that’s it,” he groans behind you, hand sliding up your back, gripping your neck— not choking, just holding. controlling. “say it louder.”
he fucks you deeper with every word.
“who’s pussy is this?”
“yours—!” you sob.
“who you doin’ all that shit for, huh?” he snaps, pace turning relentless again. “all that dressin’ up, all that flirtin’—”
“you—! just you—!”
“damn right.”
his hand slides down your back, grabs your ass, spreading you open again so he can watch himself disappear inside you, over and over, your cunt clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go.
“fuckin’ made a mess of you,” he mutters, almost impressed. “can’t even keep it in.”
you can’t. it’s leaking. every thrust pushes more of him out, slick and messy, your body too full, too used.
you’re gone. completely.
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear.
“one more,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. “gimme one more.”
you shake your head weakly. “can’t—”
“yes you can.”
his hand finds your clit again.
you break.
your whole body locks up, a scream tearing out of you as another orgasm crashes through, sharper this time, almost painful in how intense it is, your cunt clenching so tight around him it drags him over the edge with you.
“fuck—” he groans, biting into your shoulder as he finishes again, hips stuttering hard against you, spilling deep, grinding into you as he rides it out.
you collapse under him completely.
he stays there for a second. breathing heavy. still inside you. still holding you down.
then, softer this time— just a little—
“told you,” he mutters against your skin. “you could take it.”
you don’t respond. you physically can’t.
you’re just… gone.
and he sounds way too pleased about it.
you wake up sore. sore in ways you didn’t even know were possible. your thighs ache, your hips feel bruised, your legs do not work. your pussy’s twitching— puffy, overstimulated, and leaking. there’s cum literally dripping out of you, sticky between your thighs, cooling against the sheets.
and toji’s still there.
sprawled across your bed like he owns it, like you’re his bed now, arm heavy over your waist, breathing slow against the back of your neck. his chest rises and falls steady, the heat of his body sinking into yours. it’s warm. safe. a little filthy. you can feel his cock pressed to your ass— soft, but still there, like a threat.
you’re not sure if he’s awake. you’re not sure if you’re awake. your whole body feels broken in. chewed up. worshipped. wrecked. you blink blearily at the sunlight slanting through your blinds, brain swimming in the slow syrup of morning-after haze, and shift slightly beneath the weight of him.
he moves with you. groans low, deep in his chest, like the stretch of his limbs aches. then, voice gravel-thick and sleep-rough:
“fuck. you made me pull a muscle.”
you try to laugh, but it comes out cracked. “good.”
he snorts, lazy and fond, burying his face in your shoulder and muttering, “brat.”
you hum, cheek pressed into the pillow, toes curling under the sheets. you don’t move. don’t want to. his arm tightens around your waist just enough to remind you it’s still there.
you’re quiet for a second. breathing in the moment. then— soft, teasing, and only half joking:
“so… what are we now?”
he goes still. just for a beat. long enough for your stomach to drop a little. you tense, suddenly hyperaware of how real this feels, how easy it would be to ruin it. your heart thumps like you’re asking him to raise a child. (which. maybe you are. unknowingly. oops.)
he exhales.
then, low. rough. certain.
“mine.”
you short-circuit. go quiet.
he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to. just grabs your thigh, still sore, and drags you back against his chest like he thinks you might try to leave— even though you physically can’t. you melt into the mattress with a broken little sigh, breath catching when his cock shifts against your ass, not quite hard, but heavy and possessive all the same.
you stay there. warm. stupidly happy. still full of his cum.
his fingers trail over your waist lazily, absent-minded, like he’s petting you. like you’re his. like this is normal now. you close your eyes, let yourself float in it, wondering how the hell you went from faking ankle injuries to getting bred in your own hallway by the hottest dilf alive.
and when megumi knocks on the door half an hour later and yells, “dad, i’m hungry,”
toji groans like a man betrayed. buries his face in your neck, kisses your skin as if it’s your fault he has responsibilities.
“you’re makin’ breakfast,” he mutters.
you turn your head, blinking at him. “me?!”
“you want me to limp in there with my back blown out?”
“…you blew my back out.”
“exactly,” he grins against your throat. “teamwork.”
you roll your eyes. groan. try to wiggle away, but he doesn’t let you. just holds you tighter and mumbles something about five more minutes before letting you go— barely.
you’re smiling as you get up. your legs are still jelly. your thighs stick when you move. you’re sore and used and leaking, and you’ve never felt so fucking good.
i rlly spent the whole night editing/finishing this osmgdkkdks, i’m lowk experimenting and thought i’d try smth different so i hope u guys like thissss >.<
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Suguru reclines against the edge of the onsen, arms stretched lazily along the stone. Steam curls around him in languid waves, the mineral-rich bath soothes his bones but does absolutely nothing for the ache between his muscular thighs. The weight of his erection, stiff and heavy, anchors against the flat planes of his stomach—a silent testament to the tension that even the warm waters cannot wash away.
19 days.
It’s been 19 days since the start of 'No Nut November'—an ordeal that began with your unwelcomed and completely unsolicited suggestion during a meeting with Suguru's top benefactors.
The meetings with these so-called patrons, eager for a taste of pseudo-importance in his cult, were just another way Suguru expertly exploits their inflated sense of superiority to pull them, and their bank accounts, deeper into his web of indoctrination.
Growing irritated at the mere memory, Suguru’s muscles tense up as if the onsen’s warmth had never touched him. Normally his secretary, Manami, would sit-in to take notes during these meetings, but with more pressing matters elsewhere, she had sent you in her place.
You were the newest member of Suguru’s sorcerer family—a position you accepted, albeit reluctantly, thanks to a recommendation from your long-time friend, Manami herself.
Still, Suguru isn't blind.
He knows you didn't join out of loyalty nor conviction—you needed protection.
Aligning yourself with Suguru’s cause was a way to escape Jujutsu Society’s relentless pursuit. They were hunting you for your various crimes as well, and being under Suguru’s protection offered you a chance to survive.
And yet, the subtle side-eyes you throw his way, the faint twitches at the corners of your mouth, the tiny snorts that you so skillfully turned into sneezes at his various words or proclamations—they spoke volumes.
You thought he was full of shit.
Not exclusive to just his cult either—his entire ideology.
Although, you never openly defied nor disrespected him.
On the contrary, your behavior was impeccable surface wise.
Anyone if asked would say you were a sweet yet quiet girl who showed Suguru the utmost reverence in your mannerisms and diligently carried out every task assigned to you.
Your rebellious yet inconspicuous expressions of skepticism were too minor for others to notice in order for him to justify any kind of punishment. Not to mention your babydoll-like mannerisms that made you look even more like the picture of innocence. Your rap sheet as a cursed user was the only sign anyone would ever have of your deviant ways and yet with just a bat of your eyes you'd be able convince anyone you were the one wrongly persecuted.
No, Suguru he couldn't risk openly punishing you for no reason lest he be seen as a hypocrite in front of his newly made family. After all, he had vowed to do no harm to fellow sorcerers not standing in his way.
Besides, even if you didn't approve, you also weren't a hindrance to him—you were an asset.
Nevertheless, there was still a lingering air of smugness about you that irked, crawling under Suguru's skin like a parasyte. A secretive defiance against him, like you thought you were somehow above him because you deemed yourself more intelligent.
Your attitude combined with your charms reminded Suguru far too much of Satoru—a resemblance he would never admit aloud, but unfortunately, couldn’t ignore.
As a result, Suguru tended to avoid you. The quiet challenge you presented unsettled him—a subtle reminder of unresolved feelings toward his old friend-turned-foe. It was easier to sidestep you altogether, a pacifist approach to maintain his sanity and preserve his standing among his cursed user peers.
However, your filling in for Manami had been unavoidable on such short notice. And as Suguru expected, you seized the opportunity to mock him under a carefully crafted guise of loyalty.
With all the false earnestness your doe eyes could muster, you offered an insightful suggestion during the meeting—a so-called new way to bring his followers deeper into the fold and reveal the most worthy of his believers.
You proclaimed only Suguru’s most devout and faithful followers could perfectly embody the spirit of his cause and to prove their honor, they should adopt an ancient Roman warrior tradition—
—the practice of 'et non nux novem'—a month of silence, meditation, prayer, and of course—
abstinence.
All in honor of the gods—or, in this case, their fearless god-like leader Suguru.
Needless to say, the pompous dumbass monkeys in the room eagerly lapped up your grandiose words. You, the forked-tongue tempress, worked your soft-feminine charms to the point they were eating out of your palm.
These so-called 'elites' of Tokyo might have had wealth and status, but wisdom and worldliness?
Clearly lacking.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t have fallen into a cult in the first place, let alone been fooled by a dead language none of them could even understand.
None of them were versed in latin, that is, except Suguru.
Like a single spark on dry brush the idea of ‘et non nux novem’ spread like wildfire and every single monkey follower in his cult wanted to show themselves as worthy by participating.
While you were praised for your faithfulness to the cause, Suguru found himself trapped. Forced to participate in this charade to set an example of solidarity and faith. And while Suguru could handle many things, losing wasn’t one of them. What infuriated him even more was the way you’d turned his cult against him, audaciously meeting his bullshit with your own.
For the first-time since the start of his cult someone had checkmated him.
Not to mention, you’d effectively cucked him, and you knew it—the small, self-satisfied smile on your plump lips every time you'd seen him this month said as much. Every tiny gesture of yours Suguru scrutinized and deemed to be in mock of him. Even the quick flick of your moist, pink tongue to wet your dry lips felt like a deliberate taunt.
The sight would send a visceral rage through Suguru who'd immediately take his leave.
But as the month wore on, those feelings morphed into something darker, invading his thoughts in more scandalously salacious ways. What used to be him envisioning him ripping your insolent tongue right out of your mouth, Suguru found himself wondering how your lips might feel wrapped around his cock, putting your mischievous lil' tongue to better uses.
You were too smart, too sassy, too sexy—and far too much like Satoru.
A dangerous combination that gnawed at Suguru's sensibilities, especially when every throb of his unattended member reminded him that you were the cause. It was more than he could bear—so, Suguru resolved to even the score.
You had to be dealt with lest you destroy him entirely.
Should be any minute now.This particular bathhouse on the compound was for sorcerers only and every member of his family had a scheduled time to use it.
Of course this just so happened to be your hour to bathe.
*CREEEAK*
Like clockwork you enter the onsen, sliding open the heavy wooden door and entering the bath.
Obscuring your vision, steam rises in soft clouds, condensing on the wooden ceiling and blurring the perimeter of the bath, not allowing you to see that it was already occupied.
Thinking nothing is amiss, you walk in completely bare with your tenugui towel draped over your arm. It’s not until you tentatively dip a toe into the water that Suguru clears his throat.
"Ahem..."
The sudden sound startles you, and you trip, tumbling into the water with an ungraceful splash. Between the thick steam and the complete suppression of his cursed energy, you hadn’t seen Suguru at all—he caught you entirely off guard.
Drenched and gasping as you emerge to the surface, the presence of Suguru’s overwhelming cursed energy hits you all at once. It fills the room like a crushing wave, and you can’t stop the instinctual tremors that send ripples spreading through the water around you.
“G-Geto-sama!?”
Your entire body flushes with heat and as much as every nerve is screaming at you to flee, the quickest way to cover your nakedness was remain in the onsen.
Shit, did the bath schedules change and you had no idea?!
The urgency in which you practically dove back under the water, only the tip of your nose visible has Suguru chuckling.
“Now, now, you can cut the shy act, princess. There's no one for you to perform for here—tsk, a devious brat like you couldn’t possibly be so flighty.”
Glaring at him through the steamy mist, your cheeks burn with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. Insults and pet names swirl in your head as you try to take stock of your current predicament, searching for some semblance of composure.
But it’s impossible to ignore the weight of his gaze. You can feel it—piercing through the obscuring vapors and the milky mineral water as if they weren't even there.
“Hah?... m’not shy— or flighty for that matter! You just scared me a bit is all—I didn't think I'd have to be on my guard in the onsen!”
In an act of defiance you sit up fully and remove your arms covering your chest. Your buoyant breasts rise to float in the water as you attempt to stop your fidgeting.
Suguru hums.
You can't see but you can feel his expression turn darker through the haze as if he is pleased he unsettles you so much.
“We're preparing for war, princess—you should always be on guard."
Suguru scolds you playfully, though the patronizing edge lingers like a teasing blade.
"Even from you?"
Testing him, you slowly build your nerve back with the challenging question, his cockiness getting under your skin as it always does.
"In your case? Especially from me."
Suguru’s rich, sexy baritone drips with intent, sending chills racing down your spine and pooling deep in your core. Despite the soothing warmth of the onsen enveloping you,you are desperately on edge.
Never in your dreams did you think your casual teasing of him would ever push him this far. Even so, you can't bite back the sass that spills from your lips.
"So you admit you're a fraud? The self-proclaimed sorcerer messiah?"
The energy around Suguru crackles, and your sharp, audible breath betrays your shock. Suguru strains as he struggles to maintain his calm and keep the upper hand, the heat of his anger brewing through the water. Yet the power radiating from him is unmistakable—a silent warning that he’ll take control, one way or another.
"You came here for my protection, yet you more than anyone are most liable to undermine me. Your duplicitous nature could shift against my favor at any moment. If I didn't know better I'd think he'd sent you to mock me... ”
Your face frowns in confusion, unsure of who Suguru is referring to but you are left no time to ponder as he continues.
"Now come here brat, tell me why I shouldn't cast you out—hand you right over to the higher ups and be rid of you for good."
You freeze, chewing the inside of your cheek as you debate whether you should actually run. Suguru was no rat, you knew he wouldn't turn you in. Cast you out to fend for yourself? Perhaps.
Deep down though, you know you wouldn’t get far if he decides to catch you so you remain. The cracks in Suguru’s easy going demeanor—the one he carefully maintains for his sorcerer family—are starting to show.
Revealing just how fucking intense Suguru really is underneath it all.
“—I said come here. Or if you’re scared you can flee, little dove—flee this bath, my cult—and my protection for good.”
The timber in Suguru’s voice makes your nostrils flare, a reaction he anticipated all too well. He knows you’ll play right into his hands—escape was never truly an option. Reverse psychology was his favorite tool against pride as childish as yours, just as it always worked with Satoru.
So, of course you take the bait despite yourself.
Although you knew you should fear him—that you were gambling at a game far above your metaphorical buy-in—the thrill of it was too intoxicating to resist. The feeling akin to standing at the edge of a cliff, fully aware of the drop but unable to step back as the wind whips around you inching you forward.
Swallowing hard, you rise to your feet, forcing yourself to keep your hands steady at your sides. Every nerve in your body screams at you to look away, to break the tension, but you don’t. Instead, you move toward Suguru, your own steady gaze locked on his, refusing to flinch.
Approaching him, with each step closer, more of Suguru is revealed to you.
Your eyes shamelessly drink him in, unable to resist the temptation the cult leader, known as Geto Suguru exudes. Water droplets glide down his sculpted pecs, trailing over his abs and glistening off the sinewy muscles of his arms. Like a siren from mythology, Suguru’s slicked-back inky hair cascades over his broad, chiseled shoulders, pooling into the water around him, each strand seeming almost alive with its own allure.
There's no big mystery why he had so many people throwing themselves at his feet.
You blink hard, shaking yourself free from the allure of the beautiful siren-like man before you.
No, you’d never be one of them…right?
Your distracted thoughts keep you from noticing but Suguru is equally captivated by you. His predatory eyes sweep over your body, as if cataloging every detail of your curves to memory. You're sexier than he imagined under those sweaters you'd wear, hiding your perfect form from him. His cock pulses impatiently beneath the onsen waters, betraying his eagerness.
Suguru was secretly relieved you couldn’t see just how badly he wanted you at this moment—how badly he’d wanted you all month, for that matter. He’d gone through every stage of denial, convincing himself it was nothing—that you were nothing, before finally admitting the truth.
And now that he had successfully snared you he wasn’t going to deprive himself of you any longer.
“Stop there.”
Suguru’s commands are smooth and unwavering.
“Stand here.”
The spot he indicates is directly between his legs.
You swallow hard.
With your towel gone and the water receding in the shallow area of the onsen where he sits, your bare pussy is now at eye level with Suguru. His piercing scrutiny makes it impossible to remain still, every nerve in your body on alert. The longer he stares, lecherous and hungry, as if he might devour you whole, the quicker your breath hitches.
Your embarrassment slowly gives way to a simmering arousal you can’t control despite your growing annoyance for this man.
Suguru didn’t have to reach far at all to touch you and soon his fingers trailed featherlight touches up your inner thighs, sending tingles straight into your dripping pussy as you tried to remain still and pretend it's the water from the onsen and not from your cunt glistening on your thighs.
Like Suguru already knows how wet you are for him, his lustful gaze intensifies, smirk carving deeper into his features like a predator savoring its prey.
“This 'et non nux novem' is complete bullshit. You know it, like I know it."
The sensation of your soft, wet flesh beneath his fingertips has a fresh surge of heat coursing through him.
"But since we're the only two who know the truth and you wish to stay under my protection, you’ll just have to take responsibility for the rest of the month—can you do that?”
You're breathless from his touch continuing to explore around your hips and upper thighs. Trying to resist leaning into his touch your words are clumsy as they spill out of you.
“Mmm…w-what about maintaining s-s-solidarity?”
Suguru brings you in, muscular arms wrapping around your waist deviously.
“Fuck solidarity, princess.”
You’d think you'd giggle at that if he hadn’t just murmured those words into your tummy. Suguru's warm breath dips into your navel and your tummy contracts—jailed in his strong grasp there is no running away from him now.
Yet his smooth words continue, as if he fully expects your obedient compliance.
“Will you be my devout, good lil' slut then, hm?”
You chewed your inner cheek.
Suguru’s attractiveness was never lost on you, but you saw him as an arrogant asshole who'd on top of that forever seems so distant. Plus, he always seemed irritated by your presence which is why you'd started the prank in the first place.
All of this only made his sudden attention now even more disarming.
You look away, shrugging your shoulders in an attempt to mask your flushed expression. The gesture, meant to appear casual, only makes you seem shyer and more vulnerable, offering him an even softer view of you. You know you need to pull it together, but your bravado is slipping, painfully exposing your awkwardness as you grow increasingly pliable under his touch.
“Hm, does this bratty princess pussy think she's too good to serve?”
A startled squeak escapes you as Suguru’s hands resume their practiced exploration of your body. Agile fingers find your breasts as Suguru pinches your hardened nipples, rolling and pulling your sensitive buds firmly. The motions are like a silent punishment for the answer you haven’t even given yet—delivering molten pleasure to burn in your core.
“Answer me, slutty girl before I finally lose my patience with you.”
Suguru's fingers trace their descent back down your body to spread greedily over the soft curve of your ass. A sharp crack follows as his hand lands on your dampened skin, the sting radiating through you and snapping your gaze back to meet his.
You whimper, the sound pitiful and almost apologetic, as his fingers knead and caress the tender flesh in the aftermath, leaving you trembling. Every touch is a reminder that you belong to him—every inch of you subject to the pleasure and pain he so expertly delivers.
“I-I'm not your s-servant...”
You weren’t convincing at all and the sight of your luscious body quivering in his hands has Suguru all the more eager to have you submit to him—to have you utterly threadbare and unraveling before him.
"Eh, are you not though?"
Expression darkened with intent, Suguru face is mere centimeters from your core as he inhales the intoxicating, sweet scent of your dewy pussy. His sultry eyes lock with yours looking up at you as if asking for your consent, your admission of desperation—your absolute obedience.
"Would you want to be?"
Fuck, the man was too deviously sexy to resist.The debauched scene made your entire body shudder, a needy moan falling from your lips as you instinctively angle your hips toward his hot awaiting mouth.
“...hnn—p-pleaseee, G-Geto-sama.”
However, just as you were certain he’d taste you, Suguru pulls back. His pretty, thin lips parting only to curl into a taunting smile.
“Oh? Now she begs. No, only my good, devout slut gets my mouth, princess. You'll have to do better than that if you want it.”
Your face crumples but all thoughts of protest vanish the moment the pads of his fingers brush lightly across your clit, now engorged and peaking through your folds. Working your tingly nub in slow, agonizing circles with his knuckles, while his thumb mirrored the rhythm against your hip.
The dual sensations has your thighs quivering, as delicate mewls spill from your lips uncontrollably—a clear sign to Suguru that it's been far too long since you’ve had a proper fuck.
“So sensitive… so responsive for a slut claiming not to be my servant.”
Suguru’s whole demeanor is voice saturated with amusement, but you felt so good and he looks so sinfully erotic with his hand in your folds, you don’t even care now that he is toying with you.
“You’ve been non nux for a long while now, haven’t you, princess? Wanting the rest of us to suffer with you, hm?”
You hated his smug ass but you let out an affirmative sigh despite yourself, drawing a chuckle from him.
Suguru sees it immediately—the way your body shakes, touch-starved and desperate for the attention he’s lavishing on you. His long finger glides through your slick, webbing the gossamer of your arousal against his thumb before sinking it into your pussy with deliberate precision.
Honeyed in your creamy nectar, his thick digit tows through every inch of your pretty peach.
“So fucking wet for me…this is why you wanted my attention, isn't that right, brat?”
Suguru slips a second long finger into your gooey core, the stretch immediately overwhelming—his one finger easily the size of two of yours. But you’re too lost in your own loud moans to notice Suguru’s low hiss, he's utterly caught off guard by the way your walls clamp down on him so fiercely.
Driving into your slick gummy walls harder and faster your cunt eagerly slobbers around his fingers as they reach into the very depths of your core—now zoning in on the firm, spongy spot within you.
Desperately, you fall forward and your pretty manicured nails puncture his shoulder as a third finger enters you.
Suguru typically doesn’t let anyone touch him so freely—yet he can’t bring himself to push you away. Watching you struggle to hold yourself together only made him more determined to break you completely, now with his fingers—then with his cock.
Resolved, Suguru hooks your leg over his other shoulder, forcing your body to open to him. Leaning-in Suguru gifts you steady, sloppy kisses up your inner thigh, stopping occasionally to languidly suction your plump flesh enough to leave a bruise—all in sharp contrast to the furious pace of his fingers pumping inside your dripping cunt.
Too skilled at siphoning out your juices, your creamy wetness slicks down his entire forearm to his elbow and then into the onsen as he works you over.
“Shiiiit—Geto-sa—MAAAH!”
Your free hand instinctively dives into his hair, tugging at his long raven strands at his scalp. Suguru’s eyes flare and he growls a warning in his throat at your audacity. But it's all easily forgiven, as you so beautifully slutted out before him—your head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as your serpentine hips meet the urgent plunge of his fingers grazing your womb.
Picking up his pace, Suguru’s fingers move deeper and faster. Your cries grow louder, unrestrained, your tongue hanging out as a strange immeasurable pressure builds under your tummy.
“NNNNGHH...m’no moreee—stawp—m’gonna pee in the onsennnn, pleaseeepleaseee!”
Your voice is distraught but your nails dig deeper into the flesh of his scalp and shoulder and your hips never stop rolling to meet his fingers.
What a perfect whore you’ve become for him.
“Tsk, silly slut—don't you know that's not pee princess? So don’t you dare hold back—show me how dirty this pretty lil' pussy can get grasping onto me like she's worshiping my fingers..."
Suguru sinks his teeth into the thick meat of your thigh, the bite leaving deep impressions in your soft tender flesh. The overwhelming buzz of opposing sensations is blinding to the point you’re soon spraying milky fluids all over his arms, chest and face.
Your eyes lodge into your skull as your orgasm peaks and crashes over you. Buckling forward as your legs become goo, yet Suguru's grip on you is steady as he pulls his fingers from your still spasming pussy. Without hesitation Suguru licks them clean, savoring the remnants of your release on them—it's a pity so much of it ended up in the onsen and not in his mouth.
Fuck— you’re so sweet on his tongue Suguru regretted not tasting you fully and robbing himself of your flavor. He had half the mind to feast on you now but the incessant throbbing of his long ignored cock needed to be dealt with first.
Wrecked from his fingers alone, your mind is hazy as the lingering pleasure clouds your thoughts. You barely register Suguru’s movements as he guides your body—lowering you until your soft tits press firmly against his hard chest. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs, framing him as he swallows your plump hips in his large grip under the warm bath water.
“Breathe.”
Suguru murmurs softly into your temple, his voice deep and commanding, yet the instruction doesn't reach you in your dazed state. It’s not until the bulbous head of his cock pushes its way past your folds that the meaning sinks in—just as he thrusts upward, seating you completely onto him in one swift motion.
Immediately your body shudders, stretched and filled to the hilt. Every inch of Suguru bullies its way into your guts, shifting them forcibly creating space for his girthy intrusion.
You're completely at his mercy.
Simultaneously your voice croaks while Suguru releases a loud groan—fuck you're tight.
Even with his preparation, the sheer size of him tearing through your walls has you clenching like a vice. Wrapping your trembling arms around his neck, you struggle to breathe, the sensation so intense it’s as if he’s actually breached your womb.
The heat inside you soon burns hotter than the onsen's steaming waters, and Suguru swears under his breath trying not to cum from how tightly your cunt is strangling his cock. Suguru figures he’s the biggest you’d ever taken but you’d surely melt his dick off if you didn’t ease up.
You hiccup, tears streaking your puffy cheeks as his large palm rubs soothing circles on your lower back, the other guiding you up and down his thick shaft in slow, deliberate movements. The blend of pain and pleasure blurs together, overwhelming your senses.
“NGHHH, too m-much, S-Sugu—so deep!”
Babbling into the crook of his neck, your voice cracks as you plead with him.
“Come on, princess…”
Suguru softly chuckles, but when your sobs turn into full-body tremors, your nails digging into his back with desperate intensity, he pauses.
Gently pulling you from his neck, Suguru examines the flush spreading across your body. The heat from the water and Suguru become too much and you can barely keep your head up as it rolls back from dizziness, your consciousness fading.
Suguru sighs, brushing damp hair from your face.
“What’s wrong, brat? You’re shaking and clenching like some—”
Suguru stops mid-sentence as realization strikes. Your shyness, your sensitivity, hell even the awkward veil of confidence that was quickly revealed as soon as he pulled your card a lil.
Gripping your face, you wince as his sharp gaze locks on yours.
“Answer me truthfully, girl— are you a virgin?”
“...n-not anymore.”
Although weakened, your voice is still laced with a trace of attitude that makes Suguru snort despite himself.
Fuck. He should’ve known.
As troublesome as you are, he’d pegged you for a slut. Instead, you were an innocent dove—still troublesome, but innocent nonetheless.
With a quiet curse, Suguru pulls out of you and the water in one fluid motion. Droplets cascade off your bodies as he gently lays you onto the warmed stone floor beside the onsen.
Grabbing a cool cloth from a nearby bucket, he dabs your forehead, then across the rest of your body to cool you. A soft sigh escapes you as the chill seeps into your heated skin, soothing the burn of exertion.
When he wipes the rest of your body, his gaze catches on the streaks of red staining his cock and your thighs. A flicker of guilt flashes across his face, and he silently berates himself. Had he known, he would’ve approached this with a bit more tact.
Yet when your trembling hand grabs his bicep, vulnerable and pleading, his control crumbles.
“N-No, no, p-please… d-don’t stop now…”
Voice breaking, as it stammers under the weight of your desperation.
You’re sore, yes, but the emptiness between your legs burns hotter, the ache of arousal far outweighing any lingering discomfort now that the rest of your body has cooled from the bath.
Suguru’s lips curl into a slanted, tight-eyed grin.
So you did want to be corrupted by him after all?
He could oblige you in that.
Wasting no time, Suguru is hovering over you. Sinking back into your heat with care, you feel every thick, veined inch stretching you open, plunging so deep it sets your walls ablaze.
Your head tilts back as your spine arches, and a sudden gush of slick erupts from your pussy, heavy and uncontrollable. The rush of fluids splashes between you, nearly forcing Suguru’s cock out as your walls quake violently around him. He growls, bracing you against the floor to steady your trembling body.
Broken whines spill from your lips from Suguru wrapping a hand possessively around your throat, his grip grounding you as his arrogance seeps through in a low, rumbling chuckle against your ear.
“Shit princess—you’re squirting like a goddamn faucet on my cock—wetter than the onsen. Can’t even take a lil’ dick without soaking us both? What a slutty virgin...”
The deep vibrations of his words ripple down your spine, intensifying the way your pussy clenches around his cock. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist, heels digging into his hips in a desperate attempt to keep him buried deep inside you.
However, Suguru doesn’t allow it for long. With a deliberate shift, he changes positions—he hooks his arms under your knees, folding you in half as he presses them to your shoulders. The new angle draws a whimper from your lips, allowing him to go much deeper as he drags the ridges of his girth along your walls, savoring every inch of your snug fluttering cunt.
Stuffed full of him again, Suguru moves in measured strokes. The initial sting of his size gradually melts into a searing arousal, coiling deep in your belly when Suguru flicks figure 8 circles on your clit.
"Don't run from it princess...."
Suguru coos a warning to you when your small hands slip over his abs to slow the pace of his hips. Your cute face scrunches up, fueling his hunger for you.
Yet it's the moment your hips start to squirm uncoordinatedly, desperate to meet his rhythm, he knows you’ve adjusted.
That’s when Suguru really lets go.
His cock slams into you with relentless force and leaves you clinging to him for dear life while your screams echoing throughout the bathhouse.
Suguru doesn't care if anyone outside can hear, if anything he wants them to, it be a lewd testament to how good he was fucking you.
The feral slaps of his balls against your ass also grow louder as his pace quickens, grinding his hip into you harder, deeper, and more wildly with every thrust. The raw, primal sound of your bodies colliding fills the air, matched only by your shared moans and the filthy, wet squelches of your cunt greedily pulling him in and forming a creamy ring around his base.
Suguru’s hips stutter for a brief second, your voice is raw with need as you coo his name. Your inexperienced virgin pussy having the gall to give him any demands like he's the one submitting to you.
How did it end up like this?
“Am I not fucking you, slutty brat?!”
Irritation rumbles deep in Suguru’s chest, more at himself than at you. The intense urge to please you grates against his belief that, as his follower, it is you who should be working to satisfy him. Yet his body betrays him, his loins burning with the undeniable truth that he's addicted to you now.
Picking up inhuman speed, sweat dripping off his brow, Suguru drills into you, determined to coax more of your silky squirt from your body.
“OOO—OH FUUUU—CK! Y-Yessss, Geto-samaaaah!”
The glare Suguru gives you is piercing as his hand leaves your clit and weaves around your throat in an instant.
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare call me that when you’re moaning under me like a whore and commanding me to fuck you.”
Bullying into you harder, your back arches off the stone floor as pure euphoria floods your senses.
“It's Suguru to you when I'm fucking you dumb, princess."
You nod your head frantically, nails raking welts along his back.
"If you understand, then say it—you had enough audacity to use it once before—now I want my slutty brat to moan it for me loud enough for every monkey in this compound to know you’re my whore.”
Screaming it like a mantra as you cum again once more splashing squirt and fluids that gather into a puddle on the stone beneath you, flowing back into the onsen.
Hearing his name leave your lips so desperately has Suguru releasing buckets inside you—an ungodly amount of cum spurting into your abused lil' cunt. The obscene sound of it bubbling and spilling out accompanies each additional plow of his hips, on a mission to bury as much of it inside you as possible.
The heat, the overwhelming fullness—it leaves your body shuddering, your limbs weak and boneless against him as he uses you like a fleshlight riding out his remaining waves.
You are unsure how long you laid there with him collapsed on top of you but as the fog of euphoria begins to dissipate, your pussy aching, you glance up to find Suguru staring down at you.
His expression is smug, victorious, as if he’d claimed some grand prize and you pout.
Your plan to cuck Suguru for an entire month failed spectacularly!
Suguru doesn't need to say anything as the loss is written all over your face. Yet he still rubs it in a bit more with a chaste kiss placed delicately on your cute pouty lips.
“I-I still think you’re full of shit y-you know, Sugu.”
You exhale a shaky breath of defeat, your voice raspy and chest rising and falling in uneven puffs.
Sucking his teeth in amusement, Suguru’s smirk hasn’t left him yet.
“Yeah, and now you’re full of me—funny how life comes at you fast, huh princess?”
Your scoffs quickly turn into soft goans as Suguru presses down on your belly. The pressure on your womb makes you squirm beneath him as your cunt squelches out more of his cum, unintentionally making him hard inside you again with the urge to fill you until you are walking out of her limping and leaking his cum in puddles.
“Hm, now my devout lil' slut—shall I continue to breed your bratty not-so virgin pussy in honor of ‘et non nux novem’?”
𝐚/𝐧: next non-queued post (comment on m.list for tag) nanami, kento
okay i gotta say i ate this. had to even stop a few times and calm myself down while i was editing this thats why this was so delayed lol. reblog and comment please if this also took yall places dkjcajndkjsh
cw: mdni. smut, a little bit of breeding, oral (f!receiving)
a/n: part three! thank you all so much for the support on the first two parts!!<3
this will probably have one more part but i wanna try to make it as more of an actual drabble/fic rather than this headcannon format!
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻
roommate!geto who you go looking for at 3am when you’ve had a nightmare.
roommate!geto who says “you alright baby?” when he sees your tall, slender figure at his door-
as you walk up to him, teary eyed in your cute sleep shorts and tank top, he opens up his blanket to welcome you in. he sleeps only in his underwear?
he kisses your temple as you get into bed before covering you both with the blankets and taking his spot behind you. does everyone's roommate care so much about them?
roommate!geto who presses his hard on against your back while he cuddles you <3
roommate!geto who spoons you all night and peppers open mouthed kisses down your neck and shoulders~
roommate!geto who’s touch you lean into because it feels so genuine and sincere~
roommate!geto who starts fondling your boobs until he’s on top of you kissing you-
you finally get to feel his tongue piercing when he swipes his tongue against yours.
he slowly works his way down as he’s undressing you- worshipping your body as he uncovers it. littering your body with love marks. how long has he waited for this moment?!
roommate!geto who’s hands roam your body while he eats out your pretty pussy~
you let out a moan when you feel the cold metal of his tongue and lip piercings against your sensitive clit.
roommate!geto who literally whimpers when you say “please sugu, I need you”
roommate!geto who’s favourite position is missionary because he loves watching how your facial expressions change with every thrust
“shit baby, this pussy was made for me- you’re taking me so well”
roommate!geto who goes crazy when you scratch your nails into his back~
roommate!geto who's thrusts become so animalistic and rough. all he can think about is your abused cunt overflowing with his load. you'll finally be his~
roommate!geto who’s face flushes when he tells you he loves you as he stuffs you full of his cum~ “fuckkkk, I love you so much baby”
pairing: gojo x fem reader
synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation.
wc: 18.2k (don't kill me)
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation
a/n: I'm dead
series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter
Walking through the long, but suffocating hallways of the office is excruciating for Satoru—it always is. Today, it feels extra excruciating. He’s been out of the office for a little over a week now, ignoring his business resoponsitblites and family, he knows he’ll probably face hell today. It’s a Monday, too. How painful.
“Good morning, Mr. Gojo.”
“Hello, Mr. Gojo.”
“Nice to see you, Mr. Gojo.”
“Mr. Gojo!”
A voice says, one he clocks as his secretary. He sighs, but continues to walk forward, forcing Aiko to practailly sprint just to catch up with him. There’s stacks of papers in her arms, her cheeks red with a small sheen of sweat painting her skin. And it’s only the start of the day. He almost starts feel bad for her. “Mr. Gojo! Where have you been? I’ve called and texted, I even went to your house and you weren’t there!”
“Vacation.” he says curtly, not breaking his stride. His tone is clipped, his voice devoid of any real emotion, and it’s enough to make Aiko falter for just a second.
“A vacation?!” she exclaims, breathless. “You didn’t even leave a notice! Do you have any idea how many calls I’ve had to field from your father’s office? They were—”
“Livid. Yeah, I’m sure.” Satoru waves a hand dismissively, rounding a corner and heading toward the elevator. Aiko scrambles to keep up, adjusting the stack of papers precariously balanced in her arms.
“They’re expecting you in the boardroom at ten,” she says, her voice slightly frantic. “And Mr. Gojo said if you didn’t show up this time, he’d—”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he interrupts, pressing the elevator button with unnecessary force. The tension in his shoulders is palpable, but his face remains a mask of indifference.
“Yes, but—” Aiko stops herself, hesitating. Her voice softens. “Are you okay, sir?”
For a moment, Satoru freezes. The elevator dings, the doors sliding open, but he doesn’t move. The question hangs in the air like a challenge he isn’t ready to face. “Peachy,” he finally says, stepping inside. Aiko hesitates before following, fumbling with the papers in her arms. Once she’s inside, Satoru presses the number 15, doors soon closing. The ascent to the highest floor of the high rise office building begins. As the elevator begins its rising, the silence is thick and awkward. Satoru leans against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors. “You’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Aiko ventures, breaking the silence. “There’s the overseas partnership meeting at noon, and your parents are waiting to—”
“They’ll wait,” Satoru cuts her off, his tone colder now. “I’m not on their clock.”
Aiko flinches but doesn’t argue. She adjusts the papers again, her gaze darting nervously to him before focusing on the floor. “Mr. Gojo, they seemed very serious today, more than usual. Your mother was even holding back tears, but she didn’t look sad, she looked…angry.”
His mind turns into uncertainty. His mother’s here and she’s crying? Did he piss them off that much? Well, she’s always been quite the dramatic woman. It can’t be that bad. When the elevator doors open, Satoru steps out without a word, leaving Aiko to scurry after him in usual form. The sound of his shoes clicking against the polished marble floor echoes through the hallway as Satoru walks toward his personal office. Aiko struggles to keep up, her footsteps hurried and uneven behind him.
He caresllesy pushes his doors open, going over to plop himself down in his chair behind the desk. Heavily exhaling while ltilting his head back, eyes fixated on the bare ceiling above. Seems like his carelessness is going to catch up with him today. Although he’d rather not deal with anything business related right now, especially his parents, he’s been gone more than he should. He can already anticipate he’ll leave late today, the monotonous voices of the businessmen, the disapproving words from his parents, the headache that will break through around noon, and the lingering, mundane question in the back of his mind of what you and Koji will be eating tonight for dinner. Maybe I should send her some money to eat out, or to buy a few groceries?
However, another thought makes its presence known by her very…unpleasant voice. He almost forget about her.
“Satoru!”
Aiko squeaks as she’s negligently pushed to the side by Himari, some of the papers flying out her hands—to which she bends down to pick it up, giving the other woman an annoyed glance. Himari plops into Satoru’s lap, arms instinctively moving around his neck. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick, baby. I thought something happened.”
Satoru doesn't react at first, his head still tilted back, eyes glued to the ceiling. His jaw tightens ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Himari presses herself closer, her fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck as she leans in. Her voice softens, pink lips downturning into a pout, dripping with almost a faux sense of concern. “You didn’t answer my calls, Satoru. I thought we were past all this disappearing nonsense. What’s going on?”
Aiko straightens up from the floor, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shuffles the papers back into order. “Excuse me, Ms. Nakamura,” she says tightly, her eyes flicking toward Satoru. “Mr. Gojo has a full schedule today. If you need to discuss personal matters, perhaps—”
“Not now, you,” Himari cuts her off without looking, her attention solely on Satoru. “This is between Satoru and I, not the help.”
Aiko bristles but doesn’t argue, standing stiffly by the door.
Satoru finally moves, letting out a low sigh as he straightens his posture, forcing Himari to shift slightly on his lap. His hands rest limply on the armrests of his chair, making no effort to return her embrace. “Himari,” he says flatly, his voice void of any attempt at warmth. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy?” She pulls back just enough to look at him, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing. “Too busy to call me? To even let me know you’re alive?” Her voice rises slightly, her frustration barely contained. “You just vanished, and I had to find out from your secretary that you weren’t even in the office!”
His lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “And yet, here I am. Alive and well.”
“That’s not the point!” Himari huffs, her grip on him tightening as if to keep him from brushing her off. “You can’t just disappear like that, Satoru. It’s irresponsible. It’s—”
“Unprofessional? Reckless? Embarrassing?” he interrupts, his tone sharp enough to make her flinch slightly. “Yeah, I’ve heard it all before. What do you want me to say, Himari? I have my own life too, baby.”
She stares at him, her lips parting as if to respond, but no words come out. For a moment, the air between them is thick with tension. Her expression shifts, the frustration giving way to something colder. “You’ve been acting strange lately,” she says, her tone accusing. “Ever since—” She stops herself, her eyes narrowing. “Ever since last time I saw you.” Himari doesn’t move from his lap immediately, her arms tightening around his neck as if trying to pull him closer. Her perfectly manicured nails graze his skin, and she leans in, her voice then dropping into something softer, more coaxing. “You know I’m only upset because I care about you,” she says, her eyes searching his face. “You can’t keep shutting me out like this, Satoru. I’m your girlfriend, for heaven’s sake. I’m supposed to be the person you lean on.”
Satoru doesn’t respond right away. His head tilts slightly, his expression unreadable as he studies her. The silence stretches on long enough for Himari to shift uncomfortably. His eyes move to hers, the first real spark of emotion flashing across his face. “You have to understand, okay? I’m… going through stuff right now, I just needed a break.”
“A break from me?”
“Himari.” His voice is quieter now, the edge in it is unmistakable, but also resigned. He continues, willing himself to react calmly, “you’re not helping by showing up here unannounced.”
“Unannounced?” she scoffs, her tone sharpening again. “I wouldn’t have to if you actually answered your phone. Or your emails. Or—oh, I don’t know—told me where the hell you were!”
“I needed space,” he repeats simply, his gaze drifting toward the window behind her.
“Space?” she repeats incredulously. “From me?” Her voice trembles slightly, though whether it’s from anger or hurt, even she doesn’t seem sure. “You can’t just disappear without saying anything, Satoru. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to have your parents calling me, asking if I know where you are? To have my parents asking why their future son-in-law is MIA?”
Future son in law. That makes his brows furrow, a frown taking place on his face. “I didn’t ask you to answer for me,” he says evenly, his eyes meeting hers again.
“No, you didn’t,” she snaps, pulling back further now. “But you also didn’t give me a choice. What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and let everyone think I don’t know what’s going on with my own boyfriend?”
“You could have,” he says with a shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting in a ghost of a smirk. “Might’ve been easier.”
Her jaw drops, and for a moment, she looks genuinely stunned. “Are you serious right now? You’re impossible, Satoru. Absolutely impossible.”
“I’ve been told,” he says lightly, but there’s no humor in his voice.
She gets up abruptly, smoothing her Valentino Garavino dress with quick, agitated movements. “This isn’t funny,” she says, her tone colder now. “You think you can just brush me off like this? Like I don’t matter? I’m the one who’s been by your side all this time, Satoru. Me.”
He sighs. “Just stop, please.”
“I’m just saying,” Himari presses on, her voice a little too sharp, “I’ve been dealing with this mess all on my own, while you’ve been out who knows where—doing who knows what—and now I’m supposed to just pretend everything is fine? That’s not how this works.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Satoru says with finality, his patience running thin. “I didn’t ask you to sit here, waiting for me, wondering where I’ve been. I needed a break. A chance to breathe.”
“From me?” she asks again, disbelief written across her face.
He decides to concede. “Yes,” he says quietly. “From everything. You wouldn’t understand.”
Himari falters for a moment, her face flickering with a mixture of hurt and frustration. “And I don’t matter enough for you to tell me why?”
His gaze softens, just for a second, but it quickly hardens again. “I don’t need to explain myself, Himari.” He looks away from her, not trusting himself to speak without snapping. There’s a quiet but heavy tension hanging in the air.
“I thought we had something,” Himari says after a long pause, her voice quieter now, though the hurt still lingers in her tone. “I thought I meant more to you.”
“You do,” Satoru replies, the words sounding almost empty, even to him. “But right now, I need time to sort things out. Can you understand that?”
She glares at him for a moment longer before letting out an exasperated huff. “Fine. Fuck it, ignore things like you always do.” She grabs her bag, turning on her heel. “But don’t think I’m just going to sit around waiting for you to figure things out. You owe me better than this, Satoru.” She storms out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, leaving Aiko awkwardly standing in the doorway.
Satoru remains frozen in his chair, staring at the empty space she left behind. He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face as his mind drifts back to the other matters weighing on him. The silence feels suffocating, and even though his thoughts want to wander to her—to you—he forces himself to focus. But something lingers, something unsettled that he can’t shake.
Aiko clears her throat, stepping forward cautiously. “Um… should I reschedule your morning meetings, sir?”
Satoru leans back in his chair again, closing his eyes briefly. “No,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… give me five minutes.” Aiko nods, backing out of the room and closing the door softly behind her. Alone now, Satoru exhales heavily, the weight of the morning and what’s to come settling over him like a thick fog.
Jesus Christ. Can I just have one day without everyone breathing down my fucking neck?
“And so, this is why my team and I believe it’s prevalent to keep things neutral, but cordial with the Nexus Group.” The head of the negotiation team, a sharp-dressed man in his late forties with a voice as dry as the monotony of the topic at hand, clicked through another slide of the dull PowerPoint presentation which casted faint shadows over the darkened boardroom. The screen displayed a web of connections and partnerships that Nexus had with other firms, none of which particularly interested Satoru.
Neutral and cordial. Two words he had no patience for today.
He slouched slightly in his chair, his fingers drumming against the polished wood of the table. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses—his mother would’ve had a fit if she saw him disrespecting the board by doing so—but he felt the familiar strain behind his eyes nonetheless, holding back a heavy sigh.
“Mr. Gojo?”
The sound of his name snapped him out of his haze. He blinked, realizing the room was waiting for him to respond. All eyes were on him, some expectant, some wary. “Hm?” he hummed, sitting up just enough to look like he was paying attention.
The negotiator cleared his throat. “Your thoughts on maintaining a neutral stance with Nexus, sir?”
For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on the projector screen, though he wasn’t really seeing it. The weight of everything—the meeting, his parents waiting to speak with him, you and Koji constantly in the back of his mind—made it impossible to focus. He just wishes these imbeciles could make a single decision without confiding in him first. Finally, he sighed, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think…” he began, his voice softer than usual, almost detached, “that we’ve been through this already.”
The negotiator hesitated. “Well, yes, but we wanted to ensure the approach aligns with your vision—”
“My vision?” Satoru interrupted, his tone bordering on tired amusement. He dropped his hand and glanced around the room, his expression almost blank. “My vision is that we don’t waste time overthinking what Nexus might do. If they’re going to cause problems, we deal with it. If they’re not, we move forward. Simple.”
A few people exchanged uneasy glances, but no one argued; they know better. “Understood, sir,” the negotiator said, his voice quieter now.
Satoru didn’t reply, turning his gaze to the window instead. The faint reflection of the room in the glass blurred with the skyline beyond. He couldn’t remember the last time he truly cared about one of these meetings. The discussion carried on around him, voices blending into a low hum. Every so often, someone would glance his way, but he didn’t react. His thoughts drifted, heavier and heavier, to the inevitable confrontation waiting for him after this meeting. He sighed slowly, shifting in his chair. The tension building in his chest had been there for days, clawing at him, and this—this pointless back-and-forth—only made it worse.
“Satoru,” Nanami’s voice cut through the fog, quiet but firm, “want to wrap this up for today?” Satoru blinked at him, then at the rest of the room. Everyone was waiting, polite smiles masking their unease. He straightened a little, though it felt like dragging himself through water
“Yeah,” he said simply. “Let’s revisit this later.” The meeting adjourned, and as the others filed out, Satoru stayed behind, staring blankly at the table. He knew he couldn’t avoid the next part of the day forever, but for now, he just wanted to sit in the quiet, even if it was only for a moment.
Nanami stays behind until the last man leaves, taking this moment to face his colleague with his usual bored—but calculated gaze. “What’s up with you? First, you go AWOL for days on end, and now you come back and look like you don’t know about a single thing that’s happening. That or you don’t care.”
“I never truly do,” Satoru replies, swiveling.
Nanami shakes his head, running a hand through his blonde locks. “Seriously, Satoru. Can you just fix up your act for this week at least?”
Satoru raises a thin, white eyebrow. “This week? What’s happening this week?”
Satoru tilted his head, feigning thought, though the blankness in his eyes betrayed his apathy. “Hmm... enlighten me.”
Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. “The annual board dinner. The one where you’re expected to charm the investors and keep them from pulling out of their contracts. The dinner that your father has been planning for months.”
Satoru hummed, his head falling back against the chair with exaggerated dramatics. “Oh, that dinner. Right. The one where I play puppet for a bunch of old men who care more about profit margins than people.”
Nanami didn’t rise to the bait, though his gaze hardened. “The dinner where your family’s reputation is at stake, Satoru. It’s not optional, and you know it.”
Satoru swung his chair in a slow circle, his long legs stretched out as if the conversation wasn’t happening. “Guess I should dust off my charm, huh? Or maybe I’ll just stand there and look pretty—that usually does the trick.”
Nanami’s jaw tightened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “This isn’t a joke. You’ve already caused enough waves by disappearing last week. If you don’t show up, or worse, if you show up like this…” He gestured vaguely at Satoru, encompassing his disheveled demeanor. “…then don’t expect your father, especially your mother to forgive you anytime soon.”
Satoru stopped spinning, his chair facing Nanami now. He rested his elbow on the armrest, propping his chin in his hand. “You sound like her, you know. Should I start calling you ‘Mom’ too?”
Nanami rolled his eyes, clearly done with the conversation. “Do whatever you want, Satoru. Just don’t screw this up.” With that, he turned and walked towards the doors. Stopping for a second and giving one last thought. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to stop running from your responsibilities, it’s catching up with you.” Then, the sound of the door shutting behind him follows, leaving Satoru alone in the silence once more.
For a long moment, Satoru stayed where he was, the room empty except for the faint hum of the projector. He stared blankly at the table, his mind a tangle of thoughts he didn’t want to undo. He let out a heavy puff of air, the sound filling the silence. “Yeah,” he muttered to no one in particular. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” He shakes his head, the density of Nanami’s words settling over him like a heavy cloak. The idea of the board dinner—of facing his parents, the investors, the endless expectations—made his chest tighten. But even that wasn’t the heaviest thing on his mind. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. His finger hovered over the screen, debating whether to send a message. Whether to ask you if you were okay, if Koji had eaten, if you’d even want to hear from him. Instead, he locked the phone and tossed it onto the desk, leaning back in his chair. For now, all he could do was sit in the quiet and try to pull himself together before the next storm hit.
Nanami’s right, it’s catching up to him.
“Where is that little bastard?”
“Mrs. Gojo!”
“Where is he?”
“I-I believe he’s still in the—”
The doors abruptly opening causes Satoru’s head to swivel in the direction of them. He almost wishes he just sink into a hole. The face of his mother, looking pretty damn pissed off, is glaring at him. A familiar look to her son. He still doesn’t know what he did wrong—besides ignoring the business for a week. Still, she’s that upset? “You,” she points a red nail in her son’s direction, to which he stands up. “Get your ass in your father’s office, now.”
“For what?” Satoru asks, though he’s already making his way to her. He then yelps out in surprise when his mother reaches her hand up and pinches his earlobe between her two fingers. “Ow! Mom! What the hell?!”
“Shut it, boy.” She snaps out, hauling his ass down the corridor to his father’s office. The employees watch on, eyes wide with curiosity and surprise as their boss is practically getting manhandled by his own mother like he’s a child all over again.
“Seriously, Mom, let go!” Satoru hissed, trying to pry her fingers off his ear without much success.
“You don’t get to make demands today, Satoru,” she snapped, her grip tightening. “Not after the mess you’ve made.”
“What mess?!” he exclaimed, stumbling slightly as she yanked him forward.
“Oh, don’t act clueless. You’re in enough trouble, don’t you dare add stupidity to the list,” she shot back.
By the time they reached his father’s office, Satoru was basically limping from the awkward gait forced upon him. His mother flung the door open with so much force that it banged against the wall. His father, seated behind his imposing desk, barely glanced up, though the faint crease in his brow betrayed his irritation. “Ah, the prodigal son,” his father drawled, setting down his pen and folding his hands neatly in front of him. “We were wondering when you’d grace us with your presence.”
“Trust me, this wasn’t my idea,” Satoru muttered, rubbing his ear as his mother finally released him. He straightened his jacket with an exaggerated sigh and flopped into the chair across from his father.
“You’re lucky I didn’t drag you here sooner,” his mother said, slamming the door shut. She crossed her arms and went to stand beside her husband, her sharp gaze fixed on her son.
Satoru rolled his eyes. “Alright, what’s this about? I already know you’re mad about last week. Can’t we just skip to the part where you yell at me for being irresponsible and I promise to do better?”
His father didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached into a drawer, pulled out a folder, and slid it across the desk. “We’re not here to rehash your usual antics, Satoru. This is about something far more… shocking.”
“What’s this?”
“Open it.” His parents say in firm unison.
Satoru frowned, his carefree demeanor wavering as he picked up the folder. He opened it lazily, but his body went rigid when his eyes landed on the photograph inside—a picture of him, arms wrapped around Koji, with you standing to the side, your expression tender, smiling. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting the sudden tense silence suffocate the room.
“What the hell?” Satoru whispered, his mind racing.
His mother’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Care to explain, Satoru?”
For once, he had nothing to say.
“I….” he gulps, fists clenching around the photograph. His jaw ticks, brows furrowing in the middle. “Where did you get this?” Satoru’s voice was low.
“We could ask you the same,” his mother snapped, her tone icy. “Who is that child, Satoru?”
Satoru doesn’t answer, instead hyper-fixating on the picture. His father didn’t wait for him to respond either. “We had to hire someone to track you down after you disappeared. Imagine our surprise when they came back with this.” He gestured to the photo.
He looks back at his parents, meeting them with an equally deathly stare, blue eyes bouncing off one another. “You’ve been fucking spying on me?”
“You gave us no choice,” Akane responds, upset with her son’s tone. “You disappeared, we were worried, and now—” she huffs in disbelief. “Now we come to find out…this! What is this, Satoru?”
“Don’t talk about him like that.”
“I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” his mother counters.
Her son’s eyes turn dark, and anger beginning to rise up beneath his flesh. Willing himself to calm down and not snap. He looks between his father and mother, not even sure what to say at this moment. First, he’s pissed they sent someone to watch and follow him, second, how did he not notice? And third, they know. They fucking know. He’s barely figuring shit out on his own and now his parents are involved in the mix.
Yamato reels in a long breath, standing up from his chair. He walks out from behind his desk and stops in front of his carbon copy. “Satoru, who is that boy?”
A rhetorical question, it has to be. They just want him to admit it. They know who it is—who he is to Satoru. They’d be blind if they didn’t. Satoru gulps, biting the inside of his cheek before slowly responding. His words are hushed and careful, but filled with pride. “My son.”
Akane huffs quietly from her spot. “Oh my god.” She runs her hands through her hair, taking a seat in her husband’s chair, shaky hand fanning herself.
Neither son nor father looks at her, continuing to practically look into one another’s soul. It’s funny, he thinks. Two fathers face to face. If this was a different situation, Satoru probably would have made a snide remark about his old man looking hilarious with his wrinkly frown. The latter would then battle and say he’s not wrinkly.
But this isn't a different situation. This is a moment steeped in tension, every second thick with the weight of unspoken truths. The air feels like it's pressing down on Satoru’s chest, and the silence between them stretches unnervingly long. Yamato doesn’t break eye contact, his gaze cold, cutting through the room like a blade. "Your son," he repeats, as though testing the words in his mouth, as though the very utterance holds the power to shatter everything Satoru thought he knew about his own life.
Akane's nervous laugh breaks the heavy stillness. "I can’t even... this is just—" Her voice falters, the shock settling into a mix of disbelief and growing anger. She stands up again, pacing behind the desk, as if the movement might release the pressure building in her chest. "You’ve been hiding this? From us? All this time, Satoru?"
Satoru’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. He wants to lash out, to unleash the storm building within him, but he forces himself to stand tall, to mask the inner turmoil. His pulse is loud in his ears, the rush of blood roaring through him as his parents' words sink into him like cold nails.
But it’s Yamato’s next words that really cut deep. "You’ve been living a lie. And now it seems, so have we." Yamato’s voice is calm, but the edge is there, like a blade just under the surface, ready to slice through the fragile veneer of Satoru’s carefully constructed world.
Satoru looks down at the ground. “You guys don’t understand, I…I just found out too.”
His mother whips her head in his direction. “You what?!”
“What the hell do you mean just found out?” His father adds, in even more disbelief and confusion.
Satoru takes a slow breath, his shoulders tense as he looks up at them, meeting their incredulous stares. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he’s caught between the desire to explain everything and the overwhelming urge to stay silent, to protect the fragile piece of truth he’s only just begun to wrap his mind around. “I didn’t know,” he mutters, the words sounding foreign even to him. “I didn’t know I had a son. Until about a week ago. All of this… it’s new to me too.”
His parents stand still, processing the revelation, but the shock on their faces quickly shifts into something darker. Yamato’s expression tightens, a storm brewing behind his cold eyes. Akane's mouth opens and closes as if she’s trying to find the words, but none come. "You’re telling me," Yamato finally speaks, his voice low and menacing, "that you just found out about your own son? How does that make any damn sense?" His voice cracks on the last word, the authority and power he’s wielded for so many years suddenly slipping, revealing an underlying fury that Satoru has rarely seen.
Satoru looks away, his voice strained. “It wasn’t my choice.”
Akane's face flushes with anger, her hands shaking as she grips the edge of the desk. “This—this is absurd! We don’t even know this child!” Her voice rises in frustration, but Satoru isn’t looking at her anymore. His eyes are focused on the printed photograph still clutched tightly in his hand—the child that isn’t just a stranger, but a reflection of his own blood, staring back at him from that moment he hadn’t even known to be real.
Yamato steps closer, his gaze narrowing as he tries to force the puzzle pieces together. “You just found out… And yet, you're so protective of this child that you didn’t tell us as soon as you found out? What, you expect us to believe you’ve been kept in the dark all this time?”
Satoru’s fists clench, every nerve in his body screaming to either stand his ground or walk out. But this conversation—this confrontation—is unavoidable. He swallows hard, speaking through the tension in his chest. “I’m not lying,” he says, his voice firm, though his hands tremble. “I only learned the truth just recently..” The room falls silent. Yamato stands there, his expression unreadable, but there’s something shifting in his eyes. Something dangerous.
Akane walks over to snatch the picture out of Satoru’s hands, pointing to your figure. “Is this who I think it is?’
He nods without a second thought.
“Jesus Christ!” Akane throws her hands up, walking back to the desk. “I thought—since when—I thought you two broke up years ago, Satoru! She’s had your son this entire time?!”
His parents remember you—quite vividly, actually. The young, and sweet, but out of the league for their son. They remember the way you’d walk into a room, quiet but full of something they couldn’t quite put their finger on—strength hidden beneath the surface, even if you never showed it outright. They remember the way you’d smile shyly when they’d speak to you, eyes bright with a warmth they hadn’t seen in anyone in years. To them, you were everything they never imagined for their son—too sweet, too grounded, too otherworldly for someone like Satoru.
They remember the first time they met you, how you’d seemed so out of place in their world. They'd been skeptical at first, unsure of how you’d fit into the carefully curated life they’d built for their son. They knew Satoru, with all his charm and charm and reckless pursuit of every distraction, was always destined for someone like Himari, someone who could navigate the glitzy world they lived in. So of course, when they first heard of you, they were hesitant—maybe even disapproving. They advised Satoru to end things with you quickly, but their son was always stubborn and did things way.
You came into the picture, with your quiet resilience and soft smile, and for the first time, they saw something in their son they didn’t recognize—vulnerability. Something about you brought that out of him. And that terrified them. They thought you were the kind of woman who could have his heart in a way no one else could. They didn’t know if that was a good thing or a dangerous one. Now, looking at the picture in front of them, that same woman stands on the other side of it, framed by the memories of everything that went wrong. And in the background, a child—their grandchild—who they never even knew existed.
As charming as Satoru is, you were the first girl he brought home. With this came the first time he came to his father for ideas on what girls like for their birthday, the first time they accidentally walked in on you and Satoru in a compromising position, and the first time they heard–-consoled their son after a major heartbreak.
The first and only time, actually.
Yamato’s voice is like ice, cold and calculating. “You finished things with her, Satoru. You let her go, and you let her leave with your son. How did you have not one clue about her pregnancy?”
Akane, still shocked, looks between her husband and son, her face pale. “You were too caught up in your own damn life to notice, weren’t you? Too busy with everything else to see the consequences of it all. I thought you were having safe sex!”
Satoru grimaces slightly, guilt twisting in his gut. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know she had him. I didn’t even know until now.”
His parents exchange a glance, their expressions unreadable. Then Akane speaks, her voice sharp and cutting. “Does it matter? Does it matter that you didn’t know? What’s worse, Satoru? That you let her get away with it, or that you didn’t even care enough to find out sooner? A responsible man makes sure nothing like this happens, especially a man of your status.” Satoru can’t answer. He can’t give them what they want to hear.
Nobody says anything for longer than Satoru finds comfortable. His father leaning against his desk and rubbing a tired hand over his greying stubble. His mother continuing her dramatics, downing some water and muttering something about how she feels faint.
Finally, Yamato speaks once more, with finality in his tone. “Bring them to us.”
Satoru, immediately on the defense, shakes his head. “No, I’m not having you two chew her out and scrutinize them. They don’t deserve that.”
“No, but what we do deserve is a solution to this…” his father wants to say mess, but with a look at his son, he decides against it. “A solution. This…this changes a lot of things, Satoru. Fuck.” He sighs.
Satoru’s chest tightens at the word “solution,” as if his father is already calculating how to fix what he sees as an inconvenience, a mistake to be swept away. His hands clench into fists, but he holds his ground, knowing this conversation is about to take a turn he’s not prepared for. “I’m not having you two tear into her or my son. They’ve been through enough.”
Yamato doesn’t flinch, and doesn’t show any sign of backing down. He only looks at his son with that same icy expression. “You think I care about how you want things, Satoru? I’m telling you, this changes everything. You’ve been playing around with your life, our lives, and now there’s a child involved. You think we’re just going to let this go?” He pauses, sighing deeply as if the weight of this situation is finally starting to sink in for him, but the resentment still lingers in his voice. “This... this situation, whatever you want to call it, has consequences. And you don’t get to hide behind her or the kid forever. This isn’t just about what you want anymore.”
Satoru’s jaw tightens. “I’m not hiding behind anyone. I’m doing what’s right, even if you don’t agree with it.”
Yamato’s eyes darken, his gaze like ice, and his voice drops lower, more calculated. “You’re not doing anything, Satoru. Not yet. You don’t have a choice anymore. This changes everything. You’re going to fix this. You’re going to fix it. You’re a grown man, the heir to my legacy, and a father now apparently, so you damn well better start acting like it.”
Akane stays silent for a moment, her eyes wide as she watches the exchange, but the tension in the room grows unbearable. Finally, she speaks, her voice quieter, yet filled with frustration and disbelief. “This... this is going to affect everything. What the hell were you thinking, Satoru?”
Satoru runs a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up from deep within him. “I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t aware. But I’m not going to let you two dictate how I handle this. I’m not going to let you bully her and my son into some... I don’t know... some solution that doesn’t even make sense.”
His father’s words press down on him like a vice, and for a moment, Satoru can’t breathe. It’s not just about his son, it seems—this is bigger than that. His legacy. His future. His family. It’s all crumbling, and the pressure of it all suffocates him, the walls closing in as he tries to find the right words, something to push back against this tidal wave of expectation and control. But there’s nothing. No words that can change what’s been said. Satoru clenches his jaw, his hands trembling at his sides. He’s had enough of this, of the coldness in his father’s eyes, of the way his mother’s stare cuts through him like a blade.
“Fine,” he grits out. “Sunday. I’ll tell her to meet me at my place. But the second—and I mean the very second you two start raining it down on her, on my son, I’m kicking you both the hell out. You’re right, dad. I am a grown man, I am the heir, and I am a father. So I’ll start by protecting what’s mine—my family.” The word feels a little foreign on Satoru’s tongue. But he needs to acknowledge the reality of the situation. Sure, this is still pretty much because you couldn’t man up and tell him, but now that he’s here and involved, he’ll help. In any way he can. And that starts with making sure his parents don’t treat you like shit.
“Sunday,” Yamato repeats. “Seven sharp.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Perfect.”
“Sure is.”
Satoru turns on his heel, heading for the door, but not before he shoots his father a final, burning glance. "And don't think for a second that I'll let you use my son as some kind of leverage in this mess. You cross that line, and there will be hell to pay."
Yamato watches him leave, his expression unreadable, but his eyes cold with something unreadable. Akane, still fanning herself, watches the exchange with a mix of disbelief and frustration, but says nothing. The air in the room thickens, a silent understanding hanging between the three of them. Satoru slams the door behind him, the force of it vibrating through the walls. As he steps into the hallway, the weight of the situation settles on him like a stone. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, his jaw set.
He'll do whatever it takes to protect you and Koji. Even if it means standing against his own parents. The idea feels strange, foreign even, but it’s the only way forward now.
This is his family.
And he’ll burn the world down to keep them safe.
Walking Koji back home from school that day, he’s chatting your ear off about the cool bugs he found on the playground that day. As you walk beside him, Koji's excitement is almost contagious. His small voice is animated, recounting every little detail about the bugs he discovered—how the ladybug was red with black spots and how he tried to catch a dragonfly but it flew away too fast. You smile softly, nodding along to his rambling, your eyes flicking down to his eager face.
“Sounds like you had a good day today, baby.”
“I did! I love school so much, Mama. Mr. Ito says I’m the smartest kid in class.”
You grimace at the mention of his teacher. You’ve luckily been able to miss him when dropping Koji off and picking him up today; but it still doesn’t deter from the fact that you’re uncomfortable that man is teaching your son, around him and many other children every day. You entertain the idea of switching schools, but you don’t think that’s possible. The other closest school is a forty-minute walk, a fifteen-minute drive. And you can’t afford that. Not to mention the tedious paperwork you’d have to go through. As long as his teacher keeps his advances in tow and doesn’t try anything funny with your son, you think you can stand seeing his face every day for a few more months until the school year ends.
The two of you make it to the lobby of your complex before you see Mr. Sato leaning against the counter, talking with the receptionist. Your lips purse, steps faltering for a slight moment before making your way over to him. “Hello, Mr. Sato.” You visibly see him stiffen; which confuses you. “I…I’d like to discuss the money issue with you.”
He gulps down his coffee, almost hesitantly turning to face you. “...Ms. Y/N.” The way he greets you feels even more weird. Why is he suddenly acting so scared? Weren’t you just threatening my ass a few days ago? Never mind that. You shake your head, clearing your throat. “I wanted to tell you that I don’t really…have the money right now. I know it’s an inconvenience for you and a burden on my part, but I’m willing to do whatev—”
“No need,” he cuts you off, hand waving in the air.
You stop, head tilting. Did you hear him right? “I-I’m sorry?”
“I said no need. I already got the money.”
Now you’re really confused. Brows twitching as a wave of cautiousness passes over you. Is he tricking you? What the hell do you mean you got the money? “You…what? But, how? I didn’t….”
“Your husband paid it yesterday.”
“What?! I don’t have a husband.”
“Oh,” Mr. Sato tilts his head, looking down at Koji. “well, his father. He paid it yesterday.”
It’s like a bucket of ice cold water is dumped over you. Huffing out in disbelief, confusion, and annoyance. “Wait, wait. He…paid it? All of it…?”
Mr. Sato nods, then shifts on his feet. “And then some, I’ve applied it to next month, so you don’t have to worry about that..”
A knot forms in your stomach. You can’t process it. Why would Satoru do that? The money, the rent, the fact that he paid it all without saying a word. Without asking you first. You’re supposed to be handling this on your own, not relying on him to bail you out. But the reality of it settles in, cold and heavy. He knows you’re struggling–-pretty damn badly too. Your heart races, a strange mix of emotions stirring within you—confusion, anger, humiliation. "I didn’t ask him to do that," you mutter, your hands trembling slightly as you try to steady your thoughts. Is he going to confront you about this too now? Say how horrible of a mother you are that you can’t keep a shitty apartment? Is he building up reasons to take Koji?
Mr. Sato shrugs, then turns away from you once more. "Doesn’t matter. It’s done. He seemed pretty intent on making sure everything was covered for you.”
You don’t know how to respond to that. The idea of Satoru swooping in like some kind of white knight, fixing things without a word, twists something deep inside you. Why? The simple question hangs there, unanswered, heavy in the air between you. You glance down at Koji, who’s still holding your hand, oblivious to the tension building between you and Mr. Sato. “Thanks, I guess,” you say, your voice distant, almost hollow. It feels like the only thing you can say, even if it doesn’t feel like enough.
Mr. Sato offers a quick nod. “No problem.”
As you and Koji walk away, your mind races, the question lingering in the air: What does Satoru want from all this? And more importantly, why the hell didn’t he tell you? It feels strange and almost invasive to have him literally pay your rent for you. Does he think he can just come in and save the day? Does he think I need him that bad? Why didn’t he tell me?
It feels like a violation, in a way. Like he’s come in and taken control of something that was supposed to be your responsibility. It’s hard to swallow. The pride you’ve worked so hard to hold onto, the independence you’ve clung to, feels shattered with just a few actions and no explanation–-and with such little ease. As you walk into your apartment, you feel the weight of his decisions hanging over you like a dark cloud. Why couldn’t he just let you handle things? You’re blatantly reminded of just how different you two are, of how much better he can provide for Koji than you can.
The problem isn’t just about the rent. It’s about him stepping in without a word, without so much as a “Do you need help?” Does he think I can’t do this on my own? You feel a sting in your chest, like a raw nerve exposed, and the overwhelming urge to scream at the world for being so damn complicated. Koji’s chatter fades into the background as you make it to the door, choosing to sit down on the couch, and pulling your knees up to your chest. What now? You’ve never asked for help from Satoru before, and now it feels like he’s swooped in and taken control, expecting gratitude in return. But how do you even thank someone who’s come in, solved your problems without asking, and left you feeling like you were never meant to stand on your own? What’s he trying to prove? You don’t know if you’re angry at him for doing something you couldn’t or angry at yourself for feeling so vulnerable, like a little piece of you just slipped away. The worst part is that you don't know how to feel about it all.
Thankful?
Happy?
Annoyed?
Angered?
Which of those is valid enough for this situation?
The minute you’re on break at your second job, you pull out your phone and call the devil himself.
He picks up a ring later.
“Hel—”
“What are you doing?”
There’s a pause. “Um…in the office?”
“No, you idiot. I mean what the hell do you think you’re trying to prove here?”
“...that I’m a good worker?”
Jesus, could he be even more stupid? “You paid my rent for me?”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end, and you can almost hear him thinking, trying to figure out how to spin this. "Yeah, I did," he finally admits, and there's no apology in his voice, just plain confession.
"Why?" The question comes out sharper than you intended, a mixture of frustration and confusion. "Why would you do that without saying anything? Do you think I need your help? Is that it? Just swoop in like a damn knight in shining armor?"
He doesn't immediately respond, and you’re almost certain he’s frowning on the other end. Finally, his voice breaks through the tension. "Listen," he starts, a little too casual for your liking. "I really don’t understand why you’re angry about this, okay? Your landlord came over when you were at work and said you needed four thousand dollars. I just didn’t want you to worry about it, and I didn’t want Koji to see you stress over something like that. It’s not a big deal, it’s handled."
You roll your eyes, the anger simmering beneath the surface. "You don't get it, Satoru. This isn't about whether or not I’m stressing or angered over it. It's about you barging in and making decisions for me, like I can’t handle my own life."
His sigh comes through loud and clear, like he’s just too tired to deal with you right now. "I didn’t make the decision for you, I just—"
"—Paid my rent without asking? You don’t get to play the ‘I’m just helping’ card here! You could’ve at least talked to me first. Why didn’t you tell me? Why hide it from me?"
There’s a shift in his tone, like he’s getting a bit more fed up as the conversation continues. "I didn’t think it was necessary. You’ve been so damn silent about everything. I don’t know if it’s pride or what. But I get it—believe me, I do. But sometimes, pride gets in the way of... I don’t know, survival?"
"Survival?" You nearly choke on the word, incredulous. "Is that what you think this is? Some kind of game to you? You think I can’t survive on my own?"
The silence stretches between you two, thick with unspoken things. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, and then, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks. "Look, I did what I did because I wanted to," he says quietly, the weight of the words heavier than anything he’s said so far. "But if you’re angry about it, then...I won’t do it again. It wasn’t meant to make you feel like... like you can’t handle things. I just thought, maybe it’d be one less thing for you to worry about."
You’re quiet for a long moment, still processing his words, the mixture of emotions swirling in your chest. "You’ve got a funny way of showing care, Satoru," you mutter, and there's a bitter laugh on the other end of the phone.
"Yeah, I know," he admits, voice tinged with regret. "I don’t always get it right." A small, reluctant part of you softens at the sound of his sincerity, but the rest of you remains hard, unresolved. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thoughts. "You just—you have to tell me in advance about these things. This is a big deal to me.”
He nods, though you can’t see it. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel inferior, I promise.”
You close your eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. "Just... don’t do it again."
He’s quiet for a moment, and then—"Alright, alright. I’ll back off, Y/N. But you will tell me next time if you need help, understood?"
You bite your lip, trying to suppress the unexpected, but familiar warmth spread through you at his words. "Understood," you mutter, rolling your eyes again even as you can feel the beginnings of a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.
It’s a mess. But at least he’s trying. At least you are.
You’re about to say your goodbye when he stops you. “Hey, um…so I was actually going to call you too.”
“Oh,” you reply, leaning your back against the wall. “Okay well, did you need something?’
“Yeah, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
He pauses again, mulling over how to exactly give this to you easily. “So…my parents found out. About Koji.”
You don’t say anything. The words hang in the air between you, and you feel a chill run down your spine. Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s joking. But the seriousness in his voice tells you that this is no joke.
His parents found out.
You push yourself off the wall, your hand instinctively curling into a fist at your side. "What do you mean, found out? How? When?"
He lets out a long, heavy sigh. "They’ve had someone watching me for a while now because I haven’t been to the office. Apparently, the guy showed them a picture of me with Koji and you, and they…yeah."
The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. "Great," you mutter, voice tinged with disbelief. "So now they know. What, are they gonna show up at my door and demand answers too?"
There’s an uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line before Satoru responds, his voice tight. "It’s not like that. They won’t do anything... yet. But they want to meet Koji, see him, and... they want to talk to you. They’ve got a lot of questions."
Your chest tightens. You feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Talk to me? "I’m not doing this. I’m not putting my son through that," you snap, your tone colder than you intended. "Why would they even want to meet him? He’s not some... pawn in their game."
"I know," Satoru says quickly, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. "But they’re my parents, and they’ve always been controlling. They think they have a right to know him, to know everything. I’m just telling you because I didn’t want you to be blindsided."
You take a slow, steadying breath, trying to push down the rising anger and panic that’s swirling inside you. This is bad. This is really bad.
"They want to see us?" you ask, your voice quieter now, more composed.
"They do" he answers reluctantly. "But you don’t have to. It’s your choice, okay? You don’t have to see them again if you’re not ready."
You close your eyes, your mind racing through the possibilities. You didn’t want this—didn’t want your life tangled up in his family’s politics and power games. But now, it feels like there’s no escaping it. "I’ll think about it," you say, voice soft but firm.
"Take your time," he replies, his tone gentler now. "Just know that... I’ll be there, no matter what you decide."
A part of you wants to believe him, wants to trust that he’s not just playing at being the hero. But another part of you is cautious, knowing the situation is far from simple." Okay," you finally say, the word heavy on your lips. "When did they wanna see us?"
“Sunday. At seven, my place.”
“Fuck,” you heavily breathe out, using your hand to sift through your hair. “That’s…that’s really soon, Satoru.”
“I know, I’m sorry. They just told me all this today.”
You bite your lip, conflicted. You know it is an inevitable thing to see his parents again. But it’s been so long and times have most definitely changed. You’re not sure if you’re exactly ready for that. But would you only be prolonging this?
“Just let me know by tomorrow—preferably,” Satoru adds.
“...okay. Yeah.”
“Okay.”
There’s an awkward gap between you two. Not sure if you should keep this conversation going. It almost feels like your first time calling each other. The silence stretches between you both, thick and uncomfortable. You can almost hear the uncertainty in his breath on the other end of the line, as though he’s unsure what to say next, or perhaps he's waiting for you to take the lead. You want to say something, anything, but the words feel stuck in your throat. There’s so much you could say, but none of it feels right. You’re not sure what he expects from you, or what you expect from him. Finally, you break the silence, your voice quieter than usual. “I’ll think about it. But...this isn’t just something I can decide on a whim.”
“I know,” Satoru responds, his tone more serious now. “I’m not rushing you. I just... I just want to make sure you’re okay with everything.”
You exhale sharply, not sure if that reassures you or not. The weight of the situation feels heavier now, but there’s still a part of you that wants to believe he’s being genuine. That he’s trying to do the right thing, even though you know deep down that the stakes are much higher than just making it through a conversation with his parents. “Right,” you reply, your tone quieter, more resigned. “I’ll... I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“Take care,” he says, the words soft but weighted with meaning.
"Yeah. You too," you mutter before ending the call, the finality of it leaving a lingering tension in the air.
As you slide your phone back into your pocket, you let out a long breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You're not sure what to expect anymore, not from Satoru, not from his family, and certainly not from yourself. But one thing is certain: this is only the beginning, and you wonder if you’re ready for what comes next. All you know is that you have to protect Koji at all costs. And now, it seems, you have to face the consequences of Satoru’s family knowing the truth.
The next day is bright and sunny, contrasting with the chill of the wind that threatens to break your skin out in goosebumps if it weren’t for your thick layers. Snowfall is supposed to begin soon, Koji told you after learning it in school. He’s excited, which makes you happy to see. He’s always loved snow, you’d make snowmen, throw snowballs, and make snow angels. You have many pictures stored in your phone of him with the white mess of cushion around him, or him holding a snowflake, anything. You take a lot of pictures of your son, mundane or not. Memories you’ll forever cherish so you can look back on them when he’s older.
Walking through town with your little boy for a little day out. The money you were saving up for the rent is now being put to use for some sweet treats and little action figures. The sound of Koji’s laughter fills the crisp air as he hops excitedly from one foot to the other, clutching the small action figures of Spiderman and Ironman in his hands, his cheeks flushed from the cold. His excitement is contagious, and for a moment, the worries of yesterday feel distant, pushed away by the simple joy of spending time with him.
You pass by a few familiar shops, your eyes catching on window displays that seem to taunt you with their prices. You shake your head, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as Koji pulls you towards a small toy store. The lights in the window sparkle with the holiday season, and for a brief moment, it feels like you could stay in this little bubble, far removed from everything else—Satoru, his parents, and the looming uncertainty about what comes next. But even as Koji chatters away beside you, excitedly telling you about the toys he's picked out, the weight of your situation still lingers in the back of your mind. You glance down at your son, trying to focus on the here and now. You’re doing this for him. He deserves moments like these—moments where life feels simple, filled with nothing but happiness and warmth.
“Mom, look!” Koji pulls your attention, his face beaming as he holds up a small snow globe he found in the shop window. The glittering snowflakes inside the glass swirl around, and you can see the way his eyes light up. “Can we get it?”
You smile, reaching down to gently ruffle his hair. “Of course, we can.” As you walk into the store, the bell above the door jingles, and for a second, it feels like you’re stepping into another world. It’s warm, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla filling the air, and it’s so different from the cold outside. For a brief moment, everything feels manageable. Just you and Koji, making memories.
But then, the thought of the phone call from Satoru yesterday creeps back into your mind. You promised you’d think about it, but now, with Koji so happy beside you, you wonder: Can you really keep up this facade? Can you keep pretending like everything is okay when you're not sure where any of this is headed? You shake your head, trying to push those thoughts aside for the time being. Right now, there’s only Koji, only the two of you enjoying a quiet moment of peace in a world that feels anything but peaceful.
“Let’s get that snow globe,” you say softly, even though you know it’s a small treat in the grand scheme of things. But maybe that’s all you can give him for now. Small moments of happiness.
After your purchases, you two make your way to a stand selling hot chocolate. A delicacy that your boy absolutely loves. As you’re paying for the small drink, opting to share with Koji, a familiar voice catches your ears. You turn to look in the direction of the loud voice.
“Thank you all for coming out today, I know it’s a little chilly. But we’re having many fun activities planned, with prizes. Who’s excited?”
The small crowd whoops in agreeance.
With interest, you’re guiding Koji over to the voice, tilting your neck up. You see Suguru standing with a microphone in hand, smiling kindly. The tip of his nose is tinted red, adorning a shirt that says, "Building futures, one child at a time." You recognize it as the slogan on his business card that he gave you.
It’s been a while since you last spoke to him or saw him, the last thing you remembered was him finding out your personal information while you were broken up with Satoru all these years. A frown pulls at your lips, but it’s hard to keep it up when young children rush up to him. Shouting “Mr. Geto!”
You’ve always known Suguru was very good with children, but seeing him now in his element feels wholesome. Cute, you think.
“Mama, that’s your friend. Do we go say hi?” Koji asks, sipping his drink.
For a second, you hesitate. Fearing it’ll be awkward, but you decide it wouldn’t hurt. So, with a nod, you two are walking through the crowd and to Suguru.
As you make your way through the crowd, you notice Suguru’s easy interaction with the kids. They surround him, tugging at his sleeves and laughing as he kneels to their height, his smile never faltering. The sight of him in his element makes you feel a strange mixture of warmth and hesitation. He’s clearly a natural with kids, and it’s hard not to admire how comfortable he seems, especially after all the tension that has hung between the two of you.
When you finally reach him, Suguru notices. His eyes widen slightly before he straightens up. A soft smile forms on his face, and he straightens his shirt with a little chuckle. "Well, look who decided to show up." he says, his tone light and friendly, almost as if there’s no time at all between now and the last time you spoke. “Hi, Koji,” he greets, his voice warm as he crouches down to your son’s level, who’s holding a drink in both hands and looking up at Suguru with wide eyes.
"Hi," Koji replies enthusiastically, his eyes bright. “What are you doing here today?”
Suguru laughs, his gaze flicking back to you for a brief moment before he answers. “I try to help however I can. It’s all about giving back to the community, especially for kids like you, Koji. You’re the future.” He winks at your son, causing him to giggle and squirm a little from the attention.
You can’t help but smile at the interaction, but the knot in your stomach tightens. It’s hard to shake off the awkwardness of your previous encounters with Suguru. You’re not sure what to say now, especially since Koji is so at ease with him. Suguru shifts his attention to you, his expression gentle but knowing. "How’ve you been? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?" His tone isn’t pressing, just an easy question, though you sense the unspoken weight behind it.
You nod, still caught in the familiarity of his presence, but unsure of how much to reveal. "Yeah, it’s been a while." You pause, taking a breath before adding, “So, what’s all this?”
“Fundraiser, we hold one every month,” Suguru explains with a warm smile, his voice carrying an easy confidence. “We do one every month. All the proceeds go to local programs for kids. Things like scholarships, school supplies, and community events. It's a way to give back, especially to kids who might not have access to these kinds of opportunities otherwise."
You take in his words, surprised by how much he’s dedicated to this cause. "I didn't realize you were this involved," you admit, watching as more children approach Suguru, clearly looking up to him.
“Yeah," Suguru chuckles, glancing at the growing crowd. "I really believe in it. This is what I want to do with my life now, and it’s been a rewarding journey. Kids are the future, you know? It's just about giving them the right tools to grow."
You can’t help but be impressed. Suguru always had ambition, but hearing him speak so passionately about his work hits differently now. There’s a quiet weight to his words, as if he’s found his purpose. “You've come a long way,” you say, not able to hide the slight smile tugging at your lips. "I'm glad to see you're doing something meaningful."
Suguru waves it off, his smile a little sheepish. "It’s really the kids who make it fun. I’m just happy I can help make something like this happen." There’s a brief pause between you two, the familiar tension that used to hang in the air now replaced by a quieter, unspoken understanding.
Suguru looks at you. “But, thank you, Y/N. It feels good. And it’s nice to see someone who remembers where I started." The familiarity of the moment hangs in the air between you, the unspoken history still lingering. You remember the time when things were simpler, before everything became complicated and messy. Suguru was always someone you could rely on, someone who was easy to talk to.
Koji pulls on your sleeve, his voice bright. "Mom, can I play the game over there?" You glance over at the game booth he’s pointing to, noticing it’s one of those dart-throwing games. You’re about to nod, but Suguru cuts in.
"Let me give you both some tickets," he says, already reaching into his pocket. "For the games. My treat." You’re about to protest, but Suguru’s gaze stops you. “Really, it’s no problem. It’s the least I can do after everything.”
You swallow the retort on your tongue, a mix of gratitude and reluctance bubbling inside you. “Alright, thanks,” you say quietly. He hands you the tickets with a smile, his demeanor still easygoing.
As you two are walking, watching Koji play games, he decides now’s the time to actually talk. “Y/N, I’m sorry about—”
“You don’t need to apologize again,” you cut him off, putting your hands in your coat pockets. “I heard you, so don’t worry.”
He purses his lips. “Are you sure? I mean, I understand if you’re still put off, I would be too.”
You watch Koji and go silent for a moment. His words lingering in your mind before you switch the subject. “Did Satoru tell you I spoke with him?”
“Oh, yeah,” he scratches at his head. “How was it? I heard it from his perspective, but what about yours?”
“Could’ve been better, could’ve been worse.” Suguru nods, not wanting to pry anymore. Your vague answers are enough. “His parents found out too.”
“What?” he asks in bewilderment. “T-They did? How? What did they say?”
“Satoru said they sent someone to watch him because he was missing from work for a while. They weren’t very happy, and they want to see Koji and me tomorrow.”
“Shit,” Suguru shakes his head. “Are you going to?”
“I feel like I have no choice but to. It’s not like I can avoid this forever.”
“You always have a choice, Y/N.”
You glance at him, his words catching you off guard. “Do I, though? They’re his family, Suguru. And like it or not, Koji deserves to know where he comes from.”
“I get that,” he says, crossing his arms, his expression thoughtful. “But just because they’re family doesn’t mean they automatically get to dictate everything. You have a say in this too. Don’t let them push you around.”
You nod, appreciating his words but still feeling the overwhelming pressure of the situation. “I’ll try. I just...I don’t want to make things harder for Koji.”
Suguru places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You won’t. You’re his mom. As long as you’re looking out for him, you’re doing what’s right.”
His reassurance is a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty you’re swimming in. You give him a faint smile, grateful for his support. “Thanks, Suguru.”
“Anytime,” he replies, his voice soft but genuine. “And if you need backup, you know where to find me.”
You laugh lightly, the tension in your chest easing for just a moment. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Walking home after that day out, putting Koji to take a nap, cleaning up a bit, you send Satoru a text.
“We’ll come. Send me your address.”
You arrive to Satoru’s penthouse with Koji in tow thirty minutes early. Koji was wowing the entire train ride here, even now as he looks up at the large and tall building before him, his eyes are wide with child-like amusement. A part of you feels bad that he’s getting this excited over buildings and nice lights, but hey, you would be too if all you were accustomed to was the other side of town.
The two of you step out of the cab, Koji’s small hand in yours. It practically glows under the evening sky, reflecting the city lights like something out of a movie. Koji’s awe is palpable, his mouth slightly open as he marvels at the sheer size of the structure. “Mama,” he tugs on your hand, his eyes not leaving the building. “Do people actually live in places like this? Like...all the time?”
You chuckle softly, though there’s a slight pang in your chest. “Yeah, Koji. Some people do.”
“It’s so cool,” he breathes, craning his neck as far as it can go. “Do they have their own rooms? And toys? And candy?”
“Probably,” you say with a light laugh, gently guiding him toward the entrance. “But don’t get too excited, okay? We’re just here to visit.”
As you step inside, the pristine marble floors and sleek, modern design hit you instantly. The lobby is massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows and expensive-looking furniture scattered about. Even the air feels different—cleaner, cooler, like it’s filtered or something. A well-dressed doorman greets you with a polite nod, and you awkwardly return it, not quite sure how to act in a place this fancy. Koji, however, is too busy looking around, his eyes darting from the chandelier to the grand piano in the corner. “Mama, look! That’s a real piano! Like the one on TV!”
“Yeah, I see it,” you murmur, trying to stay focused. The feeling of being out of place creeps up on you, but you push it aside. This isn’t about you—it’s about Koji. When you reach the elevator, you press the button for the top floor, and the doors slide open with a soft chime. Stepping inside, Koji bounces on his heels, still brimming with excitement. “Do you think it’s like the movies where the elevator talks?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.
You smile, ruffling his hair. “We’ll see, bud.” The elevator glides upward so smoothly that you barely feel it moving. Koji’s little gasp of excitement when the numbers light up makes you chuckle again, though your stomach tightens as you near the top. You realize Satoru’s space is on the highest floor. Thirty seconds later, the doors open to reveal a sleek, private hallway with only one door at the end. “This is it, Koji,” you say, taking a deep breath as you step out of the elevator. “Are you ready?”
Koji nods enthusiastically, gripping your hand tighter. “Ready!”
You walk toward the door, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. It feels heavier with every step, but you keep moving forward. Reaching the door, you hesitate for a moment, then press the doorbell. A moment later, the door swings open to reveal Satoru, looking as casual as ever—with a hint of nervousness in a loose sweater and jeans. His bright blue eyes light up when he sees Koji. “Hey, you two made it.” he says, stepping aside to let you in. “Come on in. Koji, welcome to my place.”
Koji’s jaw drops as he takes in the massive living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. “This is your house?!”
Satoru grins, picking him up. “Sure is, kiddo. What do you think?”
Koji looks up at you with wide eyes. “Mama, this is way cooler than the buildings outside!”
You laugh nervously, squeezing Koji’s hand. “Yeah, it’s...something.”
Satoru walks around his place, watching the two of you with a small smile. “Make yourselves comfortable. And hey, I promise this’ll go smoother than you think.”
“You’re saying that now,” you mutter with a grimace.
“C’mon, just trust me. I’m here.”
The phrase causes you to clear your throat awkwardly, a sudden memory hitting you—one you push down quickly. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Want some water? Juice?”
“No juice for him, he had a candy on the way here.”
“But Mamaaaaaa,” Koji whines, dragging out his words. “Please, I want some of Papa’s juice.”
“I have all kinds of juice, little man. Red juice, pink juice, green juice.”
“Green?!”
“Mhm.”
“I wan—”
“Satoru.” You say, firmness in your voice. Arms crossing. “I said no juice.”
Satoru’s smile falters as he registers your intonation, his eyes flicking to yours like he’s trying to decipher something. The room feels heavier suddenly, like the air between you is crackling with something unspoken. “Alright,” he says softly, straightening up. “No juice. Got it.” The tone of his response catches you off guard, almost making you feel like you’d scolded him instead of your son. You shift uncomfortably, glancing at Koji, who’s now frowning. Satoru sets him down, to which he gets easily distracted by the shiny skyscrapers outside, rushing over to the large floor to ceiling windows.
Satoru steps back, running a hand through his hair. “I was just trying to—” He stops himself, shaking his head with a dry laugh. “Never mind.”
You exhale, feeling a pang of guilt but unsure why. “It’s not... Look, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” he cuts in, his tone lighter but his eyes saying something else. “You’re right. Mama’s rules. I’ll stick to them.”
There’s an awkward pause, and you find yourself staring at him, searching his face for... what, exactly? He catches you looking, and for a brief, jarring moment, you’re back in a place you swore you’d moved on from—a place where his charm felt like safety and his presence could undo you. Your stomach is already feeling warm. You snap out of it quickly, clearing your throat. “Thanks. For understanding.”
Satoru tilts his head slightly, his gaze lingering. “Always.”
It feels like a strange promise, one that hangs in the air too long before Koji interrupts, shouting, “Mama! Look, it’s snowing!”
The tension breaks, and you turn to the window, grateful for the distraction. “Wow, it is,” you say, forcing a smile.
Behind you, Satoru’s voice is quiet but pointed. “Snow’s always a fresh start, right?”
You don’t respond, unsure if he’s talking about the weather—or the two of you. Focusing on the snowfall, Satoru takes this moment to side-glance at you. He almost curses himself for wanting to comment on how pretty you look. Not now. But for some reason, his hand is inching up as it it’s about to move a strand of hair out your eye, until you look at him. “Can I use your bathroom?”
He coughs out, quickly bringing his hand to his nose and wiping at it. Real smooth, Satoru. “Yeah, sure. Down this hall to your right.”
“Thank you.”
“Mhm,” he can’t resist watching you leave, eyes moving down to your ass. His stare lingers even when you’re out of sight. The sound of Koji’s voice bringing him back down to Earth.
“Why do you stare at Mama like that?”
“What? I’m not staring.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not.”
“Why are you lying, Papa?”
“Kid…”
“But it’s normal, right? You and Mama are married.”
God, his innocence is too sweet for Satoru. How exactly can his explain your relationship to the young boy? Not now at least and especially not without you. Hopefully when his son learns the truth one day, he won’t grow to somehow resent him. Or you. Satoru’s throat tightens at Koji’s words. The boy's wide, trusting eyes make the situation ten times harder than it already is. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to think of a response that won’t shatter Koji’s innocence or dig himself into a deeper hole. “Well, uh…” he starts, stalling. “Sometimes grown-ups have… complicated relationships.”
Koji tilts his head, frowning in confusion. “What’s complicated mean?”
Satoru lets out a nervous laugh, ruffling Koji’s hair. “It means… not everything is simple, kiddo. Like math problems that don’t make sense at first.”
Koji wrinkles his nose. “I don’t like math.”
“Exactly,” Satoru says with a relieved grin. “Neither do I. Let’s stick to the fun stuff, okay?”
“Okay, they’re here.”
You take in a deep breath, holding Koji closer to your chest as he sits on your lap. Satoru’s dining room chairs feel too stiff for a situation like this. He’s standing—pacing, and checking his phone constantly after his mother just texted him they were coming up. The tension in the air is suffocating. You grip Koji just a little tighter, your fingers absentmindedly brushing over his soft hair as a way to ground yourself. The stiffness of the chair beneath you feels like punishment, but maybe it’s just nerves crawling into every corner of your body.
Across the room, Satoru paces like a man trying to walk off a bad decision. His long legs carry him back and forth in front of the large windows, the city lights behind him casting an almost surreal glow. He checks his phone again, the screen lighting up briefly before he shoves it into his pocket with a frustrated sigh. You bite your lip, trying not to snap. “You pacing like that isn’t helping.”
He stops mid-step, glancing at you with a mixture of guilt and irritation. “You think I don’t know that? They texted ‘coming up’ five minutes ago. How long does it take to ride an elevator?”
You arch a brow. “You live on the thirty-fourth floor.”
He huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t change the fact that this feels like the longest elevator ride in history.”
Koji, oblivious to the storm brewing between the adults, tilts his head up at you. “Mama, why are you squishing me?”
“Oh,” you blink, loosening your grip immediately. “Sorry, baby.”
Koji giggles, wiggling to get more comfortable. “It’s okay. Papa’s the one acting funny.”
You glance at Satoru, who’s resumed pacing, his jaw tight. “Yeah,” you mutter, half to yourself. “He’s definitely acting funny.” Before either of you can say more, there’s a sharp knock at the door. It’s like the room collectively holds its breath. Koji perks up curiously, his innocent smile the only light in this tense moment.
Satoru freezes, staring at the door as if it might explode. “Okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. “Here we go.”
He crosses the room in a few long strides, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a split second before he pulls it open. And there they are. His parents, Yamato and Akane Gojo, standing like an imposing force just outside the threshold. Yamato is tall and sharp-eyed, his tailored suit as immaculate as his demeanor. Akane, with her perfectly styled hair and the kind of elegance that demands attention, steps in with an unreadable expression. For a moment, the room feels even smaller. Their eyes sweep over you and Koji, pausing on the boy who’s now hiding his face in your shoulder.
“Hello,” Akane says, her voice smooth but laced with something unplaceable. “I believe we have a lot to discuss.”
You gulp and nod as they come closer, Satoru closing the door and quickly making his way to sit beside you. “Nice to see you two again.” The phrase feels hollow and fake on your tongue, but what exactly should you say to them?
Yamato hums as he and his wife sit across from you and Satoru. Their eyes instantly landing on Koji who regards them with a nervous, child-like expression. “This is the boy.”
“Yes,” Satoru answers. “Koji.”
Yamato’s gaze lingers on Koji, sharp and calculating, as though he’s analyzing every detail of the child. Koji squirms slightly under the weight of the attention, pressing closer to you. You instinctively wrap an arm around him, protective. Akane's expression softens just a touch, but it’s subtle—barely enough to ease the tension in the room. “He looks like you, Satoru,” she comments, her voice light but with an underlying edge.
Satoru shifts beside you, his posture stiff. “Yeah, well… genetics and all.”
You glance at him, suppressing an eyeroll. Now’s not the time for his half-hearted attempts at humor. Yamato finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “And how long has this been… a secret?”
The question feels like a slap, even though you were expecting it. You glance down at Koji, unsure of how much to say in front of him. Satoru clears his throat, leaning forward slightly. “Look, I didn’t find out about Koji until recently,” he admits, his tone surprisingly steady. “And as soon as I did, I took responsibility. That’s why we’re here now.”
Yamato’s eyes flick to you, cold and questioning. “And you? Why keep this from him?”
You feel your heart drop, but you refuse to let their judgment pin you down. “I had my reasons,” you say, your voice firm despite the way your palms are sweating. “It wasn’t an easy decision, but I did what I thought was best for my son.”
“And best for Satoru?” Akane interjects, her tone calm but pointed.
You hesitate, unsure how to answer without sounding defensive. Before you can respond, Satoru leans back, his arms crossed. “Enough,” he says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “This isn’t about blame. It’s about Koji. He’s here now, and I want him to be part of my life. That’s all that matters.”
Kaede studies him for a long moment, then shifts her gaze back to Koji. “What about the boy? Does he even know who we are?”
Koji glances up at you, his small fingers clutching your sleeve. “Mama?” he whispers.
You force a smile, brushing a hand through his hair. “It’s okay, baby. These are… your grandparents.”
Koji’s eyes widen, curiosity replacing some of his nervousness. “Grandparents? Like in the stories?”
Satoru can’t help but chuckle softly, breaking some of the tension. “Yeah, kid. Like in the stories.”
For a moment, the room feels lighter, but Yamato’s expression doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll need to decide what role we play in his story,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. Your stomach twists, and Satoru’s jaw tightens. This conversation is far from over.
Satoru leans forward, his hands clasped on the table, tension rolling off him. “You don’t get to ‘decide’ anything, Dad. Koji is my son, and I’ll handle how he fits into this family.”
Yamato’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “You think this is just about you, Satoru? This affects all of us—the Gojo name, our reputation. Your actions have consequences, and it’s my job to ensure they don’t spiral out of control.”
You bristle at his tone, your arm tightening around Koji. “Koji is not some ‘consequence,’ Mr. Gojo. He’s a child. Your grandson. Maybe you should start there instead of worrying about appearances.”
Akane's gaze flickers between you and her husband, her expression unreadable. “Yamato,” she says softly, placing a hand on his arm. “Let’s not lose sight of what’s important here.” Yamato exhales sharply, but he doesn’t respond, his eyes still locked on Satoru.
“Look,” Satoru says, his voice lowering. “I get it. This isn’t ideal for you. But Koji is here, and I’m not going to let him feel like he’s some kind of mistake. He’s part of this family whether you like it or not.”
There’s a pause, heavy and suffocating, before Akane finally speaks. “He’s very handsome,” she says, her tone softer now. “I see the resemblance to you, Satoru. But I also see… her.” She glances at you, and for the first time, her expression isn’t cold. However, that doesn’t mean there’s complete acceptance there. She looks down at her lap with a sigh. “If only it was someone of higher class.”
You and Satoru equally clench your jaw, eyes narrowing.
Koji looks up at you, then at Satoru. “Papa, what’s a ‘rep-…repu-shun’?”
Satoru chuckles despite himself. “It’s something adults worry about too much, buddy. Don’t worry about it.”
Yamato’s lips twitch as if he’s holding back a retort, but Akane cuts in before he can speak. “Koji,” she says gently, leaning slightly forward. “Do you like sweets?”
Koji nods, his nervousness giving way to excitement. “Yes! I like cookies and cake and green juice!”
Kaede smiles faintly. “Maybe next time you visit, I can make some cookies for you. Would you like that?”
Koji’s face lights up, and he nods enthusiastically. “Yes, please!”
You’re caught off guard by the gesture, but you stay silent, observing the interaction. First she bashes your status and now she’s trying to be the sweet grandma. Satoru shifts beside you, his hand brushing against yours briefly. It’s so subtle you almost miss it, but the warmth lingers, grounding you. You could’ve sworn he lets it linger there purposely.
Yamato clears his throat, “You understand your role as heir, yes, Satoru? Having children of your own to pass the legacy down to,” he says, his tone clipped.
You purse your lips. “I don’t want my son being involved in something he doesn’t have to.”
“This isn’t a choice,” Akane responds. “Although this situation is less than savory, and although we woul’ve much preferred a…different candiate. This is the reality, so your father and I have made arranagemnts.”
“You’re not doing anything without telling Y/N or I first. This is our son.” Satoru firmly says.
Yamato cuts in. “Listen, Satoru. This is just how it is. When he grows older, it’s up to you to teach him and pass things down. As of now, no one will know. Not the public, the company, investors, nobody. Until we, ourselves, have a better hold on things, this will stay under wraps.”
Your stomach twists as the weight of their words sinks in. Their calculated demeanor, their cold insistence—it’s everything you despised about this family’s way of thinking. Koji isn’t just some pawn in their grand scheme; he’s your child. “Under wraps?” you snap, unable to hold back. “What does that even mean? You expect us to keep Koji’s existence a secret like he’s some kind of dirty little secret? That’s not what I want for my son, I want him to have a normal and innocent childhood.”
Akane's expression barely falters. “This is for his protection, as well as the family’s reputation. The world can be… cruel, especially when it comes to matters like this. It’s better to control the narrative than let it control us.”
Satoru scoffs, crossing his arms. “Control the narrative? He’s five, Mom. He doesn’t need a narrative. He needs parents who care about him, not a PR strategy.”
Yamato pinches the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t up for debate, Satoru. You’re the heir. Koji is your responsibility, but he’s also ours. You don’t understand what’s at stake here.”
“I understand just fine,” Satoru fires back, his voice rising. “You want to shove him into your world of deals and power plays without even thinking about what’s best for him. I’m not letting that happen.” You glance at Satoru, momentarily caught off guard by his unwavering stance. It’s rare to see him so serious, so resolute. For a moment, it feels like you’re on the same page, like you’re fighting together.
Yamato sighs, his patience clearly thinning. “We’re not trying to take him away from you. But this family operates a certain way, and if you’re unwilling to cooperate—”
“I’m unwilling,” you cut in sharply, surprising even yourself. “Koji isn’t going to grow up like this. He’s not going to be molded into some heir, forced to carry on legacies he didn’t ask for. He’s going to be a kid, my kid, and that’s all. If the time comes when he’s old enough to make that decision, then so be it. But right now…we are making it.” Satoru looks at you, a look of almost tender reliance in his face. He can’t help but scooch closer to you in his chair, the back of his knuckles grazing your thigh as he focuses back on his parents. You don’t move, for some reason.
Akane narrows her eyes, her perfectly composed exterior cracking ever so slightly. “You may not understand the gravity of this situation, Y/N, but you’ll come to see it’s for the best. We’re not here to argue with you. We’re here to ensure the future.”
“And I’m here to ensure my son’s happiness,” you bite back, standing as your chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “If you can’t respect that, then maybe we’re done here.” The room falls into a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Koji, oblivious to the weight of the conversation, hums softly to himself, playing with the edge of his shirt.
Satoru finally speaks, his voice quieter but no less firm. “You don’t make arrangements for Koji without consulting us. This isn’t the company. You don’t get to call the shots here.”
Yamato frowns, standing up as well. Insticvively, Satoru follows, getting in front of you and Koji slightly in a protective stance. Finally, he crosses his arms, looking at the little family before him. Two of them looking exactly the same, for a second, Yamato feels like he’s talking to the past and future version of his son. In a way, he is. “...fine. You two are his parents, then fine. But it is my duty to ensure nothing wrong happens. My point still stands, it’s not wise to reveal Koji to the public eye yet,” he meets your eyes again. “You said you want him to have a normal childhood. Well, you should’ve thought about that before deciding to keep him. If you know what’s best, you’d agree with me.”
Without another word, Akane follows her husband to the door, and the two leave; the door slamming after them. The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the room, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake. Satoru uncrosses his arms, running a hand through his hair as he exhales sharply. You glance at Koji, who’s watching the door with a curious expression, seemingly oblivious to the tension that just passed.
“That man,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Who does he think he is, saying that?”
Satoru turns to you, his jaw tight but his voice calm. “That’s just how he is. Always has to have the last word, even if it’s total bullshit.”
You shift Koji on your hip, brushing his hair back softly as your mind replays Yamato’s parting words. You should’ve thought about that before deciding to keep him. The sting of it makes your chest tighten, but you force yourself to push it aside. “Are you okay?” Satoru asks, pulling you from your thoughts.
“Yeah,” you lie, though your voice falters slightly. “I’m just…angry. I know we’re not exactly best friends, but he has no right to talk about my decisions like that.”
Satoru watches you for a moment before sighing. “You’re right. He doesn’t. And you know what? Screw him. You’ve done everything for Koji. He doesn’t get to sit there and judge you from his high horse.”
The unexpected sincerity in his words takes you off guard, and for a moment, you can’t meet his eyes. “Thanks,” you murmur, focusing instead on Koji, who’s now fiddling with a string on his shirt.
Koji suddenly pipes up, breaking the tension. “Are they gone?”
“Yeah, kiddo,” Satoru says, taking him from your arms. “They’re gone. You don’t have to worry about them.”
“Good,” Koji says with a pout. “They were scary.”
You chuckle softly. “They’re just loud, that’s all. You don’t have to be scared of them.”
Satoru leans back in his chair, his gaze flicking to you. “So, what now?”
“What now?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. About them, about Koji, about…everything.” The question hangs in the air, heavy and loaded, but for once, it doesn’t feel like it’s just your burden to bear. You meet Satoru’s eyes, and for the first time in years, it feels like you’re standing on the same side of the battlefield. “I guess we figure it out,” you say softly. “Together.”
Satoru nods, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “Together, huh? I like the sound of that.”
It’s not a solution, not yet. But it’s a start. You can see a flicker in Satoru’s expression before he walks with Koji over to the living room. It’s one of hesitance, you understand. He doesn’t entirely forgive you, let alone trust you. But he’s trying, for Koji. This mess happened because you kept your mouth shut, so maybe it’s time you start trying too. You and Satoru are in each other’s lives now, so is there a rush to mend things between you two?
The annual board dinner is just as horrible as Satoru expected. Lavish decorations, stiff small talk, and the overbearing weight of expectations pressed down on him like the overly starched collar of his tailored suit. He’d tried to duck out of it, but his father’s suggestion—which was really an order—left no room for argument. “Smile, Satoru,” Yamato had muttered through gritted teeth when they entered the grand hall. “You’re representing this family.”
So here he was, nursing a glass of expensive champagne that tasted like regret and counting the minutes until he could leave. He glanced around, catching sight of familiar faces mingling and laughing, some of them stealing glances his way with the kind of superficial interest he loathed. “God, this is insufferable,” he muttered under his breath.
Having to charm old men into doing business with his father, flirt here and there with the older, taken women. Smile, smile, smile. For presentation sake.
“Oh, look who it is.”
He groans, looking to the side and being met with the hard and chiseled face of Sukuna. A long term enemy of Satoru’s. Though he keeps it cordial in front of everyone else, he can’t help but engaged in the quiet back and forth. “My number one fan.” Satoru remarks simply, head tilting in a patronzing way.
Sukuna smirked, his sharp features twisting into something smug and self-assured. “Always the comedian, Gojo. I’m surprised you even remember how to crack a joke with how far your head is stuck up your family’s expectations.”
Satoru’s jaw clenched, but his grin didn’t waver. “And here I thought you showed up just to kiss my ass. Flattered, really.”
Their exchange was quiet enough to blend in with the hum of chatter around them, but the tension was palpable. Sukuna, with his sharp suit and predatory air, looked like he belonged here, but his presence was always unsettling. Pink hair that pokes up in a way that just barely reminds him of a certain someone. “I hear the old man’s got you busy charming fossils and bored housewives. Must be exhausting, all that fake smiling. Oh, wait, you’re used to that.”
Satoru’s laugh was light, but his eyes glinted with irritation. “What can I say? Some of us don’t need to rely on intimidation tactics to close deals. Or...whatever it is you call your little power plays.”
Sukuna stepped closer, the faintest hint of challenge in his stance. “Careful, Gojo. You might hurt my feelings.”
Satoru didn’t back down, his posture just as relaxed, his smile just as infuriatingly calm. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, someone’s got to keep you entertained, right?”
Sukuna chuckled darkly, taking a sip from his glass. “You’re lucky this is a formal event. If we were anywhere else—”
“You’d what?” Satoru cut him off, his voice dropping an octave. “Throw another tantrum and lose? You’ve got quite the track record there, Sukuna.”
The older man’s jaw twitched, but he only gave a low, mirthless laugh. “Enjoy your little victories while you can, Gojo. You won’t always have Daddy to clean up after you.”
“No, that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” Satoru grins, patting the other man’s shoulder as everyone begins making their way to the tables as the speaker is about to begin.
Satoru finds his spot next to his parents, arms crossed and one long leg over the other. His dark suit ruffles as circles his shoulders up and down in a fit on annoyance for the tight material.
The speaker, an older man with graying hair and a polished suit, steps up to the podium, his presence commanding immediate attention. The room quiets as he clears his throat, adjusting the microphone with practiced ease. “Good evening, everyone,” he begins, his voice rich and steady. “I hope you’ve all enjoyed the pre-dinner mingling, and I trust we’re all ready to get down to the business at hand. I won’t keep you long, but I must take a moment to reflect on the state of our industry, where we stand, and most importantly, where we’re going.” He pauses for effect, letting his gaze sweep over the gathered crowd. The eyes of the room are trained on him, but Satoru’s attention is divided, flicking between the speaker and the people seated around the table.
“Now, as we all know, times are changing. The landscape of business, both locally and globally, is evolving at a pace none of us could have predicted just a few short years ago. Innovation is at the forefront, and it is only through strategic alliances and forward-thinking leadership that we can continue to rise above the challenges that face us.” The speaker’s voice carries on with the rhythm of a man used to holding the room’s attention. “This is a pivotal moment, not only for our companies but for the future of the industry itself. It is with great anticipation that we look toward new ventures, new opportunities, and a commitment to excellence that can only be achieved through collaboration.”
A murmur ripples through the room as people nod in agreement, sipping their drinks, seemingly in sync with the speaker’s words.
“We have much to look forward to—be it through acquisitions, technological advancement, or our ongoing partnerships. The work ahead is exciting, but it requires unity, dedication, and a shared vision for what we can accomplish together. As we continue to push the boundaries, we must remember that this is more than just business; this is about legacy.” The speaker’s eyes flick over the audience, and for a split second, he meets Satoru’s gaze, offering a nod of acknowledgment.
“Tonight, we celebrate not only our past accomplishments but the bright future ahead. Let’s raise our glasses to the partnerships that have gotten us this far, and to the many more we will form in the years to come.”
A polite round of applause erupts, and the speaker steps back from the podium, signaling the end of his speech. The chatter begins again, and Satoru leans slightly toward you with a soft smirk. “Business as usual,” he says under his breath, his tone light but with an edge of something more.
Satoru follows as everyone raises their glasses for a toast, clinking sounding throughout the large hall. Until, there’s small murmuring. It doesn’t faze Satoru as he sips, but then there’s gasps and whispers that sound like confusion mixed with shock.
Glancing around, there’s folks looking at their phones, talking to one another in a quiet voice, and then…looking directly at Satoru and his parents. His brows furrow. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?” His father responds, too busy drinking his glass, even drinking his wife’s.
“This.” Satoru says with finality, jutting his chin up. His father and mother finally pay attention. Noticing the extra amount of attention of them tonight. Satoru spots Sukuna sitting at his table, eyes narrowing as one of his colleagues show him his phone. And then, Sukuna looks up, meeting Satoru’s eyes. Suddenly, everything feels wrong. He can make out the malicious smirk on the douchebag’s face, the laugh he doesn’t even try to hide.
What the fuck?
The Gojos continue glancing around with confusion, Satoru with growing annoyance. Until finally, Nanami briskly walks up to his father. “Mr. Gojo,” he clears his throat. The three turn to the man, Satoru can see a foreign trace of nervousness in Nanami’s demeanor. That’s not like him at all.
Nanami can barely seem to articulate the correct sentence before turning his phone towards the Gojos.
And their blood runs cold, Satoru’s world momenatrily stopping.
It's a news article from Kyodo News+—the headline screaming in bold letters:
"Gojo Satoru’s Secret Love Child Surfaces: The Hidden Son of a Billionaire."
The scream shatters the tension in the air, sharp and filled with raw emotion. Himari’s voice echoes down the halls, a guttural cry of frustration, shock, and betrayal that causes everyone within earshot to freeze. She doesn’t care that her perfectly styled hair is being whipped around as she pushes her way through the staff, her hands trembling in a mix of fury and disbelief. The phone she had been holding moments ago crashes against the wall, the screen cracking as her thoughts spiral out of control. Her breath is ragged, each step fueled by a mixture of hurt and anger as she moves with purpose, her eyes burning with a desperate intensity. “SATORU GOJO!” she screams, her voice cracking as the words leave her lips, the weight of them crashing down on her. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”
The maids scatter in her wake, unsure of how to respond to the chaos unfolding. But Himari isn’t looking at them. Her focus is elsewhere—on the person who just shattered the carefully constructed world she had built, on the one who, in a single moment, has upended everything she thought she knew.
She doesn’t even notice as she storms past the door to her parents’ private quarters, the sound of her footsteps growing louder with each step. The fury in her chest roars louder than the world around her as she moves toward the only people who could possibly understand the devastation she feels.
It’s not just betrayal anymore. It’s the crushing weight of a life built on lies. And Himari has had enough.
“Pffft!”
“Hey! You just spit on me, you asshole!”
Naoya’s voice rings out, practically shrill with laughter. His excitement is palpable, and it only serves to irritate Toji even more. "Toji! Toji! You have to see this!" Toji’s eyes narrow, his broad arms crossed over his bare chest as he leans back in his seat. The view of Lake Como stretches before him, but it feels distant, almost irrelevant compared to his cousin’s incessant enthusiasm. Vacation my ass, he thinks bitterly, wondering why he bothered to come here in the first place. He sighs, irritation lining his features. "Look at what?"
Naoya, unable to contain himself, thrusts his phone right into Toji’s face, nearly shoving it into his nose. "Look!" he repeats, bouncing on his heels, a look of sheer excitement on his face.
Toji groans, rolling his eyes. “I thought we agreed, no phones while we’re on vacation.”
Naoya ignores him completely, his grin widening. “Oh, trust me, this is worth it.”
With a heavy sigh, Toji finally reaches for the phone, taking it reluctantly. He presses the screen, waiting for the phone to wake up. The moment it does, his eyes meet the image that fills the screen—a photo of his business rival, Satoru Gojo, accompanied by a headline that stops Toji dead in his tracks. His brows furrow, the usual calm expression faltering for a moment. The headline’s words are seared into his brain, and Toji feels a pulse of confusion and something else he can’t quite name. He leans in closer, then back again, as if trying to process what he’s seeing.
"...What the hell?" he mutters under his breath. The image before him shows Satoru with a woman, someone Toji doesn’t recognize, and a child—Satoru’s child, if the headline is anything to go by.
Naoya’s grin only grows as he watches Toji’s reaction. “Pretty wild, huh? Didn’t see that coming from Gojo, did you?”
Toji’s fingers tighten around the phone, his eyes narrowing further. He doesn’t respond at first, too absorbed in the strange mix of shock and calculation churning in his mind. This isn’t just some random leak; it’s clearly orchestrated. “Where the hell did this come from?” Toji asks, finally looking back at his cousin, who’s still watching him with amusement.
Naoya shrugs nonchalantly. “Don’t know. Just saw it on a news feed. Looks like Gojo’s got some explaining to do, huh?” Toji just shakes his head, his mind already spinning with possibilities.
He tosses the phone back to Naoya. “You’ve got some sick timing. Let’s see how this plays out.”
Naoya chuckles, oblivious to the wheels turning in Toji’s mind. “You know, you might want to take advantage of this. Could mean something for the company, or at least an edge over Gojo.”
Toji’s lips curl into a slight smirk, but it’s more predatory than playful. “We’ll see, Naoya. We’ll see.”
You feel like you can’t breathe, like nothing’s real. Staring at your TV screen with complete and utter shock, frozen in place. The world around you feels like it’s fading, as if you’re watching everything happen from a distance, disconnected from reality. Your eyes are locked on the TV screen, but you can’t process what you’re seeing—everything is too surreal.
“Hey, that’s me!” Koji happily exclaims, pointing to his young face on the screen, being carried by Satoru. From the looks of it, the picture was taken yesterday, inside Sator’s penthouse. But the picture is from an outside perspective.
The realization hits you like a cold wave. Who the hell took this? The blood drains from your face as your heart pounds even harder. How did they get this shot? Your stomach turns, a knot tightening in your chest. Isn’t this illegal?
Satoru’s name comes out of your mouth like a whisper of panic. “Satoru…”
You can barely hear your own voice over the buzzing in your ears, as your mind races, trying to process what this means. How could anyone have gotten this close? How could someone have been watching? The image on the screen—the calmness in Koji’s face, the warmth in Satoru’s arms—makes your blood run cold. Koji’s innocent voice cuts through again, “Mama, why is it on TV? Are we famous?” He giggles, clearly unaware of the danger that’s now in your midst.
You mouth emits a breathe of air that faintly resembles a chuckle. But you’re not laughing. You’re too frozen in fear to say anything, to even move. You can’t shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong, that the peaceful life you’ve managed to carve out with your son is hanging by a thread. You hold your breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop.
How many people know about this? How much further can they go?
How much further can you go?
The woman leans back in her chair, the flickering light of her computer screen casting shadows across her face as she watches the confirmation of the transaction appear before her eyes. Her lips curl into a snarky, satisfied grin. It’s the kind of smile that’s dangerous, the kind of smile that tells you she’s one step ahead, and there’s no turning back now.
A low, almost guttural laugh escapes her—deep and malevolent, echoing in the quiet room. The money is more than just a transaction; it’s power, it’s leverage. And the best part? No one even knows it’s her. Not yet.
She pauses, letting the silence stretch out before her next move. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, savoring the moment, then leans forward. “Wonderful…” she whispers to herself.
a/n: i'm sorry if things seemed rushed, chap was getting looong. but enjoy!
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GETO!ROOMMATE PT3 WHEN?!?!THE OTHER TWO PARTS ARE JUST AAAAAAA
ok, i acc don’t really know how to use tumblr so I JUST now am seeing this 😭 but I’m gonna try to get part 3 out soonish, i kinda wanna make it in more of like a one-shot or drabble sort of format instead of headcannons tho-
pairing: gojo x fem reader
synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation.
wc: 12.7k (huhhhhh?)
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation, mentions of miscarriage
a/n: smidge more angst, delves more into yns internal thoughts & feelings
series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter
“Sa…” you can’t even find it in yourself to finish that sentence, to utter his complete name. As if afraid that when you do, it’ll be like summoning some sort of demon. Only this time, it’s the father of your child—same thing.
He looks as shocked as you, if not more so. His eyes widen and then narrow in a rhythmic movement that makes you scared, anticipating whatever utterance will fall from his pretty lips. If only you could go back in time and deny even the thought of going on this whatever with Mr. Ito. Maybe then you could’ve been spared, at least given some time to mentally prepare yourself for seeing the face of the man who has been practically haunting you for seven years. Maybe then, he wouldn’t look so…different.
“Ms. Y/N?” Mr. Ito’s confused voice snaps you both simultaneously out of the small staring contest you were just in. When Satoru finally acknowledges the other man, you can see a small tick on his eyebrows. Mr. Ito—well he’s not dumb. Every feature of Satoru reminding him of a small, much younger someone who happens to be in his kindergarten class. “O-oh…is this…do you two…know each other?”
What do you even say to that? Yes? No? Maybe so? It’s all so fucking confusing and complicated, but Satoru seems to save you. “And who are you?” he asks, voice flat and calculating. His eyes dart between you and Mr. Ito, like he’s trying to silently gauge what’s going on between you two. His analytical skills always seem to put you off, so you look away.
“Um…well, I’m Ms. Y/N’s son’s teacher. Nice to meet you.” Mr. Ito slowly explains, putting on a timid smile, outstretching his tan hand towards Satoru.
To no surprise, Satoru doesn’t reciprocate the welcome gesture. He is instead, clenching his fists by his side. You can see his jaw tick from your peripheral, as if he’s doing his damned hardest not to blow the hell up right now. “Are you now?”
Mr. Ito, caught in the middle of something he has no business in, glances around awkwardly. A weird chuckle leaving his mouth, lowering his hand back down to his side. “Um, yes, sir.”
“Funny,” Satoru laughs, though there’s no humor laced in it. He looks back down at you. “Very funny,” Satoru adds, his voice light, almost conversational. His sharp blue eyes flick from Mr. Ito to you, then back again, but there’s a glint in them you recognize all too well—calm, composed, and dangerous.
Mr. Ito doesn’t seem fazed, meeting Satoru’s gaze with polite confidence. “Yes, we were just discussing some things regarding her son,” he says, his tone smooth and professional. There’s a flicker of curiosity in his expression, though, as he glances between the two of you, clearly piecing things together.
“Were you now?” Satoru’s lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He then casually pulls out a chair from the table and sits, resting one arm on top of it as if he has all the time in the world. “And what kind of things are we talking about?”
With every second that passes, you feel yourself grow closer and closer to pissing your pants. You know exactly what he’s doing, it’s the calm before the storm. Satoru is great at saving face, but after knowing him so intimately, you know his true intentions and feelings. But still, you’re too frozen in place to stop it all before it gets out of hand.
“Well,” Mr. Ito replies, still composed but he spares a look at you before continuing. “Just a few concerns regarding his talkativeness.” Mr. Ito keeps it vague, still a little on edge by this sudden change of events.
Satoru lets out a low hum, nodding slightly. “Oh, he talks a lot, does he?” he says, his tone almost too soft, too soothing. His eyes slide to you, lingering just long enough to make you squirm. “And that’s become a problem?”
Mr. Ito nods.
Satoru smiles, arms crossing and one leg crossing over the other. “Must be a little troublemaker, he seems to take after his mom.”
The subtle barb stings, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. Mr. Ito, seemingly oblivious, smiles warmly. “Hah, well, I’m not sure who he takes after.”
“Correct.” Satoru simply responds.
Mr. Ito pauses then continues. “But, She’s an excellent parent,” he says, glancing your way. “We’ve had a few chats during pick-up. It’s always nice to see someone so involved in their child’s education.”
Satoru’s smile tightens ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he leans forward just a fraction. “It is nice, isn’t it?” he says smoothly, his voice calm but edged with something you can’t quite name. “I mean, a teacher like you must see all kinds of parents. You’ve really taken the time to notice Y/N, haven’t you?”
Mr. Ito hesitates for the first time, sensing the subtle shift in Satoru’s tone. “Well, I try to be passionate about connecting with all the parents of my students,” he replies, still polite but less certain now.
Satoru’s smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it widens slightly, though his eyes remain cold. “Of course,” he says, leaning back as if completely at ease. “You’re just doing your job. Going above and beyond, I see.”
You can feel the tension radiating off Satoru, even if he’s doing his best to appear calm. It’s in the way his fingers tap against the table in a measured rhythm, the way his gaze sharpens with every word.
“Satoru,” you interject quickly, trying to defuse the situation before it escalates. “Can we ta—”
“Oh, just a second,” he holds up a long finger, regarding you with such simplicity in a way that makes you feel inferior. Eyes not moving from Mr. Ito’s. “I mean, I should probably be involved in this conversation too, no? Considering I’m the—what do you call it?—Oh, right, father.”
You gulp hard. Mr. Ito once again shifts his position, hands awkwardly clasping together.
“Anywho,” Satoru switches back to the subject at hand. “Passion’s a good thing. As long as it’s directed where it belongs, of course.”
The remark hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Mr. Ito moves uncomfortably but keeps his polite demeanor, clearing his throat. “Well, I should probably get back home, I have some things to grade,” he says, glancing at his watch. “It was nice meeting you, Mr.…”
“Gojo,” Satoru finishes for him, his smile razor-sharp. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Mr. Ito nods, grabbing his jacket he put on the back of his chair. “Goodbye, Ms. Y/N. I'll see you on Monday.” He still has the audacity to give you a warm smile before leaving the cafe, the bell dinging following his departure.
After a second or two, Satoru’s calm facade finally cracks, his jaw clenching as he exhales slowly through his nose. You brace yourself, knowing that the real conversation is about to begin. The way his eyes scan you up and down in an analytical way makes you feel naked. “And look at you,” he huffs, head tilting in a patronizing way. “Silent and jittery like a little mouse. If I didn’t have other things to say, I’d say you look quite pathetic.”
Blow number 1, there he goes already. Though, you can’t find it in you to rebuttal that. Scared to say anything, honestly. There’s a pause as Satoru picks apart every little thing about you inside his head. You might have felt better hearing it out loud instead of being stuck on the silent end of the stick. Eventually, you find your small amount of courage. “Satoru…”
“Oh, look. You do my name. Thought you would have forgotten it after all the sneaky shit you seem to have been doing these past few years.”
“Can we please talk?” You ask, voice laced with desperation.
“Hm?” His eyebrow raises. “We’re talking right now, right? Why don’t you sit down?”
Hell no. You bite your lip, hands trembling by your sides. “Please, somewhere private.”
“What makes you think you deserve anything right now?”
He’s right, really right. You probably deserve shit with the lies and deceitful nature you’ve been harboring these years. But, can’t he have at least a little bit of sympathy for you? He has no idea about the shit you’ve been going through all this time by yourself. And while yes, you do feel guilty, he should be still trying to address the situation in an adult-ish manner. “Satoru…please. We shouldn’t talk here, let’s just…go somewhere more quiet.”
Satoru mulls over your words, a part of him wanting to drag this out even longer and make you more uncomfortable. You deserve it. But, you’re also right. So, he takes in a deep breath, stands up, and motions his head towards the door in a silent command. Without wasting a second, you turn around and walk out of the cafe with him hot on your tail. Intending to lead him to the secluded park that you and Koji frequently visit because there’s not a lot of foot traffic. Although your ideal spot would be indoors, you can’t exactly lead him to your apartment right now—not that you want to, anyway.
It’s only a few minutes of walking, but the entire time feels horrible. He stares at the back of your head, eyes roaming down to your back, legs, and then ass. In that specific order. Satoru’s always saved the best for last, and while checking you out should be the last thing on his mind, staring at your ass will at least somewhat calm him down. You’re not stupid either, it’s like you can feel his eyes shamelessly darting about. However, that’s the least of your worries right now.
You see the familiar bench in the distance, taking a seat. He sits beside you, leaving a considerable distance between your bodies. There’s another silence, this one feeling more suffocating. It suddenly hits you that you’re about to do this—about to have this conversation with him, own up to all your bad deeds. You have to, no more hiding. You gulp down the lump in your throat before speaking, “I know this is all probably…really bad. I know you’re mad at me, you have every right to be.”
Satoru doesn’t respond right away, leaning back on the bench with an air of nonchalance that contrasts starkly with the storm brewing in his eyes. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the horizon, as if giving you the floor—but the weight of his silence feels heavier than any words he could’ve said. “Mad?” he finally repeats, his voice low and deceptively calm. He turns to you, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
You wince, his words cutting deeper than you expected. Your hands grip the edge of the bench, knuckles turning white as you scramble for the right thing to say, the perfect way to explain yourself—but nothing feels sufficient. Nothing ever will. “I know,” you whisper, forcing yourself to look at him even as shame threatens to make you shrink away. “I know I should’ve told you—about Koji, about everything. I was just… scared. I didn’t know how to handle it, and—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts, his tone sharp enough to slice through your excuses. His gaze pins you in place, icy and unrelenting. “Don’t you dare try to justify it. You made the choice to keep my son from me. For five years.”
The raw anger in his voice makes your chest tighten, guilt clawing at your insides. “I didn’t do it to hurt you,” you plead, voice trembling. “I swear, Satoru, I thought I was doing what was best—”
“For who?” he snaps, his calm facade slipping for a brief moment, revealing the frustration bubbling underneath. “For me? For Koji? Or just for you?”
You flinch at his words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “For Koji,” you choke out. “I wanted to protect him. There’s—there are reasons why I didn’t…..” your voice trails off, unable to get the remaining part of your excuse out. But it’s true. You had—have—your reasons. And while most people still might not consider it good enough or justifiable, you truly believed what you did was for good.
Satoru lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair as he looks away, shaking his head. “Reasons?” he mutters, almost to himself. “And what, you think keeping my son a secret all because of ‘reasons’ makes this situation any better? Are you that fucking stupid?”
“No, no, I…know it won’t make anything better,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “I know that. But back then, I just… I just thought that…he wasn’t ready for your world, like I’m not.” By world, you mean quite literally that. Satoru grew up spoiled, his inner elite circle is all he’s ever known. Responsibilities at such a young age, responsibilities no child should face. Expectations, public display, people constantly butting their heads in your business, you have absolutely zero privacy. Satoru would vent to you about that, and you knew—just knew—you couldn’t put your innocent baby boy through that. There’s a class divide between you and Satoru, the main reason as to why you two broke up in the first place.
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to lash out again—but instead, he exhales sharply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You didn’t even give me a choice,” he says quietly, his voice laced with hurt. “You decided for both of us. For him.”
The weight of his words crushes you, the reality of your actions settling in your chest like a stone. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears finally spilling over. “I’m so, so sorry, Satoru. I just… I didn’t know how to face you.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, his head bowed as if he’s trying to gather his thoughts. When he finally looks up, his gaze is softer, but no less intense. “Do you have any idea what it’s like,” he murmurs, “to find out you have a son—your son—after all this time? To realize you’ve missed everything?”
Your heart breaks at the pain in his voice, and you reach out instinctively, your hand hovering over his before pulling back, unsure if he’ll accept your touch. “I know I can’t fix this,” you say, voice shaking. “But I want to try. I want to make things right. For you. For Koji.”
Satoru studies you for a long moment, his piercing gaze searching your face for something—truth, regret, maybe even hope. “Making things right?” he echoes softly. “You can’t make this right. Because you did something so fucked up, I think I’m starting to hate you.”
“I don’t expect you not to,” you say, sniffling as you wipe your eyes. Now’s the time to be transparent.
“Tell me,” he commands, looking at you with an unrecognizable face. “Tell me every single fucking reason why you thought what you did was okay. Then maybe—only maybe—I’ll decide how we should move forward from this.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I thought I was doing what was best for Koji,” you repeat softly, though the words feel hollow even to your ears. “Your world, Satoru—it’s suffocating. The spotlight, the responsibilities, the pressure... I didn’t want him to grow up with that. I didn’t want him to be molded by something he never asked for. I–I just wanted him to have a normal childhood growing up, something you weren’t able to have…”
He stares at you, unblinking, his expression unreadable but his jaw visibly tightening.
“And then... there was us,” you continue, your voice faltering slightly. “We had just broken up, and I—I didn’t think you’d want to settle down with a kid so soon after everything. I didn’t think you were…ready.”
His eyes narrow, sharp, and cold. “So you assumed I wasn’t ready, just like you assumed it would be better to keep him from me?”
“It wasn’t just that,” you say quickly, the tremor in your voice betraying your desperation. You let out a shaky exhale, willing yourself to continue, even though it’s getting harder to breathe. “After the miscarriage... I couldn’t handle the idea of telling you I was pregnant again. I was terrified, Satoru. Terrified of losing him too, and what that would do to both of us. I thought... if I kept it to myself, maybe I could protect him, protect us from that pain.” The words of your past are extremely hard to get out. You vowed to yourself to never even utter or think of the word miscarriage ever again, though that’s hard to do when you’re explaining yourself. It was hard, so fucking hard for you. No words or exercises can prepare you for the pain of having a child, just like nothing can prepare you for the pain of losing one. It happened two years into your relationship, and although it was completely unexpected and accidental, you felt something in your bones that told you to keep it.
Satoru tried, as hard as he could, though you’re not sure that means a lot. You could see the exhaustion and fatigue in his face, feeling guilter by the day for wanting to keep it. While he never explicitly voiced out getting rid of it, you knew he wouldn’t be upset if you did. That alone was the start of your relationship’s downfall. Maybe it was your own version of stress, anxiety, and whatever else you were going through back then, but you lost it. Your body wasn’t strong enough to house and grow a production of your love, which you hated yourself for. Maybe even a small part of you started hating Satoru, thinking about how happy he must have been behind his soothing words and even more soothing hugs. You thought how ecstatic he must be, lying straight to your face after crying with you. Of course, you never voiced these malicious feelings out either. The memories you’ve locked away for years now come crashing through your defenses, spilling out into the open where they can’t be ignored.
You remembered the nights spent curled up on the bathroom floor. The heavy blood clots, mixed with strong abdominal pain. Sobbing silently so Satoru wouldn’t hear you, your hands pressed to your stomach like you could keep your child safe just by willing it. But it hadn’t been enough. Nothing you did was enough.
The moment you’d lost your first child, a part of you had shattered beyond repair. The guilt was unbearable, the self-loathing even worse. A horrible thing for a twenty-one year old to experience; for any woman to experience. Every reassuring word from Satoru felt like a lie, no matter how sincerely he meant them. It’s almost like you could see the shadow of relief in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking, the slight easing of tension in his shoulders that felt like a betrayal even though you couldn’t blame him for it.
It had eaten away at you, little by little, until the mere thought of being pregnant again felt like a cruel joke. You’d failed once—what if you failed again? When you saw the test, you didn’t cry out of happiness. You cried out of fear, choking on your sobs as the weight of the decision pressed down on you. Keeping Koji meant risking everything again—your heart, your sanity, your relationship with Satoru, already frayed and stretched thin. Could you go through that pain again? Could he?
You didn’t think you could, and that thought was what finally broke you. Because if you couldn’t handle it, how could you expect Satoru to? You’d already seen the exhaustion in his eyes, the way he’d tried so hard to comfort you when he was barely holding himself together. And the truth that you never said out loud, the truth you could barely admit to yourself, was that you didn’t believe he’d want to try again.
You were terrified he’d ask you to get rid of it this time. Or worse—he’d do what he did last time: try to be there, try to support you, while secretly wishing for a way out. You couldn’t handle the idea of hearing him say it. You couldn’t bear the thought of watching his love for you chip away under the strain of something neither of you was ready for.
So you decided. Alone. After the break-up. That is when you found out, after all; three weeks later.
You told yourself it was for Koji. That keeping him away from Satoru’s world—the world of power, expectations, and relentless spotlight—was what was best for him. You told yourself it was for Satoru, too, because he deserved to live his life without being shackled to a family he might not have wanted. But deep down, you knew it was also about you. About your own cowardice, your fear of rejection, your inability to face the possibility of losing everything again.
Sitting here now, with Satoru’s eyes burning into you, the weight of your decisions feels unbearable. The excuses you clung to for so long sound hollow, even to you. But they were your truths at the time, however twisted and fragile they might have been. “I thought I was protecting all of us,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the strain of holding back tears. The words hang in the air, raw and exposed, as you finally let yourself feel the full weight of the choices you made and the people they hurt.
Satoru feels his world pause when you mention the traumatic event you both went through. His stomach twisting in a disgusting feeling, a hint of bile rising in his throat. Memories, painful memories playing on repeat in his mind. He even feels the familiar tickle at his eyes, blinking rapidly to avoid any pour out.
Then, for a moment, his gaze softens, just a flicker of something raw and unguarded crossing his face—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “So…by protecting, you decide to hide it, him, everything from me. You decided I didn’t deserve to know him,” he says bitterly. “That I didn’t deserve to be there for him—or for you. Did you just think that I wouldn’t be the man I was supposed to be towards my children? You didn’t give me a second chance, to—to prove to you we could’ve done this, together. You…You didn’t even give me a chance, Y/N.”
“It wasn’t just about you,” you snap, the frustration bubbling up despite your guilt. “I was scared, Satoru. Scared of rejection, of what your family would think, of how we’d even make it work with everything stacked against us. I didn’t have your money, your power, your family name. I was just... me. And I didn’t think that would ever be enough.”
His brows furrow, and you can see him processing your words, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think I care about any of that?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I’d let a class divide or family politics get in the way of being there for my son?”
“I didn’t know what you’d do,” you admit, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “You were so far out of reach, Satoru. And after we lost... after everything we went through, I didn’t think you’d want to try again. I thought it’d be easier for you—easier for both of us—if I just disappeared.”
“Easier?” he repeats, his voice rising slightly, his calm facade threatening to crumble. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve hated myself for the last five years? For losing you? For wondering what could’ve been?”
You blink at him, startled by the crack in his voice, the sheer vulnerability in his words.
“You didn’t,” you whisper. “It wasn’t you, Satoru. It was me. I was scared, and I made the wrong choice. I know that now. I know I can’t fix this, but I want to try. For Koji’s sake. For your sake.”
He leans back slightly, exhaling sharply as he runs a hand through his hair. The silence between you is deafening, the weight of everything you’ve said hanging heavily in the air. “Do you know what I’m feeling right now?” he says finally, his voice quieter but no less intense, “How it feels like to find out you have a son you’ve never even met, to know you missed his first steps, his first words, his entire life so far? And why? Because you took that from me.”
Tears spill down your cheeks, but you don’t wipe them away. “I know,” you whisper. “I know, and I’m sorry. I was selfish. I thought I was protecting him, but I was just protecting myself.”
Satoru looks at you for a long moment, his piercing gaze searching your face for something—truth, regret, maybe even hope. Finally, he exhales, his shoulders sagging slightly. “You’ve done a lot of damage, Y/N,” he says quietly. “And it’s going to take more than an apology to fix it.”
You nod, wiping your tears away. “I’m not asking for forgiveness, Satoru. I’m just asking for…a chance to make things right.” Your head lowers, vision blurry as you focus on your trembling hands in your lap.
He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze shifting to the horizon. “This isn’t about you and me anymore,” he says after a long pause. “It’s about Koji. And I’m not going to let you shut me out of his life again.”
“I wouldn’t,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I–I swear, Satoru. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. For him.”
Satoru lets out a slow breath, standing up and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Then let’s start now,” he says, his tone firm. “Take me to him.”
Your heart skips a beat at his words, the reality of the situation sinking in. This is only the beginning—and there’s no turning back. “H-he’s at home.”
“So take me there.”
You stand, fumbling with your words. “I…I can’t just have you two meet out of nowhere, I have to tell him in advance.”
His lips purse, and downturn into another frown, a look that lets you know he’s this close to stop being lenient with you. However, he concedes. “Tomorrow. Here.”
“Whe–”
“Ten in the morning, I’ll leave my meeting early.” he glances at the pristine, gold watch on his right wrist. “Give me your number, in case you try to run and lie again.”
A pang of hurt flies through you, though you can’t blame him for being cautious. Even if that cautiousness is riddled with snide remarks and insults. He gives you his phone, to which you go to contacts and place your new number in, marked by your name. Without another word, he pockets his phone. When he looks at you for one last time, it looks like it hurts, like he’s forcing himself to. After a second, he turns around and walks away, leaving you to your own devices.
Letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, you sit back on the bench, head in your hands and lightly tugging at your strands of hair. Things still don’t feel right. You know you two still have a lot more to say to one another, unspoken words being your enemy. It’s far from over, actually.
But at least you two have come to a small conclusion, for now. However, you don’t know how tomorrow will go. You can only hope you don’t cry too much, and that Koji and him will get along well.
Still, you can’t help that lingering sense of anxiousness. Is it okay for you to feel this way? To be wary? Or are you stretching your already little luck?
The walk back home feels boneless and empty. Taking your time, going through small detours, and whatnot. You get back home after a few hours, it’s already twelve in the afternoon. Regarding Sana with a muttered greeting and haphazardly giving her her money. When she leaves, you’re left alone. Koji’s surprisingly down for a nap. Usually, you would question why he’s sleeping this early in the day, but you could honestly use the peace and quiet right now. You could use it every day, actually.
You sit on the small, worn-out couch. Letting your body sink into the thin material, head leaning back against the cushions. You’re in your mind again. It seems like every day is more exhausting than the last. As the saying goes, you learn something new every day. And today, one of the things that surprised you most was how Satoru said he’s been miserable in these past five years. He missed you? He hated himself for losing you? Then why didn’t he fight for you? Why’d he just stand there and take everything? If he really wanted you, he would’ve begged you to stay, he would’ve come up with some solution to your deteriorating relationship. Unless he said all that now just to make you feel even more shitty. You don’t know what’s right anymore.
The thoughts spiral like a storm in your mind, each one crashing into the next without pause. The quiet apartment, usually your refuge, feels stifling now. The weight of everything Satoru said—and everything he didn’t—presses down on you like a heavy fog. You pull your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as if it could keep the memories and doubts at bay. It doesn’t. His words replay in your mind, over and over.
"You think I’d let a class divide or family politics get in the way of being there for my son?"
"Do you have any idea what it feels like to find out you have a son you’ve never even met?"
It’s not just his anger that haunts you; it’s the pain you saw flickering behind his icy facade. You knew it would be there, but experiencing it firsthand feels nauseating. Satoru Gojo wasn’t the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but in those fleeting moments, his vulnerability was almost unbearable to witness.
Still, you start to wonder. Why didn’t he fight for you? That thought burns the most. It’s a question that’s lingered in the shadows of your mind for years, one you tried to bury under the weight of your choices and responsibilities. The truth is, you don’t have an answer. Maybe you never will.
You glance at the small coffee table, littered with Koji’s coloring books and the half-empty mug of coffee you didn’t finish this morning. It feels like a snapshot of a life you’ve tried so hard to hold together, but now the cracks are impossible to ignore. You think of Koji, sleeping soundly in the other room, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in your chest. He’s your anchor, the one thing that’s kept you grounded all these years. But now, with Satoru back in the picture, everything feels uncertain.
A part of you wants to believe he meant what he said—that he missed you, that he hated himself for losing you. But another part of you wonders if it’s just anger talking, a need to lash out and make you feel as miserable as he does. The exhaustion pulls at you like a tide, and you let your head fall into your hands, groaning softly. You want to scream, cry, or maybe just disappear for a while. But none of that will solve anything. You can’t rewrite the past.
The soft hum of the refrigerator fills the silence, a dull reminder of the life you’ve built here, brick by fragile brick. And now, in just a single morning, Satoru has shaken the foundation of everything you thought you knew.
You sigh heavily, forcing yourself to stand. There’s no use drowning in your thoughts. You glance at the closed door to Koji’s room, then at the kitchen. Maybe you should prepare something for lunch. Maybe you should sit down and write out everything you’ve been feeling, like the therapist you saw briefly after Koji’s birth suggested.
But instead, you just stand there, frozen in place, as the weight of your choices and the uncertainty of what comes next presses down on you. He’s gonna meet his dad. Koji’s finally getting what he’s wanted after so long, after so many curious questions. You think about how happy he might be, a little shy at first, but he’ll grow to become best friends with his dad. Bitterly smiling, you walk to the kitchen, forcing open a locked cabinet. You pour an unknowing amount of small white pills in your palm, dry swallowing them to quell your monstrous cluster migraine. The pills burn slightly as they go down, a sharp reminder of how raw your nerves are. You grip the edge of the sink, your fingers curling into the cold metal. The thought of Koji meeting Satoru feels like a knife with two edges—one gleaming with hope and the other with fear.
Once Koji wakes up, you’ll need to have a talk with him. Koji’s been asking about his dad for as long as he could form the words. His innocent curiosity, his longing, had always been a reminder of the choices you made, and now…now, you’ll have to confront what those choices mean for him.
He’ll most likely be jumping off the walls, but…you start hoping he doesn’t. You imagine his face lighting up when he sees Satoru—those wide, curious eyes sparkling with excitement and the kind of joy you could never quite give him on your own. That should make you happy, shouldn’t it? He deserves to have both parents in his life. But the thought of him bonding with Satoru, looking up to him, and maybe even loving him more than you…that thought digs into your chest like a splinter. You hate how petty and small it makes you feel.
You’ve done your best, haven’t you? You’ve given everything you could, sacrificed so much, and tried to shield him from the harshness of the world. But Satoru has something you can’t give—a life free of constant worries, opportunities Koji can only dream of, and a charisma that pulls people in like gravity. It’s stupid, you know it is. But you start worrying that Koji will begin to prefer Satoru over you. That he’ll find more comfort and happiness in a parent he just met than the one who’s done everything she could.
But that’s the thing.
Maybe your everything, your all, it just wasn’t enough. It still isn’t enough. Because while you’re giving Koji the bare minimum, you can’t do the littler things. Vacations, buying him toys he loves that he constantly sees on TV, newer clothes and not the thrifted kind, going out to eat dinner. None of that, and more.
You glance at the clock. Koji will hopefully wake up soon. There’s no more time to wallow in your thoughts. You rinse your hands under the cold water, hoping it’ll steady the tremor in them. "This isn’t about you," you remind yourself firmly, staring at your reflection in the window above the sink. The woman staring back looks older than her years, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and worry. But beneath all of that, there’s still love—a fierce, unrelenting love for the boy who’s about to have his world turned upside down. You can’t control how Koji feels about Satoru, just like you couldn’t control how things fell apart between you and him. But you can control how you navigate this moment, for Koji’s sake.
You take a deep breath, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack your face. When Koji wakes up, you’ll talk to him. You’ll answer his questions, help him prepare, and do your best to hide your own fears. Because this isn’t about you.
"It’s about him," you whisper, as if saying it out loud will make the truth easier to accept.
“What I say, baby, I want you to listen well, okay? Can you do that for me?”
The young boy nods and grins. “I can listen, Mama,” he admits proudly.
You should also probably bring up the issue Mr. Ito expressed to you, but that’s for another time. Also, you feel as if you weren’t getting the full story there. Whatever, that’s for another time. You steel yourself, choosing the correct words to say. “So, you know how Papa is always busy?”
He nods.
“Well,” you continue, taking his much smaller hand into yours, presenting a warm smile. “Papa won’t be busy tomorrow.”
He gasps, already seeing the twinkle form in his eyes, and you feel a tad jealous at how happy he’s already getting. “He is?!”
“Mhm,” you nod back. “Do you want to see Pa—”
“I wanna see Papa!”
He cuts you off, causing your jealousy to momentarily skyrocket. You catch yourself before the feeling twists any further, biting down the sharp edge of jealousy threatening to creep into your tone. This isn’t about you—it’s about Koji. It’s always been about Koji. “That’s great,” you say, forcing your smile to stay steady, even as a part of you aches at how easily he lights up for someone who’s been a ghost in his life until now. “But, Koji, baby, you need to listen to me first, okay? Seeing Papa is a big thing, and we need to talk about what that means.”
He tilts his head, the excitement in his eyes dimming just a little as he picks up on the seriousness in your voice. “Is it gonna be like when we see Uncle Ren?”
Your heart twists at the innocent comparison. Ren, for all his faults, has been one of the only constants in Koji’s life outside of you. But no—this isn’t like Ren. This is his father. Ren’s the nicer, older man who runs the sweet shop down the corner. He always greets you two with such warmness, even giving Koji a free lollipop most of the time.
“Not exactly,” you say carefully. “Papa is... someone very important. He’s not like Uncle Ren. He’s your family, Koji. Your real family.”
He blinks, trying to process your words. His little brows knit together in confusion. “So... he’s gonna stay with us?”
You feel your stomach drop at the question. You hadn’t prepared for this. You hadn’t thought about how to explain that Satoru isn’t coming into Koji’s life as a permanent fixture—not yet, at least. How do you tell a child something so complicated when it’s barely something you’ve figured out yourself? “Not right now,” you say gently, squeezing his hand. “But he’s going to start spending time with you. He’s been waiting a long time to meet you, Koji.”
“Really?” His face lights up again, his tiny frame vibrating with excitement.
“Really,” you confirm, though your voice feels thick. You clear your throat, forcing the emotion back down where it belongs. “But when you meet him, you have to be on your best behavior, okay? No running around like crazy or talking over people.”
“I’ll be good!” he promises, practically bouncing in his seat. You hope so. More than anything, you hope this meeting is what Koji dreams it’ll be. That he gets to see the man who is half of him and feel nothing but joy.
But as you watch his wide, excited smile, your stomach churns with doubt. Will Satoru disappoint him? Will Koji’s expectations crash under the weight of Satoru’s complexities? Or worse, will Koji grow to love him so much that he stops looking at you the same way?
You push the thought away, leaning forward to kiss Koji’s forehead. “I’m proud of you, baby,” you murmur, even as the ache in your chest refuses to subside. “And I’m so excited for you to meet Papa.”
Koji giggles, his little arms wrapping around your waist in a hug so pure it threatens to undo you entirely. You hold him close, pressing your cheek to his soft hair, and try to anchor yourself in this moment—this fleeting, fragile peace—before tomorrow comes and changes everything. As Koji pulls back, his eyes are gleaming with uncontainable joy. “Do you think Papa likes dinosaurs?” he asks suddenly, his voice pitched with excitement. “I can show him my dino book! And my drawings too!”
Your lips twitch into a soft smile despite the heaviness sitting in your chest. “I think he’ll love them, Koji,” you say gently. “But remember, it’s okay if Papa doesn’t know everything about dinosaurs. You can teach him, right?”
Koji nods eagerly, his little hands fidgeting as if he’s already planning how he’ll show off his collection. “I can teach him all the big words, like pachy... pachycephalosaurus!” he declares proudly.
Your laugh is small but genuine, breaking through the weight of your thoughts. “That’s a big word, alright,” you say, ruffling his hair. Koji’s excitement is infectious, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in his enthusiasm. It’s easier to pretend that everything will go smoothly, that tomorrow won’t bring possible complications you can’t predict or control. But as he bounds off to his room, presumably to organize his dinosaur books and drawings for tomorrow, the silence that settles over the apartment again feels excruciating. You glance toward the kitchen, where the locked cabinet hides the pills you’ve been relying on far too often these days. For a moment, the thought crosses your mind, unbidden: Would it even matter if I wasn’t enough anymore?
You shake your head sharply, disgusted with yourself for even entertaining it. No. You have to be enough—for Koji, if nothing else.
Sighing, you push yourself off the couch and move toward his room. You lean against the doorframe, watching as he carefully stacks his books into a neat pile, his little hands moving with purpose. “Koji,” you call softly, and he looks up at you, his face lit with the same pure joy it’s always had.
“Yeah, Mama?”
“I just...” You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. I just love you so much. It feels too simple, too heavy all at once. Instead, you force a smile. “I think Papa’s really lucky to have you.”
Koji beams, his smile wide and toothy. “And you, Mama!” he says, matter-of-factly, before returning to his project.
You linger for a moment longer, letting his words wrap around your heart like a fragile thread. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring—if it’ll heal or shatter you further—but for now, you let yourself hold on to the hope in his voice. Because like always, Koji is your guiding light in a world so dark, he’s the hand that pulls you out when you’re sinking too deep. If you begin to question your love for even yourself, your love for him is enough to keep you going.
Today’s a little more warm than usual, though that doesn’t say a lot considering it’s winter and the air feels crispy; still sunny. You hold your son’s hand, guiding him along the sidewalk and to the inevitable meeting spot between father and son. You left a little early; it being 9:30. It feels slightly calmer within your mind, probably because Satoru isn’t here yet.
You sit with Koji on the bench, letting him find placement on your lap. Adjusting his red beanie and gloves. “Are you excited, Koji?”
“I’m really excited, Mama. do you think Papa will like me?”
You coo. “Of course he will. Papa already loves you.”
“Really? Even though he’s never seen me?”
“Koji beams at your words, his small hands tugging at the ends of his gloves as if to keep himself busy. “Do you think he’ll play with me? Maybe dinosaurs or tag?” His little backpack is full of things he wishes to show his father, most of them being either dinosaur or car-related.
You smile softly, stroking his cheek. “I think he’ll play whatever you want. Papa will want to get to know you, Koji. You’re very special to him.”
His grin widens, and he leans into your touch, the warmth of his trust settling heavily on your chest. You wish you could bottle this moment—his innocence, his excitement, his unshakable belief that everything will turn out fine.
The minutes pass as you and Koji wait for Satoru, the latter being more excited than the other. Finally, the sound of footsteps crunching in the frosty grass pulls your attention, and your heart skips. You glance up and see Satoru approaching, his tall frame unmistakable even from a distance. His coat flutters slightly in the breeze, his pace steady yet reluctant, as if he’s as nervous as you are. He’s wearing sunglasses, per usual. A voice in the back of your mind berates him for that fashion choice. “There he is,” you murmur, nudging Koji gently.
Koji hops off your lap, his tiny hand still clutching yours tightly. He squints toward the approaching figure, his expression a mix of curiosity and awe. “Is that Papa?”
You nod, your throat tightening. “That’s him, sweetheart.”
As Satoru comes closer, his steps slow, his gaze fixed on the little boy beside you. His expression is unreadable—somewhere between wonder and hesitation, like he’s trying to process the reality of seeing his son for the first time.
“Koji,” you say softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Say hello.”
Koji looks up at Satoru, his shyness momentarily overtaking his excitement. “Hi, Papa,” he says, his voice small but filled with hope.
Satoru stops a few steps away, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. His usual cocky demeanor is gone, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. His blue eyes flicker to you briefly before settling on Koji. “Hey there, little buddy,” he says, his voice quiet. He crouches slightly to Koji’s level, offering a tentative smile. “You must be Koji. I’m Satoru.”
Koji nods, gripping your hand tighter. “That’s me. Are you really my Papa?”
Satoru chuckles, though there’s a faint crack in the sound. “Yeah, kid. I am.”
Koji’s face lights up, and he lets go of your hand to take a step toward Satoru. “Mama said you love me already. Is that true?”
For a moment, Satoru seems at a loss for words. His gaze softens, and he nods, his voice rough with emotion. “Yeah, Koji. I do. I’ve always loved you.” The boy beams, closing the remaining distance to hug Satoru’s waist, his little arms barely wrapping around it. Satoru freezes for a second before carefully putting his hand down, his large palm resting gently on Koji’s back.
Your chest tightens at the sight, and you quickly look away, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. This is their moment, you tell yourself. A moment you’ve waited so long for, no matter how bittersweet it feels.
Koji pulls his head back, a wide and toothy smile as he regards his father. His head tilts, staring at his own reflection within the tinted shades of the glasses before Satoru reaches and pulls them over his head. It’s like a mirror, almost uncanny how similar the two look; you seem like an outsider. There’s an unspoken moment as the two continue to look at each other, as if finally saying this is really him. Their eyes are like when you place two mirrors in front of one another.
Satoru’s lips twitch upward into a faint smile as he holds the glasses out, letting Koji’s small fingers curl around the frame. “Here, try them on,” he says, his tone light but carrying a hint of something deeper—an unspoken acknowledgment of their connection.
Koji’s eyes widen with delight, and he eagerly slips the oversized glasses onto his face. They sit crookedly on his nose, far too large for his small frame, but his grin stretches even wider. “Do I look cool, Papa?” He asks as the glasses slide down his nose.
Satoru laughs softly, a sound that feels warmer than you expected. “Cooler than me, for sure. Guess I have to step up my game now.”
The boy giggles, and you watch the interaction with a bittersweet ache in your chest. This is what you’d imagined all those nights when you wondered how the two of them would get along. The way Koji lights up under Satoru’s attention is both heartwarming and a painful reminder of what’s been missing. Koji pulls the glasses off and holds them out to Satoru. “Here, you can have them back. Mama says sharing is nice.”
Satoru takes them, sliding them back over his forehead. His gaze briefly flicks to you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looks back at Koji. “Your mama’s right. Sharing is pretty nice.”
You clear your throat, feeling like an intruder in their growing bond. “Koji,” you say softly, “how about we sit down for a bit?”
Koji nods eagerly, pulling Satoru’s hand as he moves toward the bench. Satoru lets him lead, his expression softening as he glances down at the boy. It’s a strange sight—Satoru, who’s always seemed larger than life, brought down to such an intimate moment. As they sit, Koji climbs onto the space beside him which is in between you two, his legs swinging with restless energy. “Papa, do you like dinosaurs? Mama says I know a lot about them!”
Satoru leans back, crossing his arms as he smirks. “Dinosaurs, huh? Bet you’re smarter than me already. You’ll have to teach me everything.”
“I can do that!” Koji declares proudly, bouncing slightly in his seat. Satoru hums, his gaze shifting to you again momentarily. There’s an unspoken question in his eyes, as if silently acknowledging the effort it must have taken to bring this moment to life. It’s gone before you know it.
You offer a small, shaky smile, unsure if it’s enough. But for now, it seems to be all you can give. Koji digs into his backpack, pulling out his dinosaur drawings and books. Koji’s small hands fumble with the zipper of his backpack, his excitement palpable as he pulls it open and begins rifling through its contents. “Wait, Papa! I gotta show you something!” he exclaims, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm.
Satoru leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, curiosity piqued. “Oh yeah? What’ve you got in there, buddy?”
Koji triumphantly pulls out a stack of slightly crumpled drawings, held together by a paperclip, and a well-worn dinosaur book with a cracked spine. “These are my favorite! Look!” He spreads the drawings out on Satoru’s lap, pointing at each one with his little finger. “This is a T-Rex—it’s the king of dinosaurs. And this one’s a Triceratops! It has three horns, see?”
Satoru’s gaze moves over the colorful scribbles, a mix of crayons and markers. He chuckles, tapping the corner of a particularly fierce-looking dinosaur. “This T-Rex looks like it’s about to eat someone. You’re a pretty good artist, Koji.”
Koji beams, his chest puffing out with pride. “Mama helped me with some of the colors!”
You can’t help but smile at the way he gives you credit, even as you hover a few inches away. “He did most of it himself,” you say, your voice softer than you intended.
Satoru glances at you, his expression unreadable, before turning back to Koji. “You’re really into dinosaurs, huh? You know, I think I might need some lessons. I don’t know much about them.”
Koji’s eyes widen. “You don’t? Oh, Papa, I know so much! I can tell you all about the Velociraptor! They were super smart and super fast, like this!” He hops off the bench and runs a small circle in front of them, his arms tucked close like claws.
Satoru laughs, leaning back and watching his son’s animated movements. “Fast, huh? Guess I’ve got a lot to catch up on. You think you can teach me everything in one day?”
Koji stops, his hands on his hips as he considers the question. “Maybe two days,” he says with a solemn nod, as though he’s made a grand concession.
“Deal.” Satoru holds out his pinky, and Koji eagerly hooks his smaller one around it.
You watch the scene unfold, a lump forming in your throat. It’s a simple, tender moment—a glimpse of what could have been all these years. The sight of Satoru interacting so effortlessly with Koji stirs something deep within you: a mixture of relief, regret, and longing. For now, though, you let it play out, quietly holding onto the hope that maybe—just maybe—this is the start of something better.
Watching Satoru and his little carbon copy switch from topic to topic so animatedly, laughing practically in the same tone, hopping up from the bench and making their way over to the playground a few feet away where they play tag and other parently things, it’s bittersweet. Their voices overlapping with excitement, is nothing short of surreal. They laugh at the same things, sounding so bright, carefree, and unrestrained. It’s uncanny how similar they are, from the sparkle in their eyes to the animated gestures they make when they’re especially engrossed in a story.
Satoru follows Koji without hesitation. His long legs make exaggerated strides as he pretends to struggle to keep up with Koji’s smaller but determined ones. They dart toward the playground a few feet away, the father pretending to stumble dramatically as Koji tags him with a triumphant giggle. “Gotcha, Papa!” Koji exclaims, hands on his hips in victory.
Satoru clutches his chest, feigning defeat. “Oh no! You’re too fast for me! How am I ever gonna catch you now?” Koji’s laughter fills the air, high-pitched and unbridled, and Satoru’s laughter follows—louder, but just as genuine. They move seamlessly into other "parent-y" things: Satoru helps Koji up onto the monkey bars, playfully pretends to lose at rock-paper-scissors, and even kneels in the dirt to “help” Koji build a small castle from wood chips and fallen leaves.
It’s poignant.
On one hand, this is what you always wanted for Koji: the joy of having his father present, the sense of belonging that comes with it. Seeing them together, it’s clear they’re already forming a bond—one you never doubted they’d have. But on the other hand, it’s a painful reminder of what could have been. Of all the moments you and Koji missed out on, of the milestones, Satoru wasn’t there to witness. It feels like watching a puzzle finally fall into place, except you’re the piece that doesn’t quite fit.
You sit on the edge of the bench, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to focus on the joy radiating from Koji rather than the ache in your heart. The past five years feel heavier than ever as you watch them, your mind flipping through memories of bedtime stories, scraped knees, and birthdays spent alone. You did your best, but sitting here now, it feels like it was never adequate.
Satoru glances over his shoulder at one point, catching your eye. There’s something obscure in his expression—maybe it’s a touch of hesitation, or something softer. For a moment, you hold his gaze, unsure of what to say or do. Then, Koji calls his name again, and he’s pulled back into the moment, grinning as he lets the boy climb onto his back for a piggyback ride.
You smile faintly, blinking back the sting in your eyes. This is for Koji, you remind yourself. This is for him. Even if it hurts, even if it feels like you’re standing on the outside looking in, it’s worth it for him. Always for him. Because at the end of the day, no matter what his parents are going through, he needs Satoru just as much as you, and vice versa.
What if he starts needing Satoru more? Fathers and sons always have that special bond that can’t be replicated by mother and son, it’s like how daughters and mothers have a relationship like no other. Fathers and sons, they always seem to share a unique connection, one that feels effortless and almost predestined. The kind of connection you can never quite replicate, no matter how hard you try; and daughters naturally gravitate toward their mothers, a coalition that feels like it was written into their DNA.
But Koji’s all you have.
What if he starts asking for Satoru more? What if this new relationship between them becomes so strong, so unshakable, that you’re left standing on the sidelines? A shadow of the parent you’ve always tried to be. The thought sends a jolt of panic straight through your chest, cold and unrelenting.
What will you do then? No, you think, that can’t happen. It won’t.
You shake your head, trying to banish the thought as quickly as it came. That can’t happen. It just can’t happen. You’ve been there for every scraped knee, every bedtime story, every nightmare that needed soothing. You’ve carried the weight of being both parents for five long years. There’s no way Satoru can just step in now and take your place, no matter how effortlessly he seems to connect with Koji. But that was because you chose that, a voice in your head reminds you.
Still, is it bad to hold your son this close to you? Fearing that he’ll be ripped away from you before you can even blink? Is that co-dependence? To want to shield him from a world that feels like it’s constantly trying to take him away from you? Is it selfish to want to keep him tethered to you, even as you know he deserves the freedom to explore this new relationship with his father?
You swallow hard, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Maybe it is selfish. Maybe it is in fact co-dependence, this need to keep him as close as possible, as if letting go even a little might mean losing him completely. But how could it not be? He’s been your everything for so long, the only light in a world that’s often felt impossibly dark. You glance at the playground again, watching as Satoru spins Koji around in his arms, both of them laughing like they’ve known each other forever. And maybe they have, in a way. Maybe some part of Koji has always been waiting for this, for his father to finally show up and fill the space you couldn’t. Wait, you know he’s been waiting for this.
Your chest tightens, and you force yourself to take a steadying breath. This isn’t about you. It never was. Koji deserves this, and you owe it to him to put aside your fears and let him have it.
Even if it feels like it’s breaking you apart in the process.
It’s been a few hours and if possible, it’s like Koji and Satoru are best friends. That’s good, right? Satoru has always been a charming person, one you could easily find comfort in. You’ve lived that. Koji’s sweating by the time he comes over to you. “Drink water,” you gently instruct, handing him his small Spiderman water bottle, and wiping at his sweaty face and neck with the sleeve of your coat.
“Energetic little boy,” Satoru sighs in mild exhaustion as he comes over. He seems to be sweating too, cheeks flushed a nice red, chest heaving up and down. He undoes another button on his casual button-down, giving you a view of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. You catch yourself staring too intently and look away before he can say anything.
He notices.
“Mama, Papa is so fast. I wanna be fast like him.” Koji breathes out, smiling at you, his cheeks red in similarity to his dad.
With a light chuckle, you take his water bottle back once he’s done. “You’re already fast, Koji. But when you grow up into a bigger boy, you’ll be really fast, maybe even faster than Papa.”
“Hey,” Satoru cuts in, giving you a frown that teeters on the line of a playful pout. “He’s not there yet, let’s cross that bridge when we get there.”
The word let’s makes your stomach twist a bit. A reminder that he does want this, he does want Koji, he does want to be a father. You entertain the idea of him wanting you, before quickly shuffling that away.
“Papa, are you coming home with us?” Koji innocently asks, unaware of the way his two parents simultaneously stiffen. The question hangs in the air like a weight, heavy and unrelenting. Koji’s wide-eyed innocence is almost cruel in its purity, completely unaware of the way his words have sliced through the fragile peace you and Satoru have been clinging to.
Satoru’s eyes dart to yours, his expression unreadable, though the slight twitch of his jaw betrays his tension. You can feel his gaze searching for some kind of answer, some indication of how you want him to handle this. But how could you possibly guide him when you don’t even know what to say yourself?
You force a smile, though it feels more like a grimace, and gently brush Koji’s hair back under his red beanie. “Papa has his own home, sweetheart,” you say carefully, your voice soft but firm. “He’s not coming home with us today.”
Koji’s face falls just slightly, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks back at Satoru, his small hands clutching the hem of his sweater. “Can I see Papa again?”
Satoru crouches down to Koji’s level, his long fingers lightly ruffling the boy’s hair. “Of course, you can,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere, buddy. You’ll see me again real soon.”
The promise is sincere, and it makes something in your chest ache. For Koji’s sake, you want to believe him. You want to believe that Satoru will keep his word, that he won’t somehow put his work over his own son. But a small, bitter part of you—the part that remembers how he let you go so easily all those years ago—can’t quite let go of its doubts.
Koji seems satisfied with the answer, his smile returning as he hugs Satoru tightly. “Okay! I’ll see you soon, Papa!”
As Satoru hugs him back, his eyes flicker to you over Koji’s shoulder. There’s something there, something unspoken but heavy. Guilt? Hope? Regret? You can’t tell, and you’re not sure you want to. When they finally pull apart, Satoru stands, his hands slipping into his pockets as he looks down at you. “I’ll walk you both back,” he offers.
You hesitate, your first instinct to decline, but Koji’s excited cheer cuts you off. “Yes! Papa can come with us!”
And just like that, you’re outnumbered. You force another tight smile, nodding as you gather Koji’s things. “Alright,” you say quietly.
The three of you set off together, Koji happily chatting away as he skips in front of you, completely unaware of the tension simmering just beneath the surface. Satoru walks close enough that his shoulder occasionally brushes against yours, each touch sending an unwelcome jolt through you.
It’s a painfully wistful image, the three of you walking together like some semblance of a family. But deep down, you know it’s just that—an image. A fleeting moment in time that doesn’t change the years of distance and pain that still stretch between you and Satoru. And yet, for Koji’s sake, you try to hold onto it just a little longer. Even if it hurts.
The closer you get to your apartment, the more the houses look a little run down. Trash on the streets, beat-up cars, the way the number of people slowly dwindles down as if they know not to cross an unspoken line of the city. You suddenly feel extremely self-conscious; you know Satoru is having internal questions.
You live here?
Is this even a safe neighborhood?
You’re raising my son in some place like this?
He stays quiet, but you know he wants to say something. He has to want to. Because Satoru was given everything growing up, all in pristine condition. He’s never had to worry about whether those were fireworks or not, he’s used to the kind of neighborhood where your neighbors are mowing their lawns at seven in the morning, greeting everyone in a happy way.
The tension is stifling, stretched thin by the unspoken judgment you feel radiating off Satoru. You don’t dare look at him, your eyes fixed on Koji’s little form skipping ahead, blissfully unaware of the tension simmering behind him. Your cheeks burn with shame, and you hate yourself for it. This is your reality, your life. You’ve done everything you could to provide for Koji, and while it may not be perfect—or anywhere close—you’ve kept him safe, fed, and loved. But under Satoru’s unspoken scrutiny, it suddenly feels like none of that is enough.
He’s used to opulence, to security, to the kind of life where struggle is nothing more than an abstract concept. What could he possibly know about living paycheck to paycheck, about stretching every dollar, about the fear of your son asking for something you just can’t afford?
Still, his silence grates on your nerves, each step you take toward your apartment building making the tension in your chest tighten like a vice. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, measured—but you can hear the edge in it, the careful restraint. “You’ve been here the whole time?”
You stop walking, Koji a few feet ahead now as he fiddles with a crack in the sidewalk. Turning to Satoru, you feel your stomach churn at the unreadable look on his face. His hands are still stuffed in his pockets, his posture casual, but his piercing blue eyes burn with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.
“Yes,” you answer, lifting your chin slightly as if that could shield you from the vulnerability creeping up your spine.
“And this is where you’ve been raising Koji?” There it is. The question you knew was coming, coated in a thin veil of curiosity but laced with something deeper—concern, maybe even disappointment.
“Yes,” you say again, your voice firmer this time. “This is where we’ve been.”
Satoru lets out a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over the street, the cracked pavement, and the graffiti-stained walls. “It’s not exactly... ideal,” he says carefully, though the criticism in his tone is unmistakable.
Your fists clench at your sides, a rush of defensiveness coursing through you. “I know it’s not ideal,” you snap, your voice low but sharp. “But it’s what I could afford. It’s where we’ve made a life, and Koji is happy here. Isn’t that what matters?”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he looks at Koji, who’s now crouched down and inspecting a dandelion sprouting from a crack in the sidewalk, blithely unaware of the storm brewing between his parents. Satoru then sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying you haven’t done your best,” he says, his voice softer now. “But...he deserves better than this.”
The words hit you like a slap, and you take an involuntary step back, your heart sinking into your stomach. “You think I don’t know that?” you hiss, your voice trembling. “You think I don’t hate myself every single day for not being able to give him more? I’m doing everything I can, Satoru. Everything. And if that’s not good enough for you, then maybe you should’ve been here sooner.”
“Then maybe you should’ve told me sooner,” he’s quick to quip back.
The silence that follows is deafening, and for a moment, the two of you just stare at each other, the weight of years of pain and resentment hanging heavy between you.
Koji’s voice breaks the tension, cheerful and oblivious. “Mama, look! A flower!”
You force a smile, blinking back the sting of tears as you walk over to crouch down to Koji’s level. “It’s beautiful, honey,” you say, brushing a hand over his soft hair. “Just like you.”
Behind you, Satoru says nothing, but you can feel his eyes on you, heavy with something you can’t quite name. And as you take Koji’s hand and lead him toward your building, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, and what this moment means for the three of you.
You three finally get to the poor excuse of an apartment lobby, making your way to the elevator that always makes questionable sounds. Once inside, you press the 3 button, and you’re off. The doors creak shut and the small, dingy light above flickers during the ascent. During this time, you wish Koji would mask the awkwardness with his childish nature. Too bad he’s pretty tired from playing til his heart’s content, leaning his cheek against your arm.
The elevator hums and groans as it ascends, the sound filling the uncomfortable silence that hangs between you and Satoru. Koji’s small, warm weight against your side is a comfort, but it’s not enough to dispel the tension. You steal a glance at Satoru, who stands a step away, his hands shoved into his pockets as he leans against the elevator wall. His expression is unreadable, his blue eyes fixed on the faintly glowing numbers above the doors.
You wonder what he’s thinking. Does he regret coming? Is he silently judging everything—the elevator, the building, you? You hate how self-conscious you feel, how his presence has peeled back layers of armor you didn’t even realize you had put on. Koji shifts against you, mumbling something incoherent. You brush a hand over his head, smoothing down his messy hair, and whisper, “Almost home, sweetheart.”
Suddenly, there’s a sound of a ding. Followed by another. And then another. And then another. Confused, you glance over at Satoru who subtly pulls his phone out to glance at his home screen, a frown pulling at his lips. You can’t see who’s texting, but it looks and sounds like a lot. You know you have no right asking, but you can’t help but speculate about who’s blowing up his phone, and why he looks so annoyed by it. And why he also looks like he’s trying to hide the phone from your view.
The elevator jerks slightly as it reaches the third floor, and Koji stirs, blinking up at you sleepily. “We’re here?”
“We’re here,” you confirm with a small smile, gently nudging him upright.
Satoru stuffs his phone away again as the doors creak open, revealing the dimly lit hallway beyond. The carpet is worn and the walls are scuffed. You promptly feel another intense wave of embarrassment. You’ve grown used to this place, its imperfections blending into the background of your daily life, but seeing it through Satoru’s eyes makes you painfully aware of every flaw. “This way,” you say, your voice tight as you step out, leading them down the hall.
Koji perks up a little, his steps are more energetic as he tugs on your hand. “Papa, wait till you see my room! I have dinosaurs everywhere!”
“I can’t wait,” Satoru replies, his tone light and easy, but there’s something in his eyes as he glances around. He’s taking it all in—the peeling paint, the faint smell of dampness, the creak of the floorboards under his expensive shoes. You stop in front of your door, fishing your keys out of your pocket. The chipped paint and tarnished doorknob seem to scream your insecurities aloud.
“This is it,” you say quietly, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
Koji rushes inside, his earlier fatigue forgotten as he kicks off his shoes and heads straight for his room. “Wait here, Papa! I’ll show you my dinos!”
Satoru lingers in the doorway for a moment before stepping in, his gaze sweeping over the small living room. It’s cluttered but clean, with Koji’s toys and drawings scattered here and there. The couch is worn, the coffee table scratched, and the kitchen in the corner is cramped and outdated.
“It’s... cozy,” Satoru says after a moment, his tone careful.
You bristle instinctively, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s what I can afford.”
“I didn’t mean—” He stops, exhaling softly. “You’ve done a good job, really. Koji’s happy. That’s what matters.”
You study his face, searching for any trace of condescension or pity, but all you see is sincerity. It catches you off guard, and you look away, busying yourself with tidying up. Satoru takes a few steps further into the room, his gaze lingering on one of Koji’s drawings taped to the wall. It’s a crayon depiction of you and Koji holding hands under a smiling sun. Next to you, there’s an empty space, as if waiting for someone to be added.
He doesn’t say anything, but the slight tightening of his jaw tells you he’s noticed.
Koji rushes out with his toy dinosaurs, holding them up for his father to take. The two move to the couch, the weight of Satoru causing it to creak weirdly. Once more, Koji is giving his father a lesson about dinosaurs, their names, and what they were like—even what sounds they made.
“Do you want a drink?” you ask, looking over to the kitchen. “I have water and some juice.”
He looks up momentarily. But just as he’s about to answer, his phone rings, this time a call. The three of you look down at his phone, Koji tilting his head in confusion before focusing on making his dinosaurs fight again. However, you’re a little more focused. Seeing a name, a woman’s name, accompanied with a picture of your ex kissing a woman you’ve never seen before.
You feel your muscles stiffen, a tug at your heartstrings. As if he notices your behavior from his peripheral, he locks his phone and lets it ring, putting it back in his pocket. “Sorry.” is all he mutters before looking at Koji. “Hey, buddy.”
Koji looks up at him. “Mhm?”
“Papa has to go home now, I have work to do,” Satoru responds slowly.
“You work today? But Mama doesn’t.”
The older of the two nods. “I know, but it’s special work.”
“Special?!”
“Special.”
“Okay!” Kojis nods, grin widening. “When will you come again, Papa?”
Satoru hesitates for a moment, his eyes moving to you, then back to Koji. You notice the brief pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He doesn’t look at you directly, but you can feel the shift in the space between you both. “I’ll come back soon, buddy,” he says finally, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I’ll see you again. We’ll play more, alright?”
Koji’s eyes light up, and he nods vigorously. “Okay! We’ll play dinosaurs again!” His excitement bubbles over, as if nothing has changed, as if the uncertainty of the last few minutes never existed.
Satoru smiles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “You’re the best, Koji.” He stands, looking over to you now. There’s an awkwardness that lingers, like the space between you two is suddenly filled with things unsaid.
“Thanks for letting me come by and meet him,” he adds quietly, the words sincere but tinged with something you can’t quite place. His gaze flickers down to his phone again, but it’s almost as if he’s avoiding it now, like he knows the reminder of what’s going on in his life is right there.
You nod stiffly. “Of course. Thanks for spending time with him.” Your words feel distant.
Satoru turns towards the door, his steps slow. “I’ll text you about when I can come back,” he says, his voice a little more subdued than before. He opens the door, then stops, his hand resting on the handle. “Take care of him. And yourself.”
You can’t tell if the last part is meant to be comforting or a reminder, but you nod anyway, your own thoughts swirling. With that, Satoru steps out, and the door closes behind him. You hear the faint click of his shoes as he walks down the hall, and then everything goes quiet.
Koji is already back to his dinosaurs, chattering to himself, completely unaware of the complexities unfolding in the space between his parents. You stand in the living room, your gaze lingering on the spot where Satoru had been, a thousand different emotions crashing inside you. The woman’s name on his phone, the kiss, the way he shut down the moment you noticed—it all gnaws at you, but you don’t know how to confront it. How do you even begin to ask? And what would it change, anyway? Why do you even care in the first place?
You take a deep breath and walk over to where Koji is playing, forcing a smile for his sake, trying to push everything else to the back of your mind. For now, it’s just you and him, and that has to be enough.
a/n: can you guys tell i love ominous endings? ^--^
pairing: gojo x fem reader
synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation.
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression, manipulation
wc: 5155
a/n: hi everyone! i'm so excited for this piece of work as I have a lot of exciting ideas planned in store! this will probably have slow updates, so please please please be patient with me. thank you all for reading! i'm aiming for at least 15ish chapters, maybe more or less, depends how much i write in one chapter in the future.
series masterlist < next chapter
“Cash or card?”
“Card.”
The sound of light dinging follows, the transaction completed. “Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”
“Thank you, you too.” The woman takes the small bag from your outstretched hands, giving one last smile before exiting. The bell at the top of the door rings, signifying her exit. You sigh and look at the clock, one more hour. It’s not that long. But you’ve been here since opening and the shoes you’re wearing are beginning to hurt your feet. Maybe you should’ve broken them in more.
It’s a quaint little cafe. Most of the customers are teenagers, college students, or overworked office workers who need caffeine to get them through the day. Other than that, you have no qualms. Of course, it does get a little annoying having to tell the newer, much younger co-workers that they can’t do this or that.
A mundane routine of making coffees, packing orders, and ringing them up. Just one more hour.
As soon as the clock strikes 5:00, you’re clocking out and saying goodbye. The school is an exact walk of ten minutes, six if you’re fast. Then another ten back to the apartment. And finally, another fifteen to the convenience store.
Hustle and bustle is all you’ve ever known. Sure, you like it most of the time. But you just wish you could get a break. It’s always go, go, go, but never take a rest and time to yourself for a moment. But when you see that adorable smile plaster on those chubby cheeks you never shy away from pinching, it’s all worth it. “Mama!”
“Baby!” you crouch down and open your arms. The young boy wastes no time in throwing his body into yours, face nuzzled into your chest and arms around your neck. “How was school? Fun?” you ask, hand rubbing his back up and down.
He nods. “Mhm! Mr. Ito says I got the most gold stars out of everyone in class.”
Your smile grows wistful, aweing. “Wow, such a good boy, aren’t you?”
You carry Koji into your arms, starting the walk back to your very humble apartment. He chatters innocently the entire trek, with you occasionally adding on or asking questions. His soft white hair pokes at your cheek, to which you straighten down with one free hand. It’s days like these where you wish you could just lounge at home with him, basking in his sweet innocence. But while most people are ending for the day, you’re barely starting your second half.
You feel the self-deprecating thoughts fill your mind like a virus while stationed near the light, waiting for the pedestal symbol to indicate. Your grip tightens around your son slightly, as if anchoring yourself to reality and reminding yourself you’re doing it all for him, and to keep going for him.
It’s hard, yes. But so is parenting.
The symbol comes on and you walk, seeing the building of your complex in the distance. Forcing any lingering negativity away, you clear your throat. “So, what did you learn today, baby?”
Koji looks up at you. “We learned how to add! I helped Mina.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
He giggles bashfully, leaning into the kiss you place on his cheek. Eyebrows raising as a sudden memory hits him. “Oh! And Mr. Ito said Dad Appreciation Day is next month. There’s gonna be food and music.”
Your smile wavers, footsteps momentarily pausing before continuing. “Oh, really?” you ask, inhaling a wavy breath of air. “That sounds like fun.”
“Mhm.” Koji nods, then tilts his head curiously at you. “But everyone is bringing their daddies. I wanna bring Papa too.”
And you really try not to make your guilty grimace visible. “I know, sweetie. I know.”
“Can Papa come?” he frowns.
No, he can’t. But you’re not about to tell your five-year-old that the reason his father can’t make an appearance is because he doesn’t even know he has a son. It’s been a difficult conversation for you. You’re not sure when or how to have these sorts of hard ones with children. So you’ve been dancing around the subject. Saying his dad is away on vacation, or fighting intergalactic dragons, or some other excuse you’ve been forced to use. He believes you, most of the time. But that doesn’t stop his curiosity and growing impatience.
The last thing you want him to think is that he has no father in the first place.
He does. You’ve shown him pictures and videos occasionally. Of, and of course, he’s an exact carbon copy of the man. From his bright blue eyes, albino hair, and all the way down to his stubborn personality. You were a little annoyed when your only child took quite literally everything from his father, only leaving him with a couple of things from you–your nose and helpful nature.
“We’ll see. Papa is busy, remember?” you gently reply, walking through the parking lot of your complex to the lobby.
Koji’s frown deepens and so do the metaphorical scars on your heart. “But Papa’s always busy! I wanna see Papa.”
“I know you do, baby. You will soon, okay?”
“Do you promise?”
You hesitate but eventually nod with a forced smile. “Mama promises.”
After leaving Koji with the babysitter, you give him a quick kiss and recite the list with the babysitter before rushing off to your second job. A convenience store.
Not the most savory place, mainly because you get all sorts of crazy and odd customers, but also because you are close. You hate closing. But you need the second disposable income and this is the only place that fits with your schedule. It’s also a little more leaned back than the cafe, when there are no customers, you spend your time browsing the web for jobs.
You’ve probably sent in over 500 applications over the years, with not even half of those places reaching out. Even then, you’re not guaranteed a job. The job market is horrible nowadays and you’re living through it.
Whatever, you think to yourself as you clock in. One day at a time.
It’s around eleven at night when you're slugging back into your apartment, lights dim, and silence enveloping the place. “Thank you, Sana.” You mutter, exhausted but still sparing the 20-year-old a smile. You hand her a small envelope. “For today and last Saturday. How was he?”
Sana thanks you kindly and grabs her stuff. “All good, no tantrums today.”
“That’s good.” you walk into the kitchen, grabbing some food you’ve meal prepped. “Get home safe, okay?”
“Thank you, Y/N. Sleep well.”
When she leaves, you give yourself a moment to slump over the kitchen island, sighing in both relief and lingering tiredness. The silence feels nice, like an old and familiar friend welcoming you and praising you after yet another day of the same routine. You’ve always loved routines, but you can’t help but crave at least some sort of spontaneity. Putting the tupperware of chicken and rice into the microwave for a minute, its light humming makes you zone out. The conversation from before with your son ringing in your mind like a very annoying bell.
Soon, images of his father, your ex, flood your mind. An old fluttery sensation residing in the pit of your stomach, your body suddenly feeling all too warm for your liking. Your fists clench to stop their light trembling, shaking your head free of him.
Not now.
You stop the microwave at one second, before it makes that obnoxious beeping and wakes your son. There are two chairs at the small dining table, you sit at one of them and eat your now warm meal. You’ve started meal prepping after one too many missed meals and a few incidents where that light-headedness and blurred vision caused you to faint. Luckily, you were alone when that happened. Unluckily, you were alone when that happened. Nursing a few bruises to your forehead after making contact was not a fun time.
You take time to eat, in no particular rush. Although you know you should be getting ready for bed soon for another early day tomorrow, your body doesn’t move. Either consciously or subconsciously. The end of the day is when you find yourself attempting to unwind and detach from the day’s events. But, the stress of unpaid bills, debts, and worry for the future always find time to crawl back.
It’s exhausting, extremely so. Sure, you’re an adult and this is normal. But don’t you deserve at least a little bit of time when you don’t have to worry about anything? It feels like every waking second your mind is working overtime, your body in a constant state of motion. It’s worn you down completely over the years. But you have a son who needs you, so you suppose you shouldn’t be feeling pity for yourself.
This is what parenting is all about, isn’t it?
Making sacrifice after sacrifice for your child. However, when you feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper, slowly losing more of yourself, what if there’s nothing left to sacrifice in the first place? The eviction bill from this morning taunts you as it lays upright in front of you in the middle of the table.
It’s then do you think, no, you do have one thing left.
Koji.
If Koji’s gone, then you really have nothing left. There’s no reason to live if that happens. And with the path you’re going down, that’s feeling more and more like a dreaded possibility.
I wanna see Papa.
Koji’s words play repeatedly. For a second, you feel yourself resonating with your son. Only for a second. You reach for your phone and go to Google, typing in a name that still haunts you. You’re barely three letters in before his name appears and you’re clicking.
A smiling image fills your screen along with other general information.
For some unknown reason, your breath hitches. You feel like he’s almost staring at you, smiling at your pathetic predicament. Grip tightening around your phone, swallowing down an unexpecting lump, tears fall from your eyes and onto the phone screen.
Why you’re crying, you don’t know. It could be many things, but you won’t address that right now.
Gojo Satoru.
The father of your child, your ex of 4 years.
You rarely look him up, almost never. Only in desperate times when you feel yourself drowning and needing some sort of comfort. It’s stupid. You haven’t been together or even seen him in five years. Not since you ended things with him. Not since you felt his hands roam your skin, whispering sweet words.
He didn’t even protest or question why. Almost like he knew your breakup was inevitable. You’re not sure if that hurts more.
You’re twenty-eight now. But while your life still feels the same from when you met Satoru at the ripe age of nineteen, you’ve reached a plateau. But him? He’s thriving, of course. Making a name for himself, as an heir to one of the biggest conglomerates in Japan, the Gojo Group.
You’re happy for him. But where is that happiness for yourself?
You feel a little, no, a lot jealous. You always were of Satoru. Being given everything he wants without much thought, never worrying about money, and a stable home life. You’re extremely jealous of that bastard.
But right now, jealousy isn’t in the picture. It’s your son’s father. And if you want to keep your son, give him everything he wants, that starts with one person.
Letting him meet his father.
“Honey, do you like your pancakes?” you ask your son who’s currently scarfing down his plate of breakfast. Adorned in an adorable shirt uniform shirt and some little black trousers. He hums back excitedly with a muffled “yes, mama”. With a chuckle, you dry up the rest of the dishes, then your hands. Dropping him off at school is the first thing on your agenda, as per usual.
The walk to his school is a familiar one, wanting to get your son knowledgeable with the route so when the day comes that he needs to walk him himself, he’d know his way back. You pass by other kids and parents, some children yelling bye as they step onto the school grounds, with others giving their children long-lasting hugs.
You walk until you reach his door, his teacher, Mr. Ito, standing outside and greeting his students as they enter. When he makes eye contact with Koji, he smiles a bit wider. “Good morning, Koji.”
“Good morning!” your son happily replies, waving up at his teacher. With one final hug and kiss shared, he’s running in to already begin talking to his friends. Standing back up, you see Mr. Ito already looking at you. And you especially don’t miss the way his eyes not so subtly rake up and down your figure. You clear your throat. “Good morning.”
He meets your eyes again. “Good morning, Y/N-san. How are you today?”
“Good, and you?”
“Very good.”
The way his tone is almost causes you to visibly shiver, brows furrowing slightly in discomfort. One of the things you dislike the most about Koji’s school, his teacher. Although he hasn’t outwardly done or said anything inappropriate, you’re a smart woman. “That’s good. Well…have a nice day.” Doing anything you can to quickly end this dreaded conversation, but still wanting to maintain a level of politeness.
You’re about to turn on your heel and leave when he calls out. “Ah, Y/N-san?”
Damn it, what now? “Yes?” you turn and look at him.
The distance between you reduces as he steps a little closer. “I have some concerns regarding Koji’s behavior in class. Would you be available to set up a conference anytime this week?”
“Behavior? Has he been misbehaving?” You did not expect that.
“Well, it’s complicated. He has some trouble listening as talks when he shouldn’t. I’d like to nip this in the bud before it grows out of control.” Mr. Ito cooly replies, smile looking more like a hidden smirk. “So, will you be available?”
You hesitate, not really. With your two jobs, you barely have time for yourself, let alone your son’s teacher. But if it’s regarding a behavior problem, then do you have any choice? “I think I’ll be free this Saturday. Weekdays are very hectic for more.”
He nods. “That’s fine, we can grab coffee.” When your head tilts slightly, he adds on with a chuckle. “And discuss Koji over coffee. On me.”
Right, of course. You know what this is, but just think about your son. That’s the priority. “Okay, 8 am at Latte Lounge sound good?”
“Sounds excellent, I’ll see you then. Have a wonderful day.”
With a simple nod back, you turn around and finally leave. Practically feeling the way his eyes shamelessly check out your behind. A frown inevitably grows on your face, why wouldn’t it? As long as this man doesn’t try anything…more, you should be fine. And if he does, 1) you’ll be in public, and 2) you’ll tell him straight up.
Whatever.
“Pizza or teriyaki?”
“Pizza!”
“Of course.” you chuckle and put the frozen pizza in your cart, your son clutched onto your right hand after announcing he can walk on his own because he’s a big boy. The grocery store isn’t crowded during this time of day. Rightfully so. It’s 7 pm on a Tuesday, most people already cooking dinner by now. You always grocery shop at this time, your son appreciates it too. There’s been a few times when you both got quickly and very overwhelmed with the bustling nature of the grocery store on a weekend morning. Currently, you’re moving through the snack section now, picking up a few of your and Koji’s favorites.
“Mama, can I pick a cereal?” Koji asks and points to the cereal aisle next over. When you nod, he happily runs off. You still however make sure to look over at him frequently when picking up and putting down a few snacks.
You reach up to grab a pack of Hello Panda, the pink and chocolate ones, before a hand beats you to it. “Oh, I’m sorry.” As soon as you look over, you and the stranger meet eyes.
Immediately, there’s a silence that falls over you two. Eyes each blown wide in shock.
Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.
Just your luck. As soon as the stranger speaks, a strange nostalgia fills you. “Y-Y/N?”
It almost sounds weird coming from his lips. Your friend–well, ex?--friend gets out. He still looks the same, just more…manly.
“...Suguru, I–I’m… surprised to see you.” you awkwardly laugh. Reunions were never easy.
“Oh my god,” Suguru breaths out, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Well, shit. I mean, how are you? You..you look good.” His eyes move down your figure in an appreciative way.
“Thank you, I’m good. How are you? Your hair is longer.” you motion to his sea of black, healthy locks. “ ‘M a little jealous.”
He laughs with you, the sound reminding you of old times. “Yeah, been working on it. And I’m good.”
Another pause is permitted, as if you two aren’t very sure what to say to one another. Well, in all honesty, it has been five years. “Well,” he clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets. “What are you up to?”
“Oh, you know,” you glance down at your cart. “Just some shopping.”
He also looks down, head tilting slightly. “Ah, right.” With a nod, he juts his head toward the direction of the kid’s toothpaste. “Just for one?” He laughs, joking of course.
You mentally curse yourself, putting a pack of cookies on top of the toothpaste to hide its already revealed existence. “Uh, ye—”
“Mama! I want this one!” Koji runs up to you, showcasing his desired cereal.
Well…..shit.
As if things weren’t already complicated.
With Suguru’s eyes even wider than when they were staring at you, his mouth is practically on the floor when the young boy looks at him. His sharp eyes dart across his features and…..
“I-is this—”
“Koji.” you cut him off, gulping and shifting the child closer to your leg. “My son.”
Suguru spends another good minute staring at the boy, who innocently stares back. When his eyes slowly move from the blue ones to yours, there are a million and more questions swirling in his brain. He’s not even sure which one to ask first. But he goes with the obvious. “...Is….is he…..”
You nod uncomfortably.
He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, hand running through his hair. “Holy shit, I mean….holy heck.”
Your lips purse, putting Koji’s cereal in your cart before picking him up in your arms. “Koji, this is Suguru. Say hi.”
“Hi.” Koji childishly smiles at the older man. “Are you Mama’s friend?”
Suguru spares you a glance. “Uhm…yeah. Yeah, kid, I am. Nice to meet you.” He then shifts weirdly, not sure if he should shake the boy’s hand, which seems too formal. He decides to gently ruffle his hair. “So…how old is he?”
The question is directed towards you, but Koji answers. “I’m five!” He holds up five small fingers.
“Five?” Suguru’s brows furrow at you. It’s surprising how quickly you recognize that scolding look of his. “Have you—”
“No.” you once again cut him off, shifting Koji to your hip. “I haven’t.”
“Why?”
That’s a good question. One you know the answer to…slightly. But with Koji looking between you two curiously, you can’t exactly say why. At least not here. “I….I just…haven’t.”
Silence.
You can feel Suguru regarding you with many emotions, but the main one is confusion. He bites his lip as he thinks over how to react properly to this situation. From the looks of it, Koji is just as clueless as him, maybe even more. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know what to say right now.” Heavily sighing, he looks back at Koji, then you, then Koji, then finally you. “You’re going to…right? I mean, he deserves to know, Y/N. You’ve just–I mean, come on.”
There’s not much of a response to that, much to his expectation. You always used to do this when you were guilty. But Suguru has always been the more… empathetic of the two. “Look, I–I know you’re probably going through your own things, but…”
You look at him again, remorseful. His lips purse and with a heavy sigh, he takes a card out from his pocket and hands it to you. “Here’s my business card, it has my number. We lost your old one, so.”
Your hand reaches out to take it, examining the words, Rising Futures Foundation. "Building futures, one child at a time.” You meet his eyes again, forcing words out. “Okay…thanks.”
“No need,” he waves you off, taking down the two Hello Panda boxes and putting them in your cart. “I’m sorry, I have things to do right now, but please…give me a call, okay?”
With slight hesitation, you nod. He mirrors you before focusing on the child again, a smile forming. “See you, buddy.” Suguru pats his shoulder lightly before walking away and away from your vision.
Your mind is being overrun, body feeling stiff and stuck, unsure of how to process what the fuck just happened. No doubt he’s about to tell his best friend. Then said best friend will find you and Koji. Then maybe he’ll try taking you to court for hiding his son for five years. You’ll obviously lose because you have no lawyer and Satoru has the best. Your son, your one and only, your sole happiness will be taken away from you and you’ll be left alone to rot in angui–
“Mama?” Koji’s small hand is put to your cheek, stirring you from your mild comatose state. “Are you okay? You have tears in your eyes.”
“What?” Raising your hand to your eye and sure enough, you are letting loose some tears. “No, no, Mama’s okay. I’m not crying, just…just tired.”
But with growing age, so is his perception. “Are you sure? Did your friend make you cry? I don’t like him then.”
Oh, how sweet. You smile, head tilting. “No, baby. Don’t say that, okay? Mama’s fine. I promise. See? I’m smiling. Wanna smile with me?”
Like clockwork, he follows your emotions and smiles, giggling. “Yeah, I wanna smile with you. I like smiling with you, Mama.”
“And I like it when you smile with me too.”
Maybe, this isn’t too bad. You were just thinking that you want Koji to finally meet his dad. So, this is good. This ensures a meeting. But, it also ensures a deep-rooted, most likely bad confrontation that will take place between you two. Why wouldn’t it? At least you’ll be able to prepare yourself now, mentally.
You can imagine the harsh words he might say. The raised voices and brutal questions about how you can do this to him and so on. In hindsight, you deserve it. What kind of woman does do this to a man? Children are supposed to be bundles of joy, not hidden secrets. Of course, there’s the lingering worries of what legal action Satoru, or his family, might try to take.
That would quite literally fuck you over so hard.
But…maybe Satoru will go easy on you because of your past. You really don’t know. This situation is messy as fuck and it’s mostly—a lot—because of you. You have no one to blame but yourself. Hopefully, he’ll take pity on you, even though you hate when others pity you. It’s different when it comes to him, the father of your son. It always has been and it probably always will be.
Honestly, you’re a little relieved that you ran into the best friend of the man than the man himself. Now that would’ve been bad.
The sounds of skin against skin fill the room, mixed with heavy grunts and airy moans. The headboard repeatedly hitting the wall plays like a drum, the lights dim and the view of the dark city landscape is exposed. Satoru’s gripping the woman’s hips, leaving crescent-shaped indents in her fair skin. Her constant mewls sound heavenly in his ears. “God, you feel so….good…”
“S-satoru!”
“Yeah, say my name. Just like that, baby.”
He presses a firm hand down on the small of her back to keep her arch in place, feeling his release invade her warm walls, filling her with a lovely warmth. She clenches around him, moaning out once more as she finishes with him.
He collapses against her back, his heavy breaths tingling her ear. “Baby, that was…so good…” she croaks out.
Satoru’s mind is fuzzy, vision blurring slightly. He hums in response and leans back up to pull out, discarding the heavy condom with his load into the trashcan beside the bed. “Stay.” With a small pat to her hip, he’s forcing his limbs out of bed and to the connecting bathroom to grab a warm rag. Aftercare. Although most of the time, he really can’t be bothered to do something like this. Cleaning her up feels like a chore sometimes, but the last time he voiced that opinion, it led to a huge argument between the two.
In just a few minutes, they’re both cleaned and changed. Wearing his sweats low on his hips while she indulges in just one of his oversized shirts. Another small pet peeve he has. And another thing he must keep his mouth shut about. “What time do you have to go into the office tomorrow?” Himari asks, snuggled up against his chest, dainty fingers tracing circles along the firm muscles.
“Same time as always,” he sighs, grabbing the TV remote and putting a random show on. “You know that.”
“I know, but…can’t you just call off tomorrow? Please? I wanna spend the day with you.”
When he looks back down at her, she’s frowning. A small tug is pulled at his heart and before he knows it, he’s pulling her closer and placing a gentle kiss to her hair. “Can’t, baby. Maybe this weekend?”
Satoru can feel her ready to protest again, but the sound of the front door downstairs being opened and closed interrupts the moment. Followed by the familiar voice of his friend. “Satoru! You here?”
Satoru’s brows furrow slightly. A small grunt falls from his lips as he maneuvers Himari off his chest, standing up and walking out. He looks down the staircase and sees Suguru staring up at him. “What do you want? I’m sorta busy.” Himari comes out and hugs his waist, proof of his so-called “busyness”.
Suguru holds back an eye roll when the woman gives him a look, focusing on his best friend. “Need to talk to you. Privately.”
“For what?”
“It’s important.”
“So just say it now.”
“Damn it, Satoru. Just come down and kick your friend out.”
“Girlfriend.” Himari corrects with a scowl.
“Yeah, sure.” Suguru waves her off and motions for Satoru to come down as he walks into the man’s kitchen.
Sighing with his eyes closed, he turns to Himari. “Sorry, babe. My driver’ll give you a ride back.”
Once again, she frowns. “But I—”
“Please.”
His bottom lip pokes out in a small, but convincing pout. “I’ll see you later, mkay?” Satoru reaches his thumb out and brushes it along her cheekbone, which he knows she’s weak for. Confliction and hesitation dance in her eyes but she concedes. Gathering her purse and shows, she gives Satoru a dramatic kiss on the lips before leaving.
“Finally,” Suguru huffs from the kitchen, swirling a glass of whiskey. “I thought you guys broke up.”
“It was a break.” Satoru grumbles, walking over to stand across from his friend, snatching the glass out his hand and sipping. “Anyway, what’s so important you come unannounced for and demand my sweet company to leave?”
“That woman is not sweet.”
Satoru smiles and shrugs, “She tastes it.”
A groan is heard from Suguru, eyes rolling before he shakes his head. “Look, you should sit down.”
“That good, huh?” he plops down in the nearby chair and leans back, arm resting against the back of it. He nods. “Alright, shoot, baby.”
Suguru takes in a deep breath and steels himself for the more than likely hard conversation. A part of him feels like he’s intruding, like it’s not his place to reveal such a thing to him. But at the end of the day, it’s his best friend. And you, well…he’s not exactly sure if you’re still friends or not. “What I tell you might sound crazy, but I need you to promise you’ll stay calm until I’m done speaking, got it?”
Satoru’s brows raise in mild astonishment, seeing Suguru get all serious like this is quite amusing. “Okay, I promise.” He shrugs again. “Can’t be that bad, right? No one’s hurt.”
Not yet, Suguru says to himself. He claps his hands together, mulling over how exactly to break the news. “So, I came across an old friend today.”
“Oh yeah? She cute?” Satoru swirls the alcohol in his glass.
Suguru holds back another eye roll. “Yeah, she is.”
“Nice, man.” the white-haired man chuckles, head tilting. “So what, did she make a move on you or something? Now that’s crazy.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m actually quite favorable amongst women.”
“Are you now?”
“Listen, you ass. No talking, just listening.” When he doesn’t get a response back, he takes it as a sign to continue. “Anyway, I saw an old friend. And…she had a kid with her.” Satoru nods slowly, already getting lost on his this information is even remotely crazy, or relevant to him. But he stays shut, deciding not to face another one of Suguru’s mini-lectures. One more deep breath is let out from Suguru and he gets to the point. “It was Y/N, she has a kid.”
A small beat of silence follows as Suguru gauges his best friend’s reaction. He doesn’t look like he’s flipping out, but he doesn’t show much emotion either. Confusing Suguru, he waits for the inevitable lash out.
“Who?” Satoru ends up asks.
His best friend knits his brows, trying to see if the other man is serious or not. When his expression doesn’t change, he replies. “Y/N…” he speaks slowly. “...your ex?”
Still, no emotion. But his grip on the glass does tighten. “And she has a kid.” Suguru reiterates, almost in nervousness now.
“Satoru….the kid looks exactly like you.”
a/n: thank you guys for reading!!! Sorry if this chapter was a little short, i’ll try to make the next ones a little more longer. But writing super huge chapters isn’t my forte. Anyway, stay tuned for chapter 2 :)
cw: mdni. suggestive, masturbation, a little bit of choking?, oral (m!receiving)
a/n: got a little carried away here so it’s kind of long, also this is only my second time writing so I’m sorry if it’s bad!
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roommate!geto who lays in your lap as you run your nails thru his long hair, pretending to be asleep so you won't get up~
roommate!geto who catches you staring at him after he’s walked out the shower with nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, beads of water clinging to his body. “like what you see princess?”
roommate!geto who listens to you vent every time you and one of your situationships don't work out "you deserve so much better baby" he says as he pulls you into a hug, planting kiss on your forehead >,<
roommate!geto who becomes more touchy since you started going out on dates again-
randomly cupping your face with one hand and squeezing it gently to make you pout mid conversation;
hugging you from behind while you cook to 'thank' you for making breakfast. "thanks for always cooking for me doll" he says as he wraps his arms around you, feeling his bare chest press against your back~
roommate!geto who when you're bored you go to his room to hang out with, but end up falling asleep on his bed-
roommate!geto who's mesmerized by your sleeping figure and doesn't have the heart to wake you up when he wants to sleep so he ends up climbing into bed with you.
suguru is hyper aware of EVERYTHING. how your hair smells, how soft your legs feel, the fact you aren’t wearing a bra- it all he can think about all night.
in the early hours of the morning when he absolutely cannot deal with his morning hard on anymore he goes to get up, but you grab his wrist, "sugu don't go" you whisper, dragging him back to bed~
roommate!geto who makes you getting ready cocktails <3
roommate!geto who you 'platonically' ask to practice kissing, because you haven't kissed anyone in a while and you don't want to disappoint this 'guy that you really like'-
roommate!geto who actually kisses you <3
as the cold metal of his piercings brushes against your lips, you lean deeper into him. his hand snakes up to wrap around your neck and you feel a wet patch forming in your underwear.
as the kiss turns into a full blown make out session, he notices you squeezing your thighs together- his hands move to cup your face and he swipes his tongue over your lips willing you to part them further. your hands begin roam, while his tangle in your freshly curled hair. instinctively you cup his erection through his pants. he let’s out a moan- almost a whimper.
he needs you so bad. he thinks about how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock. how cute you’d look all messy and drooling over his length, batting your eyelashes up at him. he’d scoop all your hair up and push your head down further onto his erection. watching your makeup you spent so long on get more and more messed up eventually cumming undone in the back of your throat~
the kiss is languid, feverish and messy, but ends when the door bell rings and your date is here.
he watches you get up from the couch, tugging from at the hem of your dress, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and attempting to smooth your messed up hair.
“have fun baby” he says with a smirk as you slip on your shoes~
roommate!geto who actually dies inside when you actually start dating this guy you met on tinder.
roommate!geto who just lets out a scoff when you open your birthday present from your boyfriend and it's a gold necklace- you ony wear silver.
"here princess," he says as he hands you a small jewelry box with a little bow on it. opening it to find a silver necklace~
"thank you sugu i love it!" you say leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. he doesn't miss the way your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your reaction.
roommate!geto who “borrows” your dirty panties when you’re not home~
laying in your bed, he wraps a lacy thong around his cock, slowly fucking his fist, thinking about how much better he is than your asshole boyfriend.
roommate!geto who cums in your panties and then puts them back in your laundry basket- who would ever notice?
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a/n: sorry it took so long to get this out haha, I was kinda scared to post it 😭
Im super open to feedback so please lmk if I should’ve done anything differently
I have part 3 almost ready, but it’s gonna be more of a drabble/one shot format!
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AHHHH! I’m so glad you liked it!!! There’s more in the works hehe. What I’m working on rn is more like actual smut lol, but if u guys want stuff that’s just fluffy/mildly suggestive I can do that too!
roommate!geto who you are weary to move in with at first, but as soon as you meet him you feel perfectly comfortable- like you’ve known each other for decades~
roommate!geto who insists on calling you “baby” and “doll” all the time
roommate!geto who you cuddle up with in your shared living room every thursday night to watch movies~
he’s already sitting on the couch with open arms when you come out to the shared space, “what’re we watching today baby?”
roommate!geto who has to excuse himself for a minute (or two) when he sees you walk out of you room in sleep shorts that expose the curve of your ass and a tank top with no bra.
roommate!geto who gets hard whenever a sex scene comes on, he knows you can feel his length pressing against your back, but the fact he knows you can feel it turns him on more~
roommate!geto who always sneaks touches. <3
nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck while you “platonically” cuddle during the movie. taking in the scent of your freshly lotioned skin~
grabbing your waist to guide you when you’re at parties, shielding you from any boys that might be around,
pressing his hips against yours whenever he stands behind you,
tucking loose strands of your hair behind your ear mid conversation.
roommate!geto who drives you everywhere- he doesn’t mind because he loves spending time with you <3
roommate!geto who you give little fashion shows before you go out clubbing with your friends. “you look beautiful doll”
roommate!geto who despite loving your outfit can’t stop thinking about how some guy might hit on you at the club
roommate!geto who cannot shut up about you to satoru~
roommate!geto who starts taking up skirt pictures of you to show satoru what has him going crazy-
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a/n: ok i finally got the courage to get this out of my drafts. pls lmk if it’s actual shit 😭
also i didn’t proofread or anything so there might be mistakes- sorry again!
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