gojossocks

There were days, you realized, that were more forgiving than the others. At least you could say that in your world. You were so used to enduring the worst that life could throw at you—drained by endless tears, heartbreak, and disappointment. Yet, every so often, there came days when life granted you a brief reprieve from the pain. Perhaps it was to prepare you for another storm. Or perhaps it was a sign that your heart might finally find peace. 

You hoped it was the latter. Because today seemed to be a better day, as the morning light broke across the whitewashed walls of the hospital as if to signal a new beginning. The rain had finally stopped, taking with it the gloom it had cast over the city for the past week. 

After days of anxiety and sterile air thick with disinfectant, the world finally seemed to exhale with you. The doctor said Sachiro was well enough to be discharged. The IV lines were gone, the heart monitor silenced, and the medical tubes pulled out, leaving only small tapes and faint bruises on your son’s soft skin. He looked smaller somehow, fragile in a way that made your chest ache, though his smile was bright and unburdened like nothing had happened at all. What a strong boy, you thought in tearful silence. Feeling bad for your son, but also proud of his resilience as a mere 3-year old boy. 

“Doctor, I can’t thank you enough,” you said in utmost gratitude to the person who saved your son’s life, “From fixing my heart, and now, Sachiro’s…”

“There’s no need to thank me, Y/N. This is my job,” he replied, smiling, “Besides, your father and I go way back. I know he’d have given me a hard time if I didn't handle yours and Sachi’s cases successfully.” 

Your dad joined in with a chuckle. “I’m glad you know.”

While you and your father continued to speak to the doctor about medications, aftercare, follow-up tests, Sachiro sat cross-legged on the bed beside Satoru, eyes wide with child-like determination while in a conversation with his daddy. You caught the gazes they exchanged and didn’t miss the chance to eavesdrop, listening in on them while speaking with the doctor. 

“Dada,” he said, with that little boy stubbornness he inherited from his father. “Let’s go home to your house.”

The words made you pause. Even your father did, too. Your dad’s brows even furrowed immediately as concern knitted across his lined face. “Sachiro,” he said gently, speaking as if Satoru wasn’t in the same room. “Grandpa's house is better for you. It’s quieter. You should rest.”

But Sachiro only shook his head, his little fists balled on his lap. “But Sachi want Dada’s house! I like it there.”

Satoru didn’t look at you when his son said it. As though he knew his son’s request was a landmine waiting to be stepped on, which was also why he didn’t interfere. Not one word from Satoru convincing anyone of anything. He simply stayed silent, allowing the decision to be yours and yours alone, even if he was the paternal figure to your broken family. Still, you didn’t miss the sadness that shone on your ex-husband’s eyes. Sachiro choosing to stay with his father seemed to have touched his heart in ways a normally disregarded parent would. 

“I’ll come with Sachi.” You stood there, a folder of discharge papers pressed against your chest, suffocating from the weight of your father’s gaze on you before he even spoke.

“Y/N,” your father began, carefully, like he was afraid the wrong tone might make you snap. “It’s not… proper. You staying in another man’s house like that? You’re unmarried.”

His words bit into you sharper than they should have.

Unmarried.

As if the ring once on your finger, the vows you had spoken before God and family, the home you once shared with Satoru Gojou had never existed at all. As if the boy sitting there—your son, with his father’s blue eyes and his mother’s gentle mien—had been born without history, without consequence, without love that once ran so deep it drowned you both.

Your father’s voice then softened, cautious but only because he must have realized his poor choice of words. “People will talk, Y/N. They always do. I don’t want you to go through this again and have Ian clear up your name every time.”

And maybe he was right. Maybe the whole country would, yet again, feast on this rumor like wolves on a carcass—how the divorcee ran back into her ex-husband’s house the moment she had her chance again. How she stayed there with him, nights under the same roof, like his shameless paramour.

But they wouldn’t see the truth, would they?

They wouldn’t see the nights Satoru never left the hospital, slumped over Sachiro’s bed in the same wrinkled clothes, red-rimmed eyes refusing to close even when exhaustion carved shadows into his face. They wouldn’t see the way his hands shook when Sachiro cried in pain, the way his voice cracked when he told him it would be okay.

They wouldn’t see that this wasn’t about romance, or reputation, or whatever fantasy the world wanted to paint over it.

This was about a boy who wanted both his parents in one place because the machines that beeped by his bedside had reminded him—too early, too cruelly—that life could take them away.

Your father sighed beside you. “It isn’t right,” he murmured again, his hand squeezing your shoulder. “You're smart, Y/N. Don't make foolish decisions.”

“Dad, I…” Satoru suddenly spoke up, his voice laced with nervousness, so much so that he didn’t realize he slipped and called your father ‘dad’. “I’ll take good care of them. I’ll be by Sachi’s side until he recovers and I’ll help Y/N with everything she needs. I promise they’ll be—”

“Y/N, we should discuss this outside.” Your father callously ignored Satoru like he wasn’t there. And you watched how he was visibly hurt by the way he was treated by your dad. He didn’t deserve it, no matter how much pain you had suffered because of him, he was still human. 

But Satoru wasn’t just any man.

He was your ex-husband.

Your son’s father.

The man who had once memorized every inch of your body like scripture and now hovered silently in the background, tucking Sachiro’s jacket into his overnight bag with hands too careful for someone so outwardly indifferent. He didn’t even try to join the discussion anymore. He gave up with his one attempt and respectfully just let you decide, like your word alone could shift the earth beneath his feet.

And maybe it could.

Because you saw the truth in the little things: how he was genuine about taking care of you and Sachiro, how he was hopeful to be given a chance at letting you stay in his home. He must have seen it as the perfect opportunity to make up with you, especially now that you still had many things to clear up and problems to resolve. 

You exhaled slowly. “It’s just for a few days,” you said to your dad, your voice quieter than you expected as you stood by the door. “Until Sachi’s better. My decision is final.”

Your father looked at you like he wanted to argue, but the words never came. Because there was nothing improper about a boy wanting both his parents near. And there was nothing sinful about a mother wanting the same.

––

The days that followed blurred into something almost dreamlike.

Because Satoru Gojou, for all the chaos he carried in his bones, was steady now.

He didn’t outwardly show his joy per se, but the bliss he felt inside glistened like stars in his eyes. He seemed happy, very much so, now that his family was living together with him as if everything had finally settled into perfect harmony. 

Satoru rose before you every morning, padding around his penthouse in quiet socks as he prepared Sachiro’s breakfast and made sure you had something warm to eat, too. You could tell he was very specific about what he cooked, choosing healthy ingredients catered to a recovering child and a pregnant lady. He even refilled the humidifier in your room, worried that the air was too dry and could trigger your allergies. He moved through the house with careful treading as this—the son curled up on the couch watching cartoons, you walking slowly through the hallway with one hand instinctively resting on your belly—was something he might wake from if he breathed too loudly.

And he never once touched you without permission. Not once, which was unusual of the Satoru Gojou you knew. 

Every time his hand brushed yours when he offered you tea, every time he tugged the blanket higher over your shoulders while you napped on the couch, every time he looked at you like you were something worshipful—he waited. He waited and let you feel his devotion without demanding anything in return.

Maybe that was what softened you.

Because you had told him you needed time. That he couldn’t just slide back into your life like nothing had happened, like there weren’t years of pain and mistakes between you.

But he made time feel weightless.

He made it so easy to forget the ache in your chest when he kissed Sachiro’s hair before bed, when he wordlessly washed the dishes after dinner, when he crouched down to tie your shoes one morning because you had bent down too quickly and he scolded you for it under his breath.

Was he only this sweet because you were carrying another piece of him inside you? You sighed, wondering why you still doubted his love even after the confession you both made that night by the lake. But you just couldn’t help but think deeply sometimes, and maybe stare at the view of the city while thinking of thoughts that should never consume you. Thoughts of whether he would have been this sweet and devoted if it was Akemi carrying his child. Was it cruelty that made you imagine Akemi pregnant with his child just to feed your jealousy, even after she told you she was dying? Or was it spite that kept you from feeling even a flicker of pity when she said Satoru left her like she was nothing? Perhaps you even took pleasure in knowing that after all her desperate wishing to have a baby with him, you were the one he had gotten pregnant, without even trying, for the second time around.

You were never an angel to begin with, especially not after everyone around you had been brutal and malicious. She didn't deserve to suffer that much, obviously. But life was simply never fair, and she wasn’t exempt from it. 

The funny thing was, Satoru wasn’t even aware of the spiteful thoughts that plagued you during those silent afternoons. He had no idea how you would manage to work yourself into a fury over imagined scenes of him and Akemi in this very penthouse—repulsed by the visions your own mind conjured. Maybe you were being petty. Maybe it was just the hormones. But every time Satoru walked by, oblivious and unbothered, you were simmering hotter than before.

But maybe he sensed it in the way you protectively held your stomach sometimes when you thought no one was looking. Perhaps he noticed how your replies had shrunk to single words, or how you would send him an accusatory glare when he was merely trying to start a conversation. Maybe he felt it, too, in the way you looked at him—as if this man, this flawed, beautiful man, was somehow your greatest enemy.

Damn it. Perhaps it was time to admit it—was it truly jealousy burning through you, or was it the ache of being untouched by the man who supposedly was in love with you?

The room was quiet, and you sat at the edge of the bed in your nightgown, watching Satoru’s long frame as he got out of the shower, only a towel covering his lower half. His head tilted down like he didn’t dare meet your eyes too long. He looked almost anxious, though he would never admit it. 

And he had been so careful with you. Too careful that it bothered you.

“Is Sachi asleep?” He cleared his throat once and tried to strike a conversation. But you didn’t answer. You ignored his pitiful attempt at talking to you, busying yourself by putting lotion on your legs. It felt humorous to have the upperhand now, with him clearly on edge, and you acting like you didn’t owe him any interaction. “...Y/N, did I do something wrong?” 

You didn’t return his gaze. Instead, you closed the lid of the lotion and placed it carefully atop the nightstand. “No.” 

Next thing you knew, the man was already standing in front of you, his damp white hair dripping down his toned body as he crouched down to meet your eyes. “You’ve been angry with me for three days now. Please tell me what I’m not doing right, I’ll fix it.” 

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, still avoiding his gaze while opening the drawer, only to see an unopened box of condoms. They weren’t meant for you, clearly. He had probably saved it for when Akemi used to visit. And he knew that was exactly what you were thinking the moment he saw the box, too. 

“That’s not…” He tried to explain, but what was the point? You knew they were sexually involved before her illness had worsened. Satoru could only sigh under his breath, the sound closer to defeat than frustration, then placed his hands on your knees with bright blue eyes that begged for your understanding. “I’ll throw it away.” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You clearly knew what a condom is,” you shot back, your tone sharp enough to cut. “Should’ve used it on me that night at the cabin.” 

For a moment, he was caught off guard by your remark, but then he shook his head and let out a soft chuckle like something had just clicked in his mind, something that made all this absurdly amusing.

“What?” you asked, irritation sharpening your tone.

Satoru reached out, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before lightly pinching your cheek. “Nothing,” he murmured, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You acted like this when you were pregnant with Sachi, too.”

“What are you talking about?” You slapped his hand away, scowling.

He only laughed quietly, moving closer until his warmth pressed against your side. One arm slipped around your waist, the other covering your hand. “You were always irritated with me back then,” he said, voice gentle, teasing. “And jealous. A lot.” He nuzzled your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. “Are we having a boy again?”

You hated it. The way your chest tightened, that stupid rush in your heartbeat. It only ever happened because of Satoru. You couldn’t even remember the last time your heart fluttered wildly like this, but somehow the memory was still there, vivid enough to shatter every wall you had put up.

“Why do you keep your distance?” you finally asked, your eyes meeting his ocean blues. “Why ask me to sleep in the same room as you when it would be more proper to sleep apart?”

He wasn’t oblivious—he had to know what you were implying, how your words really pointed to his reluctance, his lack of intimacy, and the insecurity you were feeling because of it. 

“We just got out of the hospital,” he explained, almost cautious. “And you’re pregnant. I wanted to look after you but still respect your space. I thought… maybe you needed time.”

But you had laughed, incredulous, pulse fluttering. “Time?”

And that was all it took. Because then his arms dropped to his sides. His shoulders straightened. His blue eyes darkened, and you knew—you knew—that thin rope of restraint was about to snap.

“You think it’s easy for me?” His voice was strained, like a puppy being deprived of treats. “Every night I lie next to you, and all I can think about is you. Touching you. Tasting you. Being inside you. You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your breath caught, heart hammering by his confession. “But you—”

“And how you wearing this thin nightgown,” he whispered in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine, “does unspeakable things to me.” 

Literally so. Because you didn’t need to look down to see the bulge growing under his towel. You didn’t need to search his face to find the lust brewing behind his eyes. And somehow, his reaction excited you. His visible restraint woke all the desire you had been craving to satiate. 

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Satoru’s voice dropped low as he caught your chin between his fingers. “There’s a reason you end up pregnant every time I touch you.” His eyes lingered on your mouth, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Let me remind you why.”

It was him who crossed the line first. Him who kissed you, loud and passionate, pulling you tighter by the waist as if he might burn alive if he didn’t. He groaned into your mouth with a raw, guttural sound that went straight through you, hands gripping your hips like he was finally done pretending he didn’t want this. When he lifted you—effortless, like you weighed nothing—and made you straddle him, his mouth never left yours. Not once. His kiss was everywhere: down your throat, across your collarbone, all over your chest, tracing fire over your skin. 

And when his fingers tugged the strap of your nightgown, you realized just how long he had been holding himself back.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your neck.

You grabbed a fistful of his white hair. “Don’t you dare.”

That was all he needed.

He had ripped your nightgown easily, though careless, and elicited a shriek from you. That was the last thing you thought he would do, but Satoru was getting rougher by the second, clearly because of your provocation. He was acting like an animal released from being in a cage for too long. He was hungry. Very hungry. And putting his mouth on your bosom was his first favorite treat. 

You leaned against him as he circled his tongue along your nipple—teasing, suckling, and a little bit of biting. “H-Hey!” 

“Sorry.” He displayed a smug smile before proceeding to suck your other tit. “Got carried away.”

While his mouth was on your breast, his hand was kneading the other. He massaged the slope with both a gentle yet rabid touch, flicking the nipple, and then back to squeezing your tit as if he was touching it for the first time. It was at that point where you couldn’t suppress your moans anymore. You shamelessly melted into his touch, driven half-mad by the days of unspoken want that had finally come undone.

And in your own sensual frenzy, your hand reached down to just where his bulge was. It was hard, begging to be released, and twitching underneath the towel. He moaned from your slightest touch. Then, got too excited when you started rubbing him, he almost couldn’t breathe. 

“Y/N…” He pulled away, only to bury his face into the crook of your neck. “You’re driving me insane.” 

“Did I tell you to stop?” you asked, almost sternly, which only excited him even more. 

His smirk was that of a man who had won the jackpot. How arrogant! And so, he continued kissing your breasts, one after the other, and especially enjoyed when his face was between them. He didn’t have time to do all this back at the cabin, since that moment was unexpected and it was your first time reuniting in bed after many years. But you remembered Satoru loving your pair, giving them equal attention and leaving every inch of skin with marks that belonged to him. 

Did he love doing this to Akemi, too? Did he kiss her body like this? Left marks all over her skin like this? 

Out of sheer frustration, you pushed Satoru back. His eyes went wide, startled, as if to ask what was wrong, but your glare silenced him. You stepped between his legs and yanked at the towel around his hips. There, his hard member stood, pulsating and dripping at the tip. Your finger traced the veins on his throbbing cock, making it angrier than it already was. 

“Y/N, please…” His face begged you to do more. 

And it sure was entertaining to see him like this after a long time. Back when you two were married, you did it everyday like animals in heat. You were so smitten, so passionate, so intoxicated with your toxicity that every push-pull ended in the most satisfying, most mind-blowing sex. 

You were on your knees as he looked at you, his entire length being stroked by your hand, before you placed your tongue flat on his tip. Satoru cursed under his breath and threw his head back, but you continued to roll your tongue along the head—the pink and swollen head—then finally started wrapping your lips around his girth. 

Even with Toji, you never enjoyed giving head the way you did with Satoru. Perhaps it was the connection, or perhaps, it was simply because you prefer doing it to someone you really loved. 

“Fuck,” your ex-husband growled, seeing your head bobbing up and down as you sucked every inch of him. “That feels so fucking good.” 

You even kissed the sides, the ridges, then put him back completely in your mouth. This time around, you forced it all the way down your throat, resisting the gag reflex but still ended up choking on his cock. Goddamn were you horny. You knew this was the pregnancy hormones, but you wanted more and you couldn’t be stopped. 

“Y/N.” He sat up as you jerked his member, his entire length coated by your saliva, while he started pulling you up. You stood before him as he was face level with your tummy, and his hands began tracing your legs, your hips, until he was able to playfully squeeze your bum. Satoru looked up at you, then. With eyes that screamed of bliss, his chin resting on your belly where your baby would be in. His breath ragged as he looked at you. All of you. His hands traced your curves, lingering over your belly as though it was sacred, before he kissed lower, lower, worshipping you with his mouth until you were trembling, arching, gasping his name like a prayer. “Can I…?”

Nodding, you could feel him give your buttocks a final squeeze before he started lifting your leg over his shoulder. The other stayed on the floor, which gave him the best access to see your pussy. And of course, he didn’t waste any second before he dove in. 

“Satoru—”

His lips were on your clit in a snap, tongue lapping between your folds—slurpling, suckling, and tasting your slick inside. The deeper he was, the weaker your legs felt. But his strong arms held you in place, fingers digging into your thighs as though he could hold you here forever. Although one hand switched places with his mouth every now and then—one moment his hand would palm your pussy, the next his mouth would be kissing your entrance, his tongue swirling in it and around it.  

“God, you taste so good,” he groaned, two fingers now stretching your core and entering you in and out, “Been dreaming about this… about you… every damn night.”

“Mhmm—”

He sure took his sweet time with the foreplay that by the time he made you lay in bed, you were already catching your breath. Your legs were already shaking, and your head was already dizzy. But it was not enough, no. Not for the both of you. You wanted him inside just as he wanted to be inside you. 

So by the time he finally had you in a perfect, comfortable position, he spread your legs apart and placed his tip at your entrance. His lengthy cock teased, circled, and then rubbed against your clit. Again and again. Purposefully so, because he chuckled at the way you glared at him impatiently. 

“Hnng—! Just put it inside.” 

He did it slowly when he slid into you, careful but deep. You swore you felt the world tilt off its axis. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath uneven, like he was trying to keep it together even now. You could see his girth coated with slick, with every entrance to your pussy making you clench around him tighter. 

“Mm—fuck!”

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered, hips snapping harder now, and faster, too. Each thrust shaking through you until your words broke into gasps. “All I want… all I ever want… is you.”

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled sharp and hot in your belly. He kissed you through it, swallowed your cries, held you so close it felt like he might break you apart just to keep you. His bed was steady enough not to make any noises through the walls, but it was your moans that echoed loud enough across the room. The squelching, the whimpering, the snapping of skin-to-skin. 

“Satoru, I’m gonna…” 

He held your hips in place, slamming himself balls deep into you, and watching your breasts bouncing all over the place as he raced to chase his climax. “Me, too, baby.” 

Both of you were tangled in sweat, and the sound of your own ragged breathing filled the room until he released thick ropes of cum inside you. You couldn’t tell how much, but he stayed inside you for a minute or two, giving your lips a sweet peck before he finally pulled out. Almost immediately, his cum came spilling out of you. They dripped out of your hole as if they were too full and no longer had space inside.

It was filthy and tender all at once—love and obsession and devotion and ruin. And you remembered his words earlier, how this was why he could get you pregnant so easily. Funnily enough, it wasn’t just about how much of his semen was inside you. Not literally. It was the love and passion he was pouring into your lovemaking. It was how your body would always recognize his, as though you two were perfectly made for each other. 

When it was over, he scooped you into his arms, wrapped tight like he couldn’t bear to let you go. He kissed your temple softly, reverently this time.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, “how much I love you, Y/N. Through anything and everything. You’re my only one.”

––

The next morning, sunlight spilled through the living room curtains, warm and golden, catching in the strands of Satoru’s hair as he sat cross-legged on the floor with Sachiro perched in his lap. You sat beside them on the couch, one hand idly resting on your belly, watching the way Satoru absentmindedly fixed the cowlick in Sachi’s hair while the boy leaned against him, still groggy from his sleep.

It felt domestic in a way you hadn’t felt in years. Too peaceful. Too comfortable. Like the war between your hearts had quieted for this one stolen moment.

“Good morning, Mama!” your little boy greeted.

“Morning, my baby.” You added it with a kiss to his forehead. “Did daddy make you breakfast?”

Sachiro hugged his teddy bear as his eyes fixed on the television screen. “Yes, Mama. Sachi ate pancakes!” 

Satoru gave you a quiet look then. It wasn’t anything naughty. In fact, he had a very thoughtful gaze, seemingly worried that he might have gotten too rough with you last night. “I’ve prepared you a plate there and some apple juice.” 

“Thank you,” was your simple reply. No morning kisses, no overly sweet gestures. Your son still wasn’t aware that his parents were expecting again, so you were treading the situation carefully. It also helped that Satoru could read through your movements and respected you enough to handle it at your own pace. 

“Hey, Sachi,” you began softly.

He turned to you, wide-eyed, curious. “Yeah, Mama?”

You swallowed, glancing once at Satoru before you said it. “You’re… going to be a big brother soon.”

For a moment, there was silence.

And then—

“Huh?!” Sachiro twisted in Satoru’s lap so fast the man almost lost his balance. “A baby? Like… a real baby? In your tummy? Right now?!”

You nodded, lips twitching and unsure what to make of your son’s reaction. “Yes, right now. Mama is pregnant.”

His jaw dropped like you had told him the moon was moving into the guest room. “But… but… how did it happen?” He blinked rapidly, the picture of childlike innocence, before his little nose wrinkled. “Wait… don’t tell me. I think I know.”

“Oh, do you now?” Satoru acted surprised, poking his son’s cheek. You smothered a laugh into your palm. He didn’t even bother hiding his.

“Yeah,” your son said confidently, looking between the two of you with all the gravity of a seasoned detective. “It’s because you and Mama love each other again, right? That’s how it works! Auntie Gen told Sachi babies are born when the mama and dada love each other.”

You froze for half a second. Love? You quickly forced a smile. “Something like that.” 

But then Sachiro tilted his head again, eyes darting between you and Satoru like he was connecting even bigger dots. “Is Dada going to be Mama’s husband?”

The words fell into the room like pebbles into still water. Quickly enough, your body went still and Satoru’s hand froze midair on his son’s back. The boy looked between you both expectantly, as if marriage was the obvious next step, as if it was the only logical conclusion to his parents having another baby on the way.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then forced a small, gentle smile. Sometimes, Sachiro was a little too smart for his age. “That… is for another conversation, my sweetie.” 

Satoru stared at you for a good minute, careful not to cross any boundaries and give answers unaligned to your own. But you could tell how much he had wanted to say yes to Sachiro, to say that his dream of bringing his family back together was no longer far-fetched. 

Meanwhile, Sachiro squinted like he wanted to protest, but then his face lit up, wide and beaming, his entire little body vibrating with joy as he threw his arms around Satoru’s neck. “I’m gonna be a big brother!” he announced, muffled against Satoru’s shoulder. “Dada, we need to buy a big house like grandpa’s now!”

Satoru chuckled then. “Of course, buddy.” 

And for that moment, with Sachiro grinning like Christmas had come early, you let yourself believe in this fragile, imperfect little happiness. But still, there were many things to worry about. When your son mentioned his grandfather, you were immediately reminded of the things you still need to clear out before you can fully live in this dream-like fantasy. 

It didn’t surprise you how soon Satoru joined you in the kitchen the moment his son had become too engrossed in the cartoon he was watching. He knew there were things he had to clarify, so approaching you for a private talk was the next thing he did. 

“You told him,” mentioned Satoru, reaching for your hand. “Does this mean you’ll keep our baby?” 

You solemnly looked into his eyes. “It’s ours.” 

His warm lips pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “Thank you for letting me be a father to them, Y/N. I promise I’ll live my whole life serving you and our kids.” 

Sighing, you squeezed his hand. “But Satoru, we still have to tell them.”

He looked up, confused. “Tell who what?”

You hesitated, lips pressing together before you exhaled slowly. “I mean, my family. My dad, Gen—them.” The words felt strange on your tongue, even though they were your family, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy. “They’re not going to take it well, Satoru,” you warned softly. “After everything, they’ll think I’m out of my mind.”

He didn’t flinch. Not at all. He simply wrapped his arms around you, his gaze softening in a way it only did for you. “You’re right,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “They need to hear it from us first before anyone else. I know they won’t accept it right away, but I’ll fight for you. I promise I’ll do everything until I earn their trust again. Maybe not fully, but even a scrap is enough. Even just trusting that I won’t ever hurt you again. Because I know I won’t.”

“Satoru…”

“I mean it, Y/N.” He pressed his forehead against yours like a groom reciting a vow. “I lost this once. I’m not losing my family again. Not you. Not our kids.” 

You stared at him, this man who had once been reckless with your heart, now speaking like he would burn down the world just to keep it safe.

And for the first time in years, the idea of a future with him didn’t feel like a betrayal of yourself.

It felt like coming home.

––

The Creston mansion never felt so cold in your years of living there. It was the opposite of the Gojou mansion, where the air of toxicity lingered in every corner of their estate. But to your own family’s place, you couldn’t remember the last time those beige walls felt so lifeless. Its marble pillars, the polished brass of its doors, the cold gleam of chandeliers—everything felt hostile tonight. It had always been your father’s pride, his empire, the seat of his authority. But as you stepped inside with Satoru’s hand brushing lightly against your waist, you felt like a criminal walking into the gallows.

Am I simply overthinking? You took a deep breath, but even the air felt shallow. 

Gen was there first, rising from the velvet chair with a smile that faded the moment she saw Satoru trailing behind you. Your father sat across the room, his reading glasses low on his nose, glancing briefly at the two of you before setting aside the papers in his hand.

“Gen, Dad,” you spoke first, cutting the tension before it could rise. “How are you?” 

“We’re fine. How’s Sachi doing?” Gen asked as soon you both sat on the couch. “Is he recovering well? I thought you were going to bring him today when you texted me you’d stop by.” 

You offered a small smile. “He’s pretty great, actually. He still needs more rest, but Satoru takes good care of him.” 

Your dad nodded. “Are you going to bring him next time?” 

“Of course, Dad.” 

There was small talk at first. Forced politeness. Gen asking about Sachiro’s daily maintenance. Your father commenting about the food his grandson should eat. They both pretended like the air didn’t reek of tension while Satoru sat silently beside you, respectful, composed, with his hands folded in front of him.

But it was that one question. So plain, so harmless on the surface—yet heavy with implication that unsettled you.

And it came from your father. “Since Sachiro’s getting better, I suppose you’ll be coming back home in a few days, right?”

“I… I’m not sure about that one, Dad.” 

Your father’s gaze hardened at your answer. “What do you mean?”

You drew in a deep breath, deep enough it could’ve filled an entire oxygen tank. The words sat heavy in your throat, but you couldn’t force them out, no matter how much you wanted to. No matter how much you had to. Maybe it was fear. But of what? That your family wouldn’t approve? You already knew they wouldn’t. That they’d demand you return to the mansion immediately? That wasn’t even the worst of it.

So you said nothing. You just sat there, lost in the storm of your own thoughts, not until Satoru’s fingers slipped over yours, squeezing your hand gently. It was his silent way of reminding you that you weren’t alone. That whatever came next, he was staying. Because his love was worth fighting for. 

Your father, displeased to see your hand-holding, broke the silence. “Y/N, what is this—”

“Dad, I’m pregnant.”

The house fell into stillness.

Even the birds outside stopped chirping.

“WHAT?!”

Gen blinked rapidly. Your father froze mid-motion, one hand still on a teacup that crashed onto the floor later. It was like the air thickened in a single breath, everyone caught in it, everyone waiting for the obvious name to be spoken.

“Toji’s, right?” your father finally asked, voice flat, cold. It was intentional. The question was disgustingly intentional that you couldn’t believe it came from your father at all. 

“No!” you quickly denied, “You know we’ve broken up months ago, Dad. It’s not his!” 

You could see Gen shaking her head, a hand pressed to her face as if holding herself back from exploding. But her sharp, furious eyes found Satoru in an instant. She seemed to have seen this coming, but refused to believe that her suspicions had actually come into fruition. “Is it the night of Shoko and Suguru’s wedding?” she demanded, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “The one that turned into a cheating scandal—again—involving my sister?”

Your ex-husband swallowed hard, guilt flickering across his face. “It is.”

Your father’s eyes darkened.

And then he moved.

It happened so fast, the way he lunged at Satoru before anyone could speak, his fist slamming across your ex-husband’s jaw with a sickening crack. “You goddamn son of a bitch—!”

“Dad, stop!” you screamed, but nothing could stop an angry father whose daughter got hurt over and over. He grabbed Satoru by the collar, spitting words like fire as his fist landed on him again and again. “Dad, please! Don’t hurt him!” 

Even Gen tried to help out. “Dad, that’s enough.”

“You bastard! You despicable bastard!” he roared, his voice shaking with fury you had never seen in him before, not even when Satoru’s first cheating incident tore your world apart. “You already ruined her life once—humiliated her, made her suffer—and now you trap her again? Another child? Another lifetime of misery with you?!”

Satoru took the hits, grunting, stumbling, but not once raising a hand in defense. He let your father vent every ounce of hatred into his body until finally, he caught his breath and pushed back. 

“I love her,” Satoru declared, jaw bloodied, eyes wild. “I’m s-sorry. I know it didn’t seem like it, I know I’ve hurt her far too many times for you to believe it, but I fucking love her, and I’m not going anywhere this time! I already wake up every day hating myself for the things I did to her. But this—” He reached for you even as your father shoved him back, “—this is my family. And I will fight for them, with or without your blessing.”

“Blessing?” your father seethed, “You dare speak of blessings after wrecking my daughter’s life?” He turned to you then, his face red, his eyes full of both fury and heartbreak. “If you choose him, Y/N… you choose this bastard and you are no longer my daughter. No longer a Creston. No inheritance. No name. Nothing.”

“Dad, please,” you sobbed, stepping between them, your hands shaking as you held your father back. “Please don’t do this. Please.”

But your dad wouldn’t listen. His voice cut through the room like a blade, speaking words that you never in your life thought he would utter. Words that even Gen herself, no matter how callous she was, could never speak to you. 

“If you walk this path with him, Y/N, you walk it alone,” warned your father, “You will be disowned by this family. Completely.”

You felt the world shatter under your feet.

Satoru tried to reach you, his hand trembling as he whispered, “Please don't do this to Y/N—”

But the guards came before he could finish. At your father’s command, they grabbed Satoru by the arms, dragging him toward the door as he struggled, shouting your name. “Y/N! Please, Y/N!”

“Stop!” you begged and cried and pleaded to everyone in the room, but no one listened.

And the more Satoru resisted, the more they were aggressive to him. “Let me go! I need to talk to her! Y/N!”

His voice echoed through the marble halls until the heavy doors slammed shut, leaving you behind, shaking, sobbing, frozen solid to your place as your father’s ultimatum rang in your ears like a death sentence.

––

Satoru didn’t remember how he got home.

One moment he was being thrown out of the Creston mansion like a criminal, and the next thing he knew, he was in the penthouse alone, pacing like a madman, replaying the events in his head until it made him sick.

You didn’t come out of the mansion. You didn’t walk out the door. Not even when they dragged him out like he was nothing. Not when he called your name with his voice breaking in half.

You stayed. You stayed behind.

And Satoru knew what that meant. 

Blood ran thicker than water, after all. And Satoru envied you for it—for the way your family stood together, for how naturally you fought for one another. His own family was nothing like that. Broken, dysfunctional, poisoned from the inside out. He couldn’t quite grasp how yours could love so fiercely, so selflessly. It didn’t sink in right away why you would choose them over him, why cutting them off wasn’t as simple for you as it had been for him and his own family.

His chest caved under the pain of it. He staggered into the living room and slammed his fist into the wall so hard the frames rattled. Again. And again. Until his knuckles split and the sharp pain screamed up his arm, but never enough. He wanted to break something, everything. Maybe himself most of all.

“Why,” his voice cracked, “why can’t I fix this?!”

He wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Was it God? Was it his subconscious? Regardless, the questions fell out like prayers no one would answer. His shoulders shook as he buried his face in his hands, tears spilling freely now, the mask ripped off until only the wreck of a man was left behind.

He thought about you. About the way you had stood there between him and your father, crying like the world was ending. About how he had ruined everything once before, and now here he was again, cursed to repeat it like some sick punishment.

“God, I just want my family back! Please… Please, I’m s-sick of this! I’m fucking sick of it!” he choked out, his voice breaking as his fists hit the wall again, with each punch harder than the last. The plaster cracked and his knuckles throbbed, so much so that he wondered if he broke his hand, but he liked it that way. He wanted to feel it burn, wanted it to hurt because he deserved it, because maybe if it hurt enough, it would erase the never ending guilt crawling under his skin.

And he would’ve gone on like that if not for the tiny, fragile voice behind him. “Dada?”

That was the only thing that made Satoru freeze. He turned around to see Sachiro standing there in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes with one hand, and the other holding onto his teddy bear. He looked so small, so breakable, and his innocent gaze moved from the blood dripping down Satoru’s knuckles to the tears on his face.

“Are you… okay?”

Something in Satoru snapped then, not from anger this time but from the sight of his son looking at him like that. He quickly dropped to his knees, pulling the boy into his arms so tightly Sachiro squeaked at the suddenness of it.

“I-I don’t know, buddy,” he whispered into his son’s hair, his voice shaking so hard it hurt. “I don’t know what’s going to h-happen to us.”

“Dada, why you crying?”

“Because…” Satoru shut his eyes, inhaling sharply, “because I keep messing everything up. I-I can’t bring your mommy back. I’m sorry, Sachi. I’m so sorry I can’t give you the family you deserve. I… I failed you. I failed mommy and our baby. I’m so lost.”

Sachiro wrapped his little arms around his father’s neck like he was trying to hold him together even though he was too small to fix anything. “I’m here.” 

Even his tiniest, most innocent gesture was enough to split Satoru open. Because after everything, after convincing himself, even for a fleeting moment, that he could be a perfect father to his kids, he was reminded over and over that he would never be. 

He couldn’t even manage to be a decent husband, let alone a good man. A cheater. A coward. A pathetic excuse of a man who had ruined everything good that ever reached for him. He disgusted himself down to the marrow. He was a piece of shit, an asshole, a useless good-for-nothing scumbag—

The doorbell rang. Once. 

Damn it!

Then, again. 

God fucking dammit!

“Dada.” His son tugged at his shirt. “Someone’s at the door.” 

Satoru stiffened, wiping his face with his sleeve. He wasn’t ready to face the police, not after he had just broken down in front of his son, and still drowning from the heartbreak of losing you. Couldn’t your father give him even a little bit of mercy and just let Sachiro stay the night? 

Satoru felt like he was losing his mind. 

The lock clicked. Footsteps crossed the threshold.

He turned toward the door with his heart pounding, Sachiro following him behind.

...

...

And there you were.

It’s amusing. He knows you. It may have been years since you last spoke, but it’s obvious you haven’t changed that much. To think that you’d be able to keep up with those two was laughable. That’s not to say that they’re bad people or anything, they’re just… a lot. Suguru’s not the pacifist he presents himself to be. Then there’s Satoru, who is as crazy as he looks, if not, more. 

Then there’s you, the one who was always too squeamish to go out and get her own food and spent the last century tucked away in small, quiet places— just fucking sheltered.

You, my dear, have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, all in the name of getting closer to him. Watching your bubble of delusion pop is something he now looks forward to.

Which is why he’s still getting ready for tonight’s party, despite hearing the news that you, Suguru’s new “friend”, will be attending. It won’t be long until you get yourself into some trouble, and you can bet that he’ll be there. Not to save you—fuck that. He’ll be there to savor the guilt ridden look on your face when you realize how much you took your old life for granted. 

—

You have made many mistakes in the past, and you’ve also made many stupid decisions.

Tonight is no exception. 

You did put two and two together the morning after the exhibit. At first, you were hesitant to give Suguru a call, but you eventually grew a pair and started dialing. 

And now here you are, taking shots with him, Satoru, and a girl you were literally just introduced to three minutes ago, Ieiri. Pretty name. Pretty eyes too. She’s so aloof with the two that it makes you think she’s either using them or has known them long enough to be used to their antics. 

There's a party tonight— you’re assuming it’s a big one with how Satoru ripped the phone out of Suguru’s hand to tell you to “just wear something fucking hot,” and then proceeded to remind you all throughout the week via text message. It explains your dress that’s way too short and feels too tight, but maybe that’s also because not once in the years you’ve lived have you ever gone to a party. 

Though it was more like a fucking rager— one that was strictly for vampires. 

Held in some giant, yet somehow fancy, warehouse in the middle of nowhere, all so no one could hear the music blasting from the speakers that were strung up on the ceilings. Waiters that looked out of place— you could just tell whoever’s idea it was to have them here think a little too highly of themselves. They were dressed to the nines, walking around with silver platters, serving alcohol and champagne flutes filled with the best blood on the market. 

And if the champagne flutes weren’t enough? There were live options too, with many guests openly feeding on willing(?) participants. Quite the culture shock for someone who spent their entire life tucked away.

Gojo’s tugging you around the place like a kid in a candy shop. All the different lights reflect on his white hair as he leads you to some VIP area, excited to introduce you to the others he and Suguru were talking about on the drive here. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but you find yourself staring, almost in awe, over all the different tones. It was just as interesting as everything else around you— until you feel a shiver run down your spine. 

You’d think looking elsewhere would help you shake off that brief dark feeling you’ve grown used to over the years, yet the first thing your eyes land on is none other than Sukuna himself— the only reason why you came here in the first place. 

You never took him to be the social kind, but there he was walking around in a boring art gallery, so why wouldn’t he be at something more exciting? He definitely looked like he was enjoying himself. 

Maybe a little too much, actually.

He sat there as if the entire party was thrown just for him, lounging back on a fancy sofa like some fucking king. His white shirts rolled up to his elbows and buttoned half way down— it’d be easier to see his tattoos if he weren’t completely soaked in blood. There are three bodies already discarded around him, and horrifyingly enough, they all just so happened to look like you.

He wasn't done either, and is casually holding his third victim by the hair as he drank from them, who also looks just like you. And the worst part? He looked good doing it.

Gojo notices you staring and just laughs. “Don’t worry about him, Sukuna’s just got a bigger appetite than the rest of us. Don’t let him catch you staring though, or you might be next,” he teases, so blissfully unaware of the history you have with him. 

You have no idea how to respond to that. You couldn’t even if you tried. The moment he said that, Sukuna raised his head and looked right at you, eyes faintly glowing as blood trickled down his chin. Your attendance didn’t seem to phase him, like at all. If anything, he looks pleased with himself. The bodies around him must’ve been quite the sight for you. 

Then back he went to do what he came here for: Eat.

Suguru was the first person to notice the obvious shock on your face when you got to the VIP area after your little tour. He looks back and forth between you and Satoru, hoping his friend didn’t have anything to do with it. He was weird at times, but he wasn’t that fucking weird. 

“You good?” Suguru finally asks, clearly concerned. 

“I think Sukuna spooked her,” Satoru says, plopping a hand on your shoulder and giving it a friendly rub. The kind you give to someone when you’re giving them a pep talk.

“What did he say?” Suguru’s lips twitch as he asks, wondering what it could've possibly been this time. He wasn’t a stranger to Sukuna’s ways. He knew he wasn’t the best person either. If he had to tell you the truth, it was almost comical how bad of a person he could be at times.  

“Nothing— just saw him doing his thing. Had a little pile around him.” 

Little?

“Oh— yeah, don’t worry about him, sweetheart,” he chuckles, quickly brushing the topic off. “He’s pretty harmless… It’s been a while since he’s targeted his own kind.” 

Oh my god?

You weren’t even going to ask him to elaborate on that. Instead, you just laugh with them and brush it off as if it were normal, even though it fucking wasn’t. 

“Alright,” Satoru sings out, clapping his hands together once. “Let me introduce you to everybody.”

—

Sukuna lets the fourth body drop to his feet after deciding he’s had enough for the night. Rising from the couch and stepping over the little pile, he makes his way to vip, not because you were there, but because it was filled with the people he didn’t actually mind talking to. The people scattered around the dance floor were more like maggots to him. 

They weren’t all that useless though, they were smart enough to move out of his way as he walked through the crowd, knowing he’d do more than just ruin their night if they didn’t. Some of these people were hundreds of years old themselves, and while that might mean something, it still didn’t compare to him. Most of their bloodlines traced directly back to either him or to an ancestor of Satoru’s. It was common knowledge within the community. It was also known that the Gojo Clan wasn’t nearly as blood-lusty as Sukuna was in his earlier years. Rumor has it he used to turn multiple people at a time because they were more fun to hunt. He apparently enjoyed having a little challenge.

The first thing Sukuna sees when he steps into the room is you, chatting away with Nanami and Utahime. You surprisingly don’t look out of place, with them at least, the two most boring people in this room. 

Actually, boring might not be the right word— reserved. The type of people that’d make you think that the others might not be as bad if those two were able to tolerate everything that went on behind closed curtains. 

“Oh, hey!” Suguru says as he walks up behind him, then gestures towards you. You look normal enough when you turn around and see them striding over to you, but he hears you stop breathing for a second. “This is the artist I told you about— the one I met at the gallery the other week,” Suguru mentions, choosing to avoid bringing up Sukuna’s sudden leave. He wasn’t very fond of being questioned. 

There’s not one nervous bone in Sukuna’s body, giving you a subtle smile as he walks past you and sits on the couch to your left. 

He then proceeds to act like he has no idea who you are. 

“An artist, huh?” He repeats Suguru’s words in an amused tone. “What a cute hobby.” 

He’s all relaxed now compared to the last time you saw him, but you know that small piece of information pissed him off. Behind the bored look and thrown back shoulders is a man who had a newfound hatred for painting— he’s as scornful as ever.

You smile and nod in response, having no other meaningful words to offer aside from a measly “yeah” to his little jab. Little, yet enough to send you spiraling. There was never much of a plan to begin with, even though there really should’ve been.

You wanna go home. 

“You must be pretty talented with all the praise this one’s given you,” he says, pointing at Suguru, who’s starting to look a little nervous himself.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you softly laugh– one he sees right through, “you know what they say about practice though.” 

“Of course,” he hums. “Working towards a goal— how human,” he adds, draping an arm over the sofa. “You’re given a gift… a mind and body that’s built to do more than just withstand time. An apex predator. Yet you waste your time playing with paint?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a waste of time–” 

“No?” He cuts you off, tilting his head to the side. “You spend your days acting like a human when you’re  not. You can’t eat like them, can’t live like them,” he laughs, ”you can’t even die like them.”

It's clear he’s just trying to rage-bait you at this point, but his comment still had a little kick to it. He wasn’t wrong— you can’t die, you’ve also forgotten the taste of your favorite meal a long time ago. 

“Guess it’s just something to do with all the time I have,” you end up saying, all while pulling yourself back to reality. He sure was good at sending you back into an existential crisis, one you recently clawed your way out of. Just barely.

“Oof— looks like I hit a nerve,” he snorts, rising from his seat with his glass of scotch that was already empty. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll eventually realize that finding ways to fill that time is worthless, too.”

It’s nothing but silence as he walks off. Instead of walking to the door that led back to the rest of the party, he walks down one of the halls— off to do god knows what. You’re not even sure if you want to know at this point. 

“Don’t take what he says to heart,” Suguru says after hearing a door click from a distance. “He’s just blunt like that—”

“He’s old as fuck, too,” Satoru cuts in, earning a smack on the shoulder from Ieiri. “What?! It’s true!” 

“It takes him a while to warm up to others,” she says with a sigh. “Even then, he’s still… Sukuna. When you’ve been around for as long as he has, you just don’t really care for much. Years turn into seconds— that kinda stuff.”

“I can see that,” you murmur, taking a sip from your drink. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t hate you or anything. You would’ve already been his dinner by now if he did,” Satoru adds, thinking it’d make you feel better. 

It doesn’t.

Even when everyone moves on to an entirely different topic, you still find his words lingering in the room, filling you with the same dread that made you leave in the first place. You don’t regret your choice, but having him beat your own immortality into your head makes you question if that is true. If you’re actually just lying to yourself, and maybe in the back of your mind, you’re wondering if there’s a cure somewhere out there for this. It’s absurd to think about— the only way out is through him. Even if that was something you truly wanted, you highly doubt he’d let that happen. 

Given where you’re at, it’s not a thought that should be crossing your mind right now. You shouldn’t have even been here to begin with, but the thought of being in community, no longer feeling alone, sounded nice. Now that you’ve technically checked off “finding Sukuna” on your to-do list, and seeing how unwilling he is to speak to you, maybe this was the next step. To accept your mistakes and move on.

So instead of going home, the night goes on. You take all the shots handed to you, let the new friends you made drag you around all over the place, dance— you even laughed a little, though you still couldn’t help but feel guilty about it. 

That’s where you have him all wrong. Watching you laugh and have fun from a distance doesn’t make him think you’re happier without him. But the moment he started to somewhat understand you was the moment he tore his eyes away from you. 

He needed to step out, get some fresh air, and have a smoke. You’d think there’d be more people outside doing the exact same thing, but there’s not— just him and the night sky. He was wrong— he’s never seen a star form or burn out, not yet at least. But for now, thinking about how they’ve been around since his beginning was a good way to get his mind off things. 

Until he hears someone stumbling out of the noisy warehouse. No, he doesn’t need to turn his head to know it’s you. He refused to listen to his own gut when he first walked into that gallery— not this time. Unfortunately, your scents ingrained in his head, even now, years later, when you’re body is filled with vodka. 

“Oh don’t leave now, love,” he lazily murmurs the moment he hears you turn on your heel, still not bothering to look at you. “This is what you came for, isn’t it? To tell me how sorry you are, to explain why you did what you did.”

“I mean, yeah,” you mutter. “Then I remembered that you threatened to shove a dagger through my chest— I’m not really sure what to say to you.” 

“Really?” he hums, taking a sip from his drink.  “You looked pretty sad back there when I told you that you couldn't.” Die, that is. “I was sure you had a death wish when I found out that you’d be here,” he adds.

“Nope,” you sigh, almost sounding disappointed about it. “Just wanted to see you again.”

“How romantic,” he responds in the same bored tone. “You’re a persistent one, I’ll give you that.”

“I feel like you’ve always hated that about me.”

“I wouldn’t say I hate it. You were the one who begged for me in the beginning, though. Now look where we're at,” he says that last part bitterly.

“I know,” you murmur, still unsure what to say. There was sorry, but he hates apologies. You tried looking for him in the past, but you didn’t try hard enough, clearly. You both knew there weren’t any words that’d make it any better. And there’d be no point in admitting that you were scared, it’d just be an insult to him. 

“It was written all over your face earlier,” he says, taking a deep breath and looking back up. “The panic. That’s why you left, to convince yourself there was more to all of this.” 

“That’s not it,” you try to argue, but you’re cut off by a laugh. 

“The only person you’re lying to at this point is yourself,” he snorts, rising up from his seat and walking up to you. He’s not angry this time, or in whatever mood he was in when he spoke to you earlier. The look on his face is relief— like he had just freed himself from a lifelong curse. 

You have a feeling that lifelong curse is you when he gently takes your face in his hands, tenderly rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks. 

“How about this— go out and have some fun,” he has to be joking with the way he says it– too calm, too light. Your stomach begins to twist as he continues. “You made some new friends tonight, right? And I’m clearly not going to stop you from seeing them, so go enjoy yourself. And if that isn’t enough for you, then I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, staring at him in disbelief. 

“You know what.” 

notes: if ur confused on the “i’ll do it part”, he means go out there and have fun bc he already gets the gist on why she left. he’s still mad tho, so he pretty much said if that’s not enough for you and you truly feel like there’s something missing, come back to me so i can put you out of your misery (turn you into a past tense if ykwim) 💗 ALSO, taglist is open again please lmk in the comments if you wanna be tagged.