mimi

synopsis — a new student joins babysitter’s club winning over the kids and unknowingly, Kamitani’s heart

word count — 1.4k

a/n — I NEED SEASON TWO OF SCHOOL BABYSITTERS ITS SO GOODDDDDD

— caleb finds he cums embarrassingly quickly when he sees how he looks in you.

— (slight) size kink, inexperienced caleb & reader, pathetic dirty talk, pathetic pervert caleb!!!!!!!! pathetic pervert reader!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! kiiinda fluffy at the end? a bit angsty-feely too?? as fluffy-feely as my freaktivities can be???

How fratboy sukuna changes after soft!reader and him are togetherᥫ᭡.

Frat king.

That’s what they called him, some still do, the title used to live under his skin, when the neon lights beamed off the walls, and girls were hanging off his arms while that smirk cut through the haze like a sharp blade. Attention was easy and addictive.

For a while it served him, it was enough.

The parties still happen, red cups are still littered everywhere, his frat bros still chant his name while he walks into the house late, broad shoulders filling up the doorway, posture still showing

but he doesn’t bask in it anymore. It doesn’t give him that rush, which used to fill his veins.

Because now,

The king has been conquered,

By you.

And the worst part? He almost lost you before, He makes sure that it never happens again.

He works on it everyday since you got together, who would have thought sukuna would change in such ways.

He’s attentive in a way that almost feels unreal once you know who he used to be.

Sukuna notices everything now.

Not just the big things either. Not just the obvious , but tiny things. The kind of details people only catch when they’re looking at someone carefully, constantly.

He notices when your smile starts looking tired instead of happy. Notices when you get quiet in crowded rooms and instinctively shifts closer, big hand settling against your lower back like an anchor. Notices when you’re picking at your nails too much and silently pulls your hands into his lap to stop you.

You mention liking a snack once and suddenly the kitchen is stocked with it.

You say your shoulders hurt after studying and he’s behind you ten minutes later, rubbing slow pressure into the knots without saying a word.

You get cold easily, so his hoodies start appearing around you before you even ask. That’s been a thing since the first time you wore his hoodie that night. Draped over your shoulders at parties. Left folded on your dorm chair. Tossed at your face with a muttered, “Put it on before you start shivering.”

And the thing is, he remembers.

Everything.

The old Sukuna forgot names by morning. Forgot conversations five minutes after having them. But with you? He remembers your coffee order, your exam dates, the movie that made you cry when you were twelve, the fact you hate sleeping angry because it makes your chest hurt.

He listens now, really does, because he learned the hard way what happens when he doesn’t.

Sometimes you catch him watching you during parties.

Not in the arrogant way he used to look at people, like they existed for his entertainment. His eyes are softer now, With Fondness. Almost disbelieving.

Like he still can’t fully process that you chose to stay after seeing the ugliest parts of him.

And Sukuna repays that trust with devotion.

By making sure you eat when you forget.

By charging your dead phone before you notice.

By walking on the outside of the sidewalk without thinking about it.

By memorizing your moods like they’re coursework he refuses to fail again.

By getting you notes when you miss a class because he knows you work hard.

He’d rather carve tenderness into his own bones than ever be the reason your eyes lose that softness again.

Yeah, Sukuna wouldn’t have it any other way ᥫ᭡.

fluff! just zayne being unable to sleep without you by his side, he's very lover boy coded here hehe

it's seven a.m. on a saturday and the other side of the bed of the bed is cold. zayne sleepily extends his arm out, but is met with silk sheets. taking in a few deep breaths in, he counts to ten in hopes that you come back.

but after five, he feels the sleepiness worsen. there is one problem: he can't sleep without you by his side. groggy, he lifts up the blanket covers and slips on his fluffy slippers, making his way to the kitchen where he hopes he will be able to find you.

you stand with your back to him, stirring sugar into your camomile tea. he drags his feet against the floorboards, his arms encircling around your waist as he rests his head on top of yours.

“your side of the bed was cold without you by my side, darling. come back to bed with me, please?” he complains, snuggling closer into you.

“i'm so sorry, my love. i only wanted to make some tea to help me fall back asleep.” you place your warm hands over his arms, soothing him.

“hm,” he hums, nodding without saying anything else, clearly ready to go back to bed with you.

“let's go back to bed.” you gently remove his arms off your waist but are met with a slight whimper of disapproval from zayne. “just for a minute, my love. i need to carry the mug back to bed and then i'm all yours, okay?”

you lead the way, with your boyfriend drowsily following behind. settling into the bed, zayne happily slips under the covers, looking at you with pleading eyes as he waits for you to finish your tea.

the tea is slightly hot, but you don't let it show. drinking this tea in slight discomfort is the least of your worries whilst your hard working boyfriend needs his needed rest. you place the mug down on the bedside table, letting your head rest against the pillow.

zayne pulls you close in his embrace, making sure to have you flush against him. he lets out a sigh of relief, and finally closes his eyes for a peaceful slumber with his beloved by his side.

He’s strict, love his routine, keeps to himself.

Until you came around.

Now he’s wrapped so tightly around your finger it’s almost embarrassing. So far gone he genuinely thinks he’d do anything you asked of him as long as you batted your pretty little lashes at him.

He finds himself crawling into bed a little later these days, after you beg him to stay up with you. All you have to do is give him a little pout and a soft, “Please Haji?” and he’s already deciding maybe 8 is too early anyways.

His food options even branch out, strays away from boring meal preps because the way you politely smiled through his plain chicken and rice once stuck with him. He went shopping that same night.

Now you two cook dinner together after work, bright smiles and laughter filling his once silent kitchen.

He smiles more, over the stupidest little things. Everything somehow leads back to you. A passing scent, a shop window, a fleeting thought, and there you are again, smiling so brightly in his memory he can’t help but smile himself.

Toru teases him about it one night over facetime, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Who would’ve thought you’d be such a loverboy,” he snickers. “Welcome to the club, Iwa-chan.”

The word stands out to him. Rings in his head for days.

Loverboy.

Hajime never saw himself that way. Never really cared to.

But with you..

He finds himself softening piece by piece, bending his routines, reshaping his days, to create a life that has you in every piece of it.

Maybe he is a loverboy after all… just for you.

————————————————————————

A/N: loverboy Iwa is so canon to me, that man’s got his hands on you every chance he has but he’s so subtle and cool about it.

tall boyfriend perks are really good.

he reaches everything. top shelves, high cabinets, that one lightbulb you swore you’d get to later— done in seconds, no stool needed.

he doubles as your personal ladder and your built-in heater. you’re basically wrapped in a walking blanket 24/7.

but the cons?

he takes up space without meaning to, and the fact he already loves manspreading whenever doesn’t help at all.

it’s as if everything has gotten smaller. that’s the only logical explanation. because there’s no way one man should be able to take up this much space.

“baaabe,” you whine, shoving at his shoulder. “move.”

a sleepy hum is your only response. one long arm tightens around your waist, dragging you back against him like you haven’t just spent the last five minutes trying to wiggle free.

“you’re warm,” he mumbles into your hair, voice thick with sleep. “stay.”

“i’m gonna fall off the bed. you’re literally on my side.”

this is your life— losing every nightly battle for mattress territory, practically kicked out of your bed simply because he can’t keep his limbs to himself.

a frustrated groan slips out before you give up, finally managing to slip out from his hold. he shifts, reaching instinctively for you, but you’re already gone, padding out of the bedroom and collapsing onto the couch.

it lasts exactly ten minutes.

you wake up once more to something heavy pressing into your back.

“…you’ve got to be kidding me.”

behind you, half-folded onto a couch that is very much not built for a grown man his size, satoru has somehow wedged himself in, arms wrapped tightly around you.

“you left,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your shoulder without opening his eyes.

“because you took over the entire bed.”

“mm.. sorry.”

“and now you’re taking up the entire couch as well.”

he hums again, clearly unconcerned, and pulls you even closer— if that’s somehow possible.

you try to twist around to glare at him, but his grip only tightens, his legs tangling with yours until escape is officially impossible.

“mooove.”

“don’t wanna,” he shoots back, a lazy grin tugging at his lips even in the dark.

you sigh, defeated, resting back against him.

nanami always adored dinner dates—they were an excuse to have you all dolled up and pretty, with him sitting across the table in his crisp suit, with candles adoring the middle of the table while your face was lit in the pretty moonlight.

ever the gentleman that he is, he always refused to let you pay, fighting you for the check to near violence, because having you in his presence is just enough for him. and treating you to good food is something that he wants to do for you, watching the way your eyes light up when you eat a dish you enjoy is enough to have him drop his entire wallet at your every beck and call.

this little setback didn’t stop you from having your own fun, of course.

right as the waiter dropped the bill at your table, nanami’s taking out his wallet—you’ve given up fighting him for the bill now, the moment you clutch your own purse, zipping it open to fish around it, seemingly to look for you own wallet has nanami pouting like a child for a. moment.

“my love, what on earth are you doing?” he questions, right before you grab what looked like lipgloss and a handful of seashells before setting it down on the table.

“im helping you pay the bill, of course.”

your face was stoic, almost dead serious, with the container of lipgloss and three pretty shells that rested before you.

“will this not cover it?” you say before setting down mermaid shells, and the tiniest jar of glitter on the table before you tilted your head in confusion while staring right into his eyes.

he tries to be serious for a second—he’s used to your antics by now, but something about the way you’re eyeing him while your collection rests next your purse is barely holding him back from bursting into a fit of giggles.

merely seconds later nanami’s snickering, trying to cover his face with his hands while you let out a soft giggle, watching his face tinge in pink while he slowly laughs at your previously dead serious expression while you set down trinkets on the table like a cat.

“gods, i’m gonna marry you some day.” is all he says, before paying the bill and setting it aside, all the while you can see the dimples crease his face at your stupid joke.

“if this was all it took, i would’ve started doing it ages ago.”

old fic i kinda liked idk. @yoonsucks @sugusplaything

dividers: @/pixopix .

Gojo Satoru is fatally, insanely, completely head over heels for you. 

To this day, he maintains that. He’ll tell everybody he knows of the joys of knowing you — and no, he’s not being sarcastic when he says that. 

Though, if there was one thing he could almost cry about, it would be this. 

See, if there’s one thing Gojo Satoru loves to do, it’s to tease his two girls. And that’s exactly what he’s doing to the tinier one, the mini you x him, this morning. 

“Here comes the choo choo train.” Satoru guides the sweet potato closer, and her cute little babbles fill the air. It seems like his little munchkin inherited his sweet tooth. And just as the delightful dollop reaches his sweet girl, he pulls the spoon back with a grin. 

“Dada!” She crosses her chubby arms (and briefly, he thinks she looks like the Michelin man, and his grin grows bigger), eye twitching and face in a pout that screams ‘i’ll remember this betrayal’. 

“Satoru,” you chide, and he turns to face you. You’re leaning on the kitchen counter, arms crossed just like your daughter. Sunlight streams in through the adjacent open window, lighting the edges of your hair with that ethereal glow that makes his head explode and his heart ache. “That choo choo train is going to derail.” 

“I’m an excellent driver, thank you,” he replies, readjusting his grip on the spoon like it’ll prove his point, and if you ask him, it does. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, here…” Satoru glides the spoon through the air again, and just like that, your daughter is giggling and clapping her hands again. So sweet, so trusting, that Satoru almost regrets his next move. 

At the last second, he yanks the spoon away again, and this time, he’s dodging tiny fists like his life depends on it. He can’t help it, he only laughs louder – loud, belly-aching, cheek-pulling, laughter that infects you too, as you giggle behind your hand. When he takes a peek at your darling daughter once again, it’s like rage is bubbling through her – well, all the rage someone of her size can muster. 

“Satoru.” 

But his name didn’t come from you. It’s grumbled out by the tiny cherub in front of him, and the colour drains from his face as Satoru’s heart falls to the floor. 

His laughter cuts off – replaced by frantic attempts to placate his rascal, arms held up like in surrender – but yours only grows. And it seems like your approval, and his dismay, fuels the little gremlin, because she opens her mouth again – no doubt to spout that horrific name again. 

“No, no,” he coos, desperate now. “Sweetheart, I’m dada. Dad. Papa. Father.” He wrinkles his nose at the last one. “Actually angel, don’t say father. It’s too serious.” 

Your baby girl turns her nose up at him, clearly not amused, and Satoru busies himself with scooping a heapful on the spoon — his apology. “Here, for real this time, eat up..” She turns her cheek again – because fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice… – and the mashed sweet potato smears all over her cheek like an accidental streak of paint. 

And for the second time this morning, Satoru has to stifle his laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth as laughter threatens to escape. But your daughter, oh your sweet daughter, she’s glaring at him with an anger strong enough to buckle his knees. 

“Gojo.” It’s like the last name comes out in slow motion – choppy, lower, said with defiance and with the intention to reprimand her dad so badly he will never try her again. 

And worse yet, she’s not just angry, she’s disappointed. Those big blue eyes (and for the thousandth time this week, Satoru understands how others feel when he looks at them), shining with gleeful revenge. 

“Oh, Gojo.” She shakes her head side to side with a pout that could bring nations crumbling down with the sheer of disapproval. 

Gojo? 

“You’re Gojo too!” And now he’s the one pouting, caught up in a fight with a toddler that both she and he know that she’ll win. Satoru whips his head in your direction – you’re in hysterics now – accusation in his stare, and a silent plea for help. And you know him, you know him, so he knows that you’re ignoring his cries for assistance in favour of holding yourself up by the bench. 

Betrayed by his two favourite people in one day. 

Satoru lets out a dramatic sigh, slumping in his chair at being struck by this final blow. Your daughter huffs, victorious, her tiny fists pumping into the air in her high chair, like a tiny general who’s just conquered an empire. And Satoru doesn’t even have time to claim the triumph that she picked up that emote from him. 

And suddenly, you swoop in like an angel from the sidelines, finally having caught your breath on the sidelines. Stepping forward, you take the spoon from his limp hand and gently scoop up the sweet potato. 

“Here, sweetheart,” you coo, smelling something sweet that he can’t name (maybe it’s just you), that he wants to eat up all the same. Your dear daughter accepts the spoonful without hesitation, though, she makes a point to side eye her defeated dad when she does. And then, her little pout melts into a satisfied smile, as she munches happily. 

Satoru watches her eat, deflated but completely smitten, and when he turns to you again, he finds you already looking at him – soft hair framing your face like the beautiful art he knows you are – with that knowing, star-filled gaze that always undoes him. 

“You’ll pay for this,” he warns weakly, pointing at you with an exaggerated menace. 

You just laugh again, and lean down to press a small, soft kiss to his forehead — and just like that, he’s forgiven you. “Good luck, Gojo.”

“You’re Gojo too,” he groans, though, his arms wrap about your waist, pulling you closer despite his wounded pride. 

And in that warm kitchen, sunlight pooling around all three of you, he realises he wouldn’t trade this – the chaos, the tiny betrayals, the teasing that only comes from unconditional love – for anything in the world. 

Not now. Not ever. 

How Gojo grovels after breaking up with you

Satoru peers up from the sofa. “What’s for dinner, baby? Should we get food delivered? I’m up for anything.”

Jaw dropping, you reply, slowly like he’s an idiot, “There is no dinner. There is no we. You made sure of that.” Stomping over, you grab him by his arm and use all your weight and force to get him up from your couch. To no avail. He’s not called The Strongest for nothing, after all. “Get your fat ass up and out of my apartment!”

“Don’t be mean,” he whines. “It’s turning me on.”

You can’t believe this. Can’t believe that he’s here, lounging in your living room, trying to reach for your thigh to stroke the bare skin there, when just this morning, Satoru had broken up with you. 

“A fucking text, Gojo,” you spat out. “You broke up with me through a text message that read, ‘too busy, gotta cut you loose. love ya always!’ And now, you just strut back in here, thinking you can act normal and I’ll let you back in? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I’m a pathetic fangirl who’ll let you walk all over her? Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

He pushes himself up to his feet, sighing. Satoru combs his hair back as he towers over you in his usual uniform. “Really hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Here goes nothing.”

In a flash, he falls to his knees and clings to your body like a leech. 

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Oh, fuck, baby. I’ve been so busy these days. I thought you were going to break up with me. I’ve never been broken up with, and it was scary, and I was just thinking of my pride, like I thought it would hurt less if I was the one who broke up with you first, but when you blocked me on everything and I couldn’t send you any funny tiktoks about dogs standing up on their hind legs, it started to set in, y’know? Like, this immense pain in my chest. I actually thought I was dying. And I knew I had to apologise and beg for you to take me back, but when you opened the door, all I could think about was how beautiful you are and the speech I had planned disappeared, and I just walked in like a dick, and now I’m on my knees literally begging and crying for you to forgive me. I’m so sorry, baby. Please take me back. Please, please, please. I can’t live without y—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you say, pushing him and his snot-nosed face from your stomach. He’s left a Gojo print of wetness on your shirt. Disgusting. “You’re the worst, you self-sabotaging, manchild.”

Satoru, through wet tears, gazes up at you. “I love Sabrina. She really captures my essence, I think. She’d hate me for what I did to you, of course, but I like to believe she’d be moved by my ability to throw all sense of dignity out the window to show you my sincerity… so what do you say?”

“Ugh,” you groan to yourself, “I have the worst taste in men.” Resigned to his inescapable hold, you grumble, “Alright, get up. Let’s unpack why you’re so goddamn impulsive.”

He kisses your belly button in gratitude and sheepishly asks: 

“You have all night?”

“and and and, his smile ‘s just so beautiful,” you sigh dreamily, resting your head on satoru’s lap. you’re both enjoying the cozy night in your shared apartment. with no one bothering you—with no regards for the world that’s continuing its cycle outside.

satoru chuckles as he pats your head slowly, taking his time to appreciate every feature of yours. from your pink-ish lips to your pretty eyes. he’s so in love with the creation the universe has gifted him. he nods attentively, “yeah? what else?”

you giggle as he indulges you. it’s a habit of yours, to fangirl over your husband like you’re not literally his wife. satoru finds it absolutely adorable. plus, it boosts his ego. in a very good way.

“aaaand, he’s caring. that’s the one thing i love most about him,” you continue to ramble about your little ‘crush’ on the so-called ‘mysterious white-haired sorcerer’. satoru wishes he could capture this moment and keep repeating it over and over in his head.

the way you talk about your crush—him—is filling his stomach with butterflies. your husband can’t deny the faint blush on his cheeks and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. you keep getting cuter and cuter the more time passes.

when he thinks you’ve reached a state of perfection in his eyes, you prove him wrong and go beyond that. “caring, hm? he must treat my princess real good then,” satoru hums and continues petting your head. his other hand rubs your stomach—fingers creeping under the material of your nightgown.

“he does,” you nod in agreement, “he treats me so well. i don’t know how i got so lucky to have met him.” you squirm a little as you feel satoru’s slender fingers graze your midriff, going back down to your belly and then back up your chest again. his touch is so intimate and loving. you’re spoiled. spoiled rotten by his affection.

satoru sighs. his white lashes flutter shut for a second. hearing you say such stuff makes him want to check if it’s reality he’s in. if it isn’t another too-good-to-be-true dream of his. no one had loved him as much as you did.

it feels good to know that he’s wanted. needed.

“no, i think he is the lucky one,” satoru continues. his hand petting your head stops and he moves it to rub your cheek tenderly. he leans his head down, the tips of your noses touching. he whispers, “having a pretty girl like you love him so dearly… yeah, he’s won the lottery.”

your heart skips a beat. satoru’s words leave you speechless. you don’t know if you can keep up the little silly act anymore. his flirting, the teasing and the genuineness behind his words—it’s all too much.

you grab the back of his head and push his lips down against yours. satoru’s breath hitches for a second before he gives in to you. he visibly melts, eyes closing and hands tightening their grip around your body.

“mmh,” satoru lets out a content moan. he loves you. he’s glad he’s met you and he’s glad he made you his wife two years back. you’re the only one for him. death won’t do you apart—no—he promised you on your wedding day that it wouldn’t.

you kiss him like it’s your last kiss on earth. the spark between you is still as warm and strong as it was when you met. the people who’ve warned you about the ‘honeymoon phase’ are clearly all wrong. they aren’t aware of the strength your bond with satoru has. you’re inseparable.

“i love you,” you sigh against satoru’s glossy lips and he deepens the kiss after that.

somebody loves him. somebody cares for him. that’s all he needs in life. his life is complete with you in it.

he smiles against your lips and says the three words back, with more passion than ever before, “i love you too, my angel.”

nothing will ever separate you. not fate. not anyone.

one second he was fighting a curse, and the next, he was at the gojo residence. and he’s 99% certain that he didn’t somehow accidentally teleport.

he shrugs it off, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he begins to walk through the gardens.

must be a dream, he thinks to himself.

a hyper-realistic dream because when he breathes in, he smells the familiar incense that could somehow always be smelled from outside. and a shadow flies over him which he automatically assumes is a grey heron.

what really makes it confusingly realistic is his favourite ball from when he was a child bouncing into view. he instinctively catches it and holds it under his foot.

then, satoru comes running into view-- wait…

he has to stop himself from yelling, his mouth falling open the widest it’s ever been as he stares at himself. just smaller. shorter. so young. no older than eight years old.

he laughs to himself, unnerved. “this really must be a dream.”

the younger version of himself crouches down to pick up the ball from under his foot and he lets him take it.

it’s like the sky reflected onto water when his eyes meet his own. on a face smaller than his, but still his. he feels like he truly is staring into the eyes of his eight-year-old self. a half-pout, half-scowl on his younger version’s mouth.

“watcha doin’, little ‘toru?” he asks, squatting down to his level.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” the smaller version shoots back, looking at the older satoru with caution. he can only guess it’s because they look the exact same. well, they are the same.

satoru pauses and blinks before breaking into laughter. what a stuck-up brat he used to be.

“well then, let me skip inside and let the elders know you’re neglecting your duties,” he says teasingly. a joke. he would never take away his younger self’s childhood even if it was just a dream.

but he immediately regrets making that joke when the little scowl disappears and a sulk takes over. snowy eyebrows knit together in slight panic. bright, blue eyes swirling with a plea before his gaze downcasts, cheeks drooping sadly.

something in satoru’s heart aches. feeling the distress of being a child who could never truly be a child all over again. something that reverse cursed technique could never heal.

“i’m kidding, buddy. play all you want.” satoru stands back up, reaching out to ruffle his little self’s hair who shakes his hand off and draws back. “just… hang in there, alright? everything’s gonna be okay, i promise,” he whispers, something broken in his voice.

satoru feels stinging behind his eyes, threatening to spill years of a stolen childhood and a burden that only the strongest could carry.

the younger version of him tilts his head at the taller man - the same way he tilts his head to this very day when he’s confused.

“old man… why are you crying?”

“did you just call me old, you br-- wait, what?” satoru says, reaching up to touch his own cheek. he, in fact, does feel salty moisture rolling down the curve of his cheek. “oh… uh, that’s um allergies. yeah, allergies”

but little him scrutinises him like he doesn’t believe his older self. but before he can say anything else, an elder’s voice calls for him from inside, most likely for training.

all satoru hears is a mumbled “weirdo” before his younger self scurries away with a pout tugging at his mouth. and he can’t help but let out a wet chuckle, wiping his face with the heel of his palm.

he watches him go, leaning against the wall with a soft smile touching his lips.

“everything’s okay,” he murmurs to himself under his breath. a sense of peace settling within him.

after wandering around for a while longer, hiding from clan members because something tugs at his gut that this isn’t a dream, he’s suddenly warped back to the abandoned lab where he was dealing with the curse. said curse nowhere to be seen because he had exorcised it before whatever the hell just happened.

he heaves out a breath before immediately teleporting home. to his home. you.

he’s wrapping himself around you from behind, slumping against you and burying his face into the side of your neck.

“my love?” you say softly, surprised and confused but not resisting. you rest a hand on his arm that’s looped around your stomach, brushing your thumb back and forth. “what happened?”

moisture patters against your neck and you freeze, but you don’t force him to speak or lift his head. you let him hold you. let him breathe you in shakily.

“… i love you so much,” he finally murmurs, lips moving against your neck like he’s trying to etch the words into your skin. “i love you. thank you for loving me. fuck, what did i do to deserve you?” he whispers the last part to himself, in disbelief.

“satoru,” you say a bit more firmly this time. hearing him self-deprecate always caused your heart to twist. it made you want to undo the years of trauma that he never deserved. “what’s going on? was your mission okay?”

he laughs softly, then nods. “would you believe me if i said that i think i time-travelled to the past? like, twenty years back.”

“… did you knock your head against something? should we get you to shoko?”

satoru laughs again, louder this time, heartier. he lifts his head from your neck, his face blotchy with stained tears, eyes twinkling with amusement rather than tears now.

“i’m okay, i promise. more than okay. life is perfect,” he grins, feeling ever so thankful for how his life turned out. thankful for you.

a/n: my baby :((

the house smelled like warm rice and miso when you walked through the front door, returning from a long day of work to your little family. ryomen was in the kitchen, massive frame somehow fitting behind the counter as he stirred a pot one-handed, his other arm cradling your two-year-old daughter on his hip like the toddler weighed nothing.

“hey, baby,” he rumbled the moment he saw you, voice low and warm in that way that still made your stomach flip even after years together. “missed you.”

your little girl’s head popped up at the sound, chubby cheeks flushed from playtime earlier. “baby!” she echoed brightly, reaching both arms out toward you with a delighted squeal. “babyyy!”

you blinked, pausing mid-step. “did she just—”

ryomen smirked, that sharp-toothed grin softening at the edges when he looked at his creation. “yeah. little brat’s been calling you that all morning.”

you set your purse down and crossed the room, scooping your toddler into your arms. she immediately buried her face in your neck, giggling. “baby,” she mumbled again, patting your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“sweetheart, my name isn’t baby,” you said gently, pressing a kiss to her messy hair, pink like her father’s. “it’s—”

“baby,” ryomen cut in smoothly, abandoning the pot to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you both against his chest. his lips brushed your temple. “my baby. always have been.”

the toddler nodded solemnly against you, as if that settled it. “my baby,” she declared, then pointed at her father with a triumphant little fist. “papa’s baby!?”

he let out a low chuckle that vibrated through all three of you, the sound so fond it made your heart squeeze. “that’s right, little princess. papas baby.”

you sighed, half-laughing, half-melting as your daughter kept repeating the nickname like it was the best word she’d ever learned. every time you tried to correct her—“no, love, it’s mama”—she’d just beam wider and say “baby!” even louder, completely amused by your reactions, looking between you and sukuna like you were both in on the world’s greatest secret.

later, when the three of you were curled up on the oversized couch after dinner, little girl fast asleep on ryomen’s chest with one tiny hand fisted in your shirt. he tilted his head toward you, a fond smile tugging at his lips again.

“let her call you that for a while,” he murmured, voice quiet so he wouldn’t wake the little one. his fingers traced slow circles on your shoulder. “she’s not wrong. you were my baby before we actually had a baby. and it’s… it’s pretty cute to hear from her, kinda makes me wanna have another one.”

you rolled your eyes playfully before leaning into him, smiling softly against his skin. “ryo… she’s gonna keep thinking that’s my actual name, you know. you call me that more than my actual name.”

“good,” sukuna said, unrepentant, pressing another kiss to your hair. “she’ll probably let go of it soon enough anyway. like when we had yuji babysit her for a few hours and we came back to her calling me unc, remember? only lasted about a week, so just enjoy it for now.”

your toddler stirred just enough to babble in her sleep before going back to his soft snores, and ryomen grin turned impossibly softer, reduced to putty by the two people who held his whole world.

“yeah,” you whispered, closing your eyes as his big arm tightened around you both. “alright. i’ll be baby just a little longer.”

spreading the stayathome girldad kuna agenda imma need u to also image him sitting in a plastic chair that’s way too small for him with a tiny pink backpack on one shoulder thank u

his genes didn't even try. not a speck of white in his baby girl's hair, not a sliver of crystal blue in her eyes. she's all you—from the eyes to the nose to the laugh. good lord, satoru has been blessed by the gods.

he fell in love with her the moment the doctor handed you the little bundle of joy. and when he first carried her? you just laugh at the way he almost melts to the floor.

everytime he gets home from missions, he goes straight to where you're playing with mini you. his daughter giggles upon seeing her dad. he crashes on top of the two of you, careful not to squish neither of you. first and foremost, he kisses you. then, the baby. then back to you, then back to her—it goes on and on until you go and tell him to shower.

at night when your daughter makes a fuss, it's satoru who gets up and soothes her. he carries her over to your shared room, lays her in the space between, and talks to her about anything—his latest mission, his students, her big brother megumi, how the two of you met, his bestfriend suguru, her uncle nanami, her aunt shoko.

all the while, his baby listens earnestly, eyes wide and curious like yours. she even responds sometimes! no, she can't talk yet, but she's already a good listener.

"maybe we should take you to see uncle suguru. do you miss him? who do you miss more, him or papa?"

"ah."

"there's only one answer to that. why are you hesitating?" he pokes her cheek, and holds back the urge to bite and chomp.

"ba.."

"papa? yes! that's right. you miss papa more, right?"

"ma!"

satoru gasps dramatically, "mama? you're already with her 24/7!" your baby grins, and he's in awe by how much of you he sees in her.

he picks her up with ease, and settles her on top of him. he glances at your sleeping form, "you look like your mom, you know?"

your baby also glances at you, one hand reaching out before satoru grabs her little wrist and holds it to his chest. "mama's sleeping. she's tired, we need to let her rest."

your daughter babbles, "ma-ma-ma."

"yes, mama. you look like mama. that means you're also pretty and beautiful." he kisses her cheek.

"pi. pi!"

satoru nods in understanding, acting like your baby just said something revolutionary. "yes. pretty. that's you," he pinches her nose, she huffs. "and mama. my pretty girls."

"when you grow up, you need to marry someone who'll preach your beauty like how i do to your mom, okay? never date a boy who doesn't tell you how beautiful you are every passing day." satoru whispers, eyes locked onto an identical pair to yours.

his daughter only yawns in response, dropping her head into his sternum. satoru adjusts her so she's laying on her back in the middle of you two. instinctively, your baby wiggles around, searching for your warmth in her sleep. satoru only sighs with a smile. what a velcro baby he's raising.