mimimochis

Satoru bit back a smirk. The dress. Yeah, that was his doing. He had tossed it in the dryer on high heat last week, watching it shrink just enough. Not to hurt your feelings, never that. But fuck, you looked too good in it. Those curves hugging your body, drawing eyes from everyone. No one deserved that view but him. And he knew it would end like this: you in his arms, tears soaking his shirt, needy for his reassurance. His cock twitched at the thought.

"Huge?" He chuckled low, tilting your chin up. Your lashes were clumped, mascara smudged just a little, nose pink. Perfect. "Baby, you're carrying our kid. You’re not huge, you’re gorgeous. And I've been staring because I can't keep my eyes off you. Every inch of you is sexier now. Those hips? This belly? Fuck, it makes me hard just looking." You sniffled with a small giggle, wiping your eyes, but doubt lingered. "Really? You don't... you don't think I'm gross?"

His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, smearing it deliberately. He loved how it glistened on your skin. Memories flooded him: the night he proposed, down on one knee in your tiny kitchen. Your tears had poured then, happy ones, splashing onto the ring as you nodded frantically. Or when he tickled your sides until you laughed so hard you cried, body writhing under him. And his absolute favorite, when he had your legs spread wide, cock slamming into your pussy over and over. You would grip the sheets, sobbing his name, babbling nonsense as orgasms ripped through you. Tears streaming, voice breaking. All his.

"Gross? Never." He kissed your forehead, then your nose, tasting salt. "You're mine. Every curve, every tear. Let me show you how much I need you." You hesitated, but your body melted into him, hands clutching his shirt. "Okay. Just... hold me first?"

He nodded, shifting so you straddled his lap, your belly between you like a warm secret. His hands roamed your sides, slipping under the sweater to caress bare skin. Soft, stretched just right from the pregnancy. He pressed kisses along your jaw, murmuring, "You're so beautiful like this. Swollen with my baby. No one gets this."

Your breath hitched, more tears slipping free. "Satoru... I feel so emotional. Like everything sets me off." He breathed against your neck, nipping lightly, "good. Cry for me. I really love it." The words slipped out before he could stop them, but you didn't seem to notice, too lost in the moment.

He peeled the sweater off you, revealing your full breasts, nipples dark and peaked. Pregnancy had made them heavier, more sensitive. He cupped one, thumb circling the bud, watching you gasp. Tears tracked down your cheeks as you rocked against him, feeling his erection press up through his pants.

"See? Look at what you do to me." He ground up, letting you feel the hard length. "I don’t need a dress when you’re already perfect naked and crying on my lap."

You whimpered, lashes fluttering wetly. "I love you, so much.” He replied, "I know," before flipping you gently, mindful of your belly, laying you back on the pillows. His mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking hard. You arched, fingers in his hair, a sob escaping. Colostrum beaded on his tongue, sweet and warm. He groaned, switching sides, kneading the other breast.

"Satoru! Oh God," you cried, tears flowing freely now. Your nose reddened more, voice pitching high. He pulled back, admiring the sight. Clumped lashes, flushed face, lips parted. His cock throbbed painfully. "Look at you. So pretty when you cry. Makes me want to fuck you senseless."

You nodded frantically, hands tugging at his pants. "Please…I-I need it inside. Make it better."

He stripped quickly, cock springing free, thick and leaking. Your eyes widened, more tears for some reason, joy or overwhelm, he didn't care. He settled between your thighs, spreading you wide. Your pussy was slick, swollen from hormones, folds puffy and inviting.

"Gonna fill you up," he promised, rubbing the head along your slit. You bucked, sobbing his name. "Yes, yes, Satoru!"

He pushed in slow, savoring the stretch. You were tighter now, pregnancy making you grip him like a vice. Inch by inch, until he bottomed out, balls against your ass. Your walls fluttered, tears streaming as you adjusted.

"Fuck, baby. So wet for me. Even y’re pussy’s crying for me??? H-hah…squeezing m’cock soo good." He started thrusting, deep and steady, hands on your hips. You gripped the sheets, back arching. "Too much... feels s’good... ah!"

He picked up pace, slamming harder, the bed creaking. Your belly jiggled with each thrust, your breasts bouncing. Tears poured, mixing with sweat. Your voice broke into babbles. "Satoru...mmh.. don't stop..."

"Never," he growled, possessive fire burning. Only he saw this. You sobbing, coming apart on his dick. No one else. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss, tasting all your tears. His hand slipped between you, thumb on your clit, rubbing circles.

You couldn't take it anymore, your pussy clamping down, creamingaround him. "Satoru! Cumming... oh fuck!" Sobs wracked your body, lashes clumped shut, nose bright red.

He didn't stop, fucking through it, chasing his own release. "That's it. Cry for me. All mine."

Your babbling turned incoherent, tears endless. He thrust deep one last time, spilling hot cum inside you, groaning your name.

You collapsed together, his weight braced on elbows. You sniffled, clinging, tears still leaking. He kissed them away, heart swelling. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," you murmured, voice hoarse. "You always make it better."

He smiled, secret kink sated. You were his. Tears and all.

Satoru lingered inside you, softening slowly, not ready to pull out. Your pussy milked the last drops from him, warm and content. He brushed hair from your damp face, thumb tracing the tear tracks. You looked wrecked in the best way: eyes puffy, lashes stuck together in little spikes, lips swollen from kisses and bites. That red nose tip made you seem so fragile, so his to protect.

"You know I didn't mean to leave early," he said softly, though part of him loved knowing it started your tears. "Mission ran long last night. But I'm here now. All yours."

You nodded, sniffling. "I know. Just... lonely sometimes. And the baby's kicking more than before. It feels weird…all the changes. Like I'm not myself anymore."

He placed a hand on your belly, feeling a flutter. His kid. Yours. Possessiveness surged again. "You're still you. Hotter, if anything. Remember when I proposed? You cried a whole river but I couldn’t find you any less beautiful." A watery laugh escaped you. "Dont remind me, Toru!"

"Hey, How could I ever let you forget? You were the prettiest yet that night." He grinned, thrusting shallowly just to make you gasp. "And when I tickled you last week? Laughing so hard you teared up a little. Fuck, that was so cute."

"Satoru!" You swatted his chest", fresh tears of embarrassment, "don't remind me."

But he did love reminding you. Every emotional outburst fed that hidden hunger. The joy tears, the laugh tears, the empathy ones when he talked about work. But nothing beat the sex tears. Like just now, you sobbing as he railed you.

"What about when I fuck you till you can't talk?" He murmured, starting to harden again inside you. "Bawling my name, pussy creaming all over my cock. That's my favorite."

Your cheeks flushed deeper. "You're awful. I-I don’t... okay yeah. I get overwhelmed, but I’m not a crybaby!"

He rocked his hips, that pervert was already building friction. "Y’know I really wanna make you cry again? Show you how much I love this body?" Your breath hitched. You bit your lip, nodding. "Yes please."

This time he went slower, savoring. Pulled out almost all the way, then slid back in, grinding deep. Your hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging. Tears started anew as pleasure built.

"Look at me," he commanded. Your eyes met his, wet and pleading. "See? Only I get this. Your tears, your pussy, our baby? All mine."

"Y-yours," you sobbed, legs wrapping around him. "All yours, Satoru. p-please just a little harder."He obliged, pounding now, skin slapping. Your breasts leaked a little with each thrust, milk dribbling. He leaned down, licking it off, sucking again. You wailed, coming fast, walls pulsing.

"Good girl. Soak my cock." He flipped you onto your side, careful, spooning behind. One leg hitched over his arm, he rutted deep, hand rubbing your clit. Tears streamed out, voice breaking. "Can't... too much... Satoru!"

"C’mon baby, Just cry it out f’me yeah?" His free hand squeezed your breast, possessive grip. Cum from before leaked out around his pistoning cock, messy and hot.

You babbled, "Love you... so full... gonna cum again..." Body tensed, then shattered, squirting a little. He followed soon after. Flooding you with more of his sperm. "Take it, all mine."

Panting, he held you close, kissing your tear-streaked shoulder. You sighed, content, emotional storm passed. "Thank you," you whispered. "For always taking care of me."

"Always," he replied, heart full. His secret safe, your tears his addiction. And later, as you dozed, he thought about the dress. Maybe shrink another one tomorrow. Just to make you need him again.

a/n: I know I said I’d most likely post my object gojo fic today but when I saw so many people anticipating and looking forward to it I got so nervous and felt more unsure of my draft so It’ll probably be out tomorrow!!

also I’m not sure if this dynamic is problematic or if it counts as dubcon since I made satoru more manipulative than I expected, idk yall. imo even tho the reader consents he’s making you vulnerable and insecure just so you be closer to him…

anyways let’s just say toru was listening to some ironmouse

I want you crying for me I want you waah wah wah wah waah wah wah wah I want you fighting for me and when you lose go wah wah waah wah wah wah CRY FOR MEEE

Tags -

Sex with Satoru has always been … intense. But this time was different. Not because it had been so long since you had touched each other, nor even the mountain of history between you. It’s never just been sex with him, more like two stars colliding. But Satoru was more desperate, downright reverent with you last night. Make no mistake, you have no complaint, none at all. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve been fucked so thoroughly, and he certainly did exactly that.

Slowly, you sit up, stretching your arms and legs out before rolling out of bed. Throwing on a robe over your naked body, you tie the soft belt around your waist and pad out into the hall. You pause by Ender’s door and crack it open to peer inside. Both he and Suguru are still curled up together, deep in sleep. For now, you just let them sleep. It’ll give you a head start on breakfast and time to decide how you want to tell Ender the truth anyway.

Leaving the door cracked, you shuffle into the kitchen and put the kettle on for some tea. Later, you’ll have to get coffee. After last night, you’ll be too exhausted to face the day on just tea. While you wait for the water to boil, you take a seat on the couch, only to find the neatly folded blanket and pillow you told Satoru to take with him last night. So, he did end up sleeping on the couch. You weren’t sure if he was going to take you up on that offer, but you figured since Suguru passed out in Ender’s room, it wouldn’t really be right to make Satoru go back to an empty apartment. He’s nowhere to be seen now. Dragging your hand over the blanket, you smooth it out and let out a sigh. 

That’s when you hear the click of the lock and the sound of the front door being shoved open. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder and spot Satoru slipping inside. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, though they’re a bit rumpled. There’s a pissed-off expression on his face—silvery brows drawn together, mouth pressed into a thin line. He pauses when he sees you sitting on the couch. Immediately, his neck and the tops of his ears color pink, and his expression crumples into something achingly soft.

“Hi,” he says. 

But at the same time, the words “Good morning” are coming from your lips. 

Both of you look a little embarrassed, and silence lapses between you for a moment. Then, Satoru walks into the living room and plops down beside you. He lets out a long, deep sigh and says, “I was going to surprise you with coffee and a pastry this morning, but, uh, all my cards are turned off.”

Wow. That was fucking quick. His parents certainly wasted no time. “Oh,” you say softly, but you don’t want him to feel any worse about it, so you’re quick to add, “ Well, we knew that was coming. I appreciate you going out of your way to try.” You’re just glad he’s not trying to talk about what happened last night.

He lets out a huff of air and says, “Yeah, but I wasn’t able to do it.” A muscle in his jaw flexes and he continues, “I don’t know how I’m gonna live, let alone help you and Ender.” The expression on his face is lost and confused, and you know this bothers him. 

Back when you were in college, he was known for being a selfish, self-important bastard. Sure, maybe he’s obnoxious, maybe he doesn’t like to be told what to do, maybe he’s irreverent, crass, oblivious, and carefree. But selfish? You couldn’t call Satoru Gojo selfish. He’s the kind of guy who’d give the shirt off his back but complain and whine about it the whole time or act like he was the embodiment of charity in an unserious way. It’s how you fell in love with him. You saw the heart buried beneath his stupid jokes and arrogance.

“Satoru, Ender and I don’t need your money,” you say, reaching out to take his hand. His skin is warm, his hand larger than yours. “I am doing more than okay for myself. Celebrity weddings come with a pretty hefty paycheck for photographers, and so do guest magazine shoots. Financially? Ender and I are in tip-top shape. I own a three-bedroom row home in upstate New York. Ender goes to a private Montessori school. You don’t have to worry about providing for us or whatever.” Squeezing his hand, you lean over and bump shoulders with him, a smile on your lips. “Besides, that’s an outdated concept anyway.”

But he still looks bothered. His jaw works for a moment before he says, “It’s not really about providing for you.” Hand closing over yours, he slumps back against the couch and lets out a long sigh. “I don’t know. I guess there’s just a part of me that thinks I’m sort of useless when it comes to him. You do such a good job on your own. It’s like, what do you even need me for?”

You squeeze his hand again, sweeping your thumb over the top of it. “Satoru, look at me.” When his blue eyes meet yours, you tilt your head and say quietly, “I know it’s hard to believe what with your parents and everything. But your value is not contingent on what you can do for us. That might be how your parents treated you, but Ender and I …” You trail off. With a small shake of your head, you continue, “It doesn’t work like that with us. This isn’t transactional. It’s communal. You give what you can, and we meet you where you are and vice versa.”

He inhales sharply, his expression crumpling. “If you don’t shut up, you’re going to make me fucking cry.” He huffs out a breath and blinks at you, his expression so soft that it hurts in your chest. Sitting up, he slowly leans forward, eyes dipping down to your mouth. “It’s too early for that,” he breathes. 

“You’re such an idiot,” you reply, your voice equally quiet. You don’t pull away, you can’t. You’re like a moon held in the gravity of his planet.

He leans forward a little more, and just as he’s about to fully close the gap, you hear the door down the hall open, and you practically leap away from him. There’s a little pitter-patter of small feet running down the hall, then Ender appears, lids heavy with sleep still, white hair all tousled. His onesie, decorated with stars, planets, and rocket ships, is a little unzipped at the top, and he’s got a red impression on his face from where his cheek was pressed against something.

“Mommy, the man with the long hair is in my bed,” he mumbles all out as he stumbles into the living room. Crawling up into your lap, he curls up in your arms, clinging to you. 

You laugh softly and say, “Yeah? Your uncle Suguru crashed in there with you last night.” 

“Uncle? I have an uncle?” He sounds so shocked that it’s almost comical. 

Yeah, you also have a dad. You just don’t know it. “Well, kind of,” you reply, running your fingers through his hair. You should just rip the Band-Aid off and tell him. The sooner the better; that way it’s done and over with. Except, since Satoru appeared back in your life, you’ve been trying to figure out what to say once this day inevitably arrived. The right words have never seemed to come. 

The kettle goes off, the sharp whistle cutting through the apartment. Satoru rises before you can even shift Ender to put him down. The whistling stops sharply, the space falling into silence again. Stroking your hand over the back of Ender’s head, you try to figure out how you’re going to tell him. 

What perfect words exist to explain that you’ve been lying to him since he was old enough to understand what a father is? Maybe there are none. 

“I’m hungry,” he complains, his lower lip jutting out, looking so much like Satoru when he does that that it hurts your heart. 

He deserves to know. Satoru deserves for him to know. You just don’t want Ender to hate you for your lie, for the anger you and pain you’ve harbored in your heart these past six years. Realistically, he probably won’t, but that nagging fear is still there. That’s probably why you can never find the right thing to say; the fear kills them off until your mind goes blank. 

“I’ll make breakfast in a little bit,” you reply absently, more focused on figuring out how to tell him right now. 

A few minutes later, Satoru reappears, mug in hand. The liquid inside is a creamy brown, just the right color, exactly the same shade as when you make it for yourself. Leaning over, he sets the mug on a coaster on the coffee table and takes a seat in one of the chairs opposite the couch. He must remember how you take your tea, a fact that stuns you. It’s those little things, those small details that hit you in your solar plexus. 

Looking down at Ender, you take a deep breath, then another. One more and again. Finally, your voice is very small and soft when you say, “Ender, baby, Mommy has something very important she needs to talk to you about.” Inside your chest, your heart is starting to race. 

He looks up at you, those big blue eyes that match Satoru’s exactly. You swallow, just looking down at them, then up at Satoru, who has gone completely and entirely still. Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you look back down at your son. Your fingers run gently through his silky-soft, fluffy hair again. “What Mommy?” He asks. The question is so innocent that it makes you want to squeeze him. 

It takes you a long time to speak again, but finally you say, “A long time ago, when you were very small, Mommy told you a lie, and it was a pretty big one.” Your hands are shaking, your chest is becoming tight, and your heart is slamming hard against your ribs. I can do this, you tell yourself. Tucking Ender closer to you, you continue, “Sweetheart, your dad didn’t die.” There, the Band-Aid is ripped off. 

“I don’t get it,” Ender says, his silver brows drawing together as his little face scrunches up in confusion. “Where is he then? Has he been hiding from us?” 

The innocent questions break your heart, but you can only blame yourself, at least for this part. If you had told Ender that things just didn’t work out between you and his dad, if you had told him that his dad just didn’t know he existed, then this might be easier, but you didn’t, and now you have to face it. “No, sweetheart,” you say quietly, shaking your head, “He wasn’t hiding from us.” If anything, you were hiding from him. “Your dad didn’t know you existed, baby. If he did, he would have come to find you.” Satoru’s never explicitly said that, but you know it’s the truth regardless. Letting out a long breath, you say, “He knows about you now, though, and he wants to really be your dad. Is that something that would make you happy?”

Your son nods eagerly, locks of silky, snowy hair bouncing. “Yeah! We can go camping! And he can play with Legos with me! And we can go ride bikes. Or go to the arcade!” With every imagined outing, he gets more and more excited, but you’re fixated on the fact that he’s not upset at you for lying, at least he hasn’t said so. “Where is he? When can I see him? Will he take me out to do that stuff?”

A small sound, almost laughter but not quite, leaves your lips. Slowly, you turn your son around until he’s facing Satoru, who is staring at the two of you with his hands clamped around the arms of the chair. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. There’s something in his expression like fear, mixed in with the happiness and longing. “Well, why don’t you go ask your dad yourself? He’s right there.”

His head jerks up, and he looks at you like you might be playing a joke on him. “My dad is Satoru?” He asks back slowly and quietly, his little mind trying to wrap around everything at once. Not only does he have a dad, but his dad has been getting to know him for some time. They’ve even done some of the things Ender has always dreamed about doing with a father. He swallows, those big eyes welling with tears as he looks between you and Satoru. His lower lip trembles and he whispers, “Do you mean it, Mommy? I have a dad?” 

Satoru shoots to his feet and strides across the room to kneel in front of you and your son. He doesn’t reach out yet, but says quietly, “Ender, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you and your mom when you were a baby. I made a big mistake that made your mom think I didn’t care about her anymore, and she didn’t feel like it would be safe for her to tell me about you. I really regret it because it’s all my fault.” In one fell swoop, Satoru has shifted any blame Ender might have had squarely onto his shoulders. It makes your heart skip a beat. He pauses, his blue eyes meeting Ender’s, looking a little bit misty themselves. “If you want me to, I’d really like to be your dad now, though. More than anything in the world.”

Ender blinks at Satoru, then looks up to you, naturally turning to you in his confusion. You just give your son a little nod of encouragement. So he looks back at Satoru and nods, “I want you to be my dad.” His little voice is a bit wobbly, tears starting to spill down his cheeks. They’re not sad tears, though. You know your son well enough to be able to tell that. They’re happy tears. “Will y-you take me to-to the m-movies? A-and the pa-park? And sch-school? And-and build bl-blanket forts with me?”

“Yes, I’ll do all those things with you,” Satoru gets out, tears running down his cheeks too now. Reaching up to wipe them away, he looks at Ender like the boy is his personal gift from god. And, considering the state Satoru was in a month ago, he probably is. “Whatever you want, kid. You want the sky, and I’ll peel it down. You want the stars, I’ll put you on my shoulders, and we can pull them down one by one.”

That makes Ender give a wet little giggle. He reaches up with his tiny fists and wipes away his tears. You run your hand down his arm soothingly, but Satoru can’t seem to restrain himself anymore. He surges forward and wraps his arms around both of you, still kneeling. The strength in his arms is something you can feel as they wrap around you, his hands splayed across your back as he holds you and his son. 

If you could freeze this moment in time, you would. Especially when Ender throws his arms around Satoru and the man lets out the smallest, most broken little sob. He looks up at you through his long, sweeping white lashes, and you can feel in his gaze just how deeply he’s affected by all this. Your heart swells at the expression on his face. From the very beginning, from the moment he found out about Ender, all you wanted was to know your son was going to be put first, that he was going to be loved, and now you have no doubt in your heart about either of those things. 

Satoru truly loves Ender and has shown up for him at every given opportunity since he found out about his existence. Although it was never really about whether Satoru would love him, but whether he could love him more than he craved his parents’ love. Since he’s finally broken those shackles, you no longer need to worry about that. 

After all the pain, the sweetness of this moment is multiplied tenfold. Suddenly, you understand something your grandmother had told you when you were small. “The sugar of life can only be fully appreciated if you’ve tasted the bitterness of it too.” Before now, you’d only understood those words in concept, but here and now, you understand them on a visceral, soul level. Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around Satoru, trapping Ender between you in a big, warm group hug. 

“Can I—can I call you m-my dad?” Ender whispers, nervousness lacing his tone. 

“Of course you can,” Satoru chokes out, his whole body shuddering. “You can call me whatever you’d like.” His arms tighten around you both, fingers curling into the soft flesh of your back like he’s terrified the two of you will disappear. 

Ender shifts between you, sniffling. “I have a mom and a dad,” he says quietly, that wobbling in his voice thickening. It’s like he can scarcely believe it. 

“And we both love you very, very much, baby,” you breathe, bending your head to press a kiss to the crown of his head. “You are so loved, Ender. Do you understand me? You are so, so loved.” Satoru repeats the gesture, pressing a kiss to Ender’s head just like you did.

The three of you stay like that for some time. It’s been a long while since your heart felt so full. You’ve always agonized about Ender’s feelings regarding not having a father, but now you don’t have to worry as much. For the first time in so long, you fully relax; years of stress, anxiety, and pain drain away from you all at once. A few tears roll down your cheeks, and you’re in no hurry to wipe them away, not when Satoru and your son are also crying. 

Eventually, Ender wriggles in your lap again, “But what about when we go back home?” 

Right. You and he will return to America. The two of you have lives there; plus, the only way you could get Japanese citizenship is to sacrifice your American citizenship, and there’s not a shot in hell that’s happening. No, your American citizenship is your biggest shield against Satoru’s parents with their endless wealth and power. There’s no way you could give that up; it would be stupid to. “Baby, we'll cross that—“

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you …” Satoru cuts you off, straightening up enough to look you in the eyes again. “I’m going to try to move to America. To be with you guys.”

You go completely still, your mouth opening and closing again because all the words have been sucked out of you. This man. How the hell are you supposed to remain aloof or maintain any kind of emotional distance when he’s saying and doing all the right things? You can’t breathe, you can hardly think straight, your head is spinning, your heart thundering. How does he always manage to do this? Make your heart feel like it’s made of putty and turn your mind into a mess. Since the moment you two met, he’s had that effect on you, just this way of making you fucking dumb. 

And you’re not dumb. 

It reminds you of when your relationship was new, except different. Both of you are older and wiser. The six years apart have changed you into different people than you were back then, or maybe that’s just how time works, whittling away at your personhood, carving you into something new every decade. And somehow, you have this strange sense that instead of fitting together worse than you did back then, the people you are now fit together better. How uncanny. 

“Seriously?” You breathe at last, looking for any hint on his face that he’s joking or that he’s begrudging it, but you find none. On the contrary, he seems almost excited. 

“Yeah, I’ve been researching what it takes to get a visa. Turns out it’s a lot, especially since I’m kind of broke now,” he answers wryly. “So, it might be a while yet, but my goal is to move overseas. Suguru too. He’s coming with. I’ve only ever been to Hawaii, so I’m excited to see what the rest of America is like.” He pauses, his eyes roving over your face. “I should have done this a long time ago,” he says softly, a thread of apology and regret running through his tone. He means back then, back when you were still married. Your heart stumbles again, eyes welling back up with tears. Something in Satoru’s face crumples, like he can’t bear the sight of you crying. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Please. You’ve shed enough tears over me.”

“Does that mean Dad is coming to live with us?” Ender cuts in excitedly, reminding you both he’s in the room.

Christ. How the hell are you supposed to answer that? You’re not ready to give the kid any kind of lasting hope while everything is still so new, so you answer quietly, “Well, he’ll be a lot closer for sure, but as he said, it might take him a while.”

“Or, you guys could just get married again. Green card marriages make everything fast and easy.” Suguru’s mild voice behind you nearly makes you jump. Whipping your head around to face him, you see he’s leaning up against the doorway into the hall, his long raven hair loose. There’s a faint smile on his lips like he planned this whole thing and it’s all going exactly the way he wanted it to. 

Then, his words actually register, and you almost fucking choke on your spit. Instantly, your face flushes scarlet. Your brows pull together in a glare, and you say, “That’s not funny.” You can’t believe he’d say something like that in front of your son. When you look back at Satoru, you see him staring at Suguru with a look that says he’s totally on board with the suggestion. Fucking tweedledee and tweedledum, so you just shake your head.

Suguru just shrugs and says casually, as if he didn’t just suggest you remarry your ex-husband, “Hey, it was an idea.” Reaching up, he pushes his hair back and tilts his head to add, “Oh, by the way, you’re not exactly broke, buddy.” His smile widens, and something about it reminds you of a child who knows they’re up to no good.

♡

(Satoru’s POV)

When Ender calls him dad for the first time, Satoru nearly sobs on the spot. His heart swells ten times over, and everything feels like a dream. It has been a long, long time since he felt so happy. His heart aches with joy. So, he can’t stop himself from admitting then that he’s been looking for a way to follow you guys, that he wants to be close to you. Your reaction is almost enough to have him pulling you into his arms and kissing you senseless, but he restrains himself. Not in front of the kid. After last night, it’s extremely difficult to keep his hands to himself.

But then Suguru makes his little suggestion, and your face is so cute when you’re blushing like that. With every second, that urge gets stronger and stronger. Suguru’s other comment, the one about him not being exactly broke, though, makes his face screw up in confusion. “What does that mean?” He finally manages to release you and Ender, slowly standing up. 

“Buddy, I’ve been managing your finances for years. I’m not dumb enough to leave everything in your parents’ names. You have some investments, a hefty high-yield savings account, and a few CDs,” Suguru replies as he shoves off the doorframe to join everyone fully in the living room. He drops into one of the sitting chairs and adds, “Trust me. You’re not broke. Sure, you won’t be able to blow money like you still have your trust fund, but you don’t have to worry either.” He pauses, his expression softening as he takes in the disbelief on Satoru’s face. “Look, man, I know you. This was always inevitable. You and your parents were always going to reach a breaking point, it was just a matter of when. So, I got prepared,” he finishes.

What did he ever do to deserve such a good friend? He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, so he can only appreciate it. “Suguru, I don’t know what to say,” Satoru chokes out, his face brightening with the realization that he’s not destitute without his parents’ support. “I can’t thank you enough,” he adds quietly, his gaze dropping down to the boy in your lap. 

“Just be good to my nephew and future once-again-sister-in-law,” his best friend replies. “And be good to yourself too.” 

Before Satoru has a chance to reply, you’re pushing yourself to your feet and hefting Ender onto your hip. “Suguru, if you don’t knock it off, I’m gonna toss you out on your ass.” If looks could kill, Suguru would be a dead man. 

“Mommy said a bad word,” Ender says with a laugh, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. He looks up at you, a smile that’s pure mischief on his face. There’s so much love and adoration in that look that Satoru has to clear his throat and look away. It’s clear you’re the center of the kid’s world, in the way that all good mothers are. 

Ender has what he always dreamed of. A mother who puts him above the whole world, who cares about his son’s wellbeing and happiness. Satoru knows you’re a good mother because you’re pretty much the opposite of his own, and that speaks for itself. He’s never been more grateful for anything than how you chose to carry his child, that even though you believed he didn’t love you anymore, you kept his baby and brought a beautiful, intelligent, kind child into the world. 

“Yeah, she did,” Satoru replies, something soft and warm in his voice, and he reaches out to ruffle the kid’s hair. It’s so soft under his fingertips, like powdery, freshly lain snow. The shape of his smile is all you, but the cheekiness—that’s Satoru down to the core. “Best not repeat that one kid. Mom might be a little upset if you do,” he adds conspiratorially. 

With a stern look, you tack on, “Yeah.”

“But you said it, Mommy!” Ender protests, looking at you with big innocent eyes, but even he can tell his son is hamming it up. His lower lip juts out in a pout like he’s been grievously insulted. So dramatic, and just like Satoru. 

Kid really does take after him. It must have been painful in some ways, raising his child when you were convinced that he didn’t love you, that he no longer thought you beautiful, that he didn’t want you. It would have been painful for him if the situation were reversed. To have a child that looks exactly like you, acts like you, and not have you, would have crushed him. He doesn’t know how you did it. 

Shaking your head, you reply, “Yeah, but you shouldn’t repeat everything Mommy says.” Then you attack him with wriggling fingers. Ender falls into a fit of laughter, squirming and flopping around in your arms, squealing. It’s like the sun parting the clouds, warming the entire room. Satoru has never heard such a beautiful sound before in his life. 

When you finally ease off, Ender says, like he’s making some big concession, “Fine. I won’t say it.” Then he sticks his tongue out at you, wiggling it in the air. The scene is so heartwarming that he feels like he’ll die of sweetness overload. 

You make a silly face back at your son and say in an equally silly voice, “Put that away.” 

It launches Ender into another fit of giggles, his arms thrown around you as he laughs into your body. Eventually, though, he settles down and looks up at you to say again, “I’m hungry.”

“Hi, hungry, I’m Dad,” Satoru replies before you can even open your mouth, excited to fire off his first-ever dad joke. He’s practically grinning from ear to ear as he delivers it, barely managing to restrain his own laughter.

“Daaaaaaaad,” Ender whines with a laugh, but he’s giggling at the same time, undercutting the complaint.

You just roll your eyes and shake your head at him. Looking down at your son, you say, “Why don’t you work on your Death Star with your dad and uncle Suguru while I make you guys some food?” Ender nods eagerly, and you bend down to set the kid on the ground. Your head tilts back up to look at Suguru, and you say, “You want in on this?”

The smile on his best friend’s face is warm, and he says with a scoff, “Tch. Do you even need to ask? Of course, I’m in.”

So, you set Ender down and bend over to run your fingers through his hair. Satoru can’t help but stare at the curve of your ass, remembering how he sank his fingers into the soft flesh last night. Fuck, he can’t be thinking of that right now, so he forces himself to look away. “Alright,” you say, a tender smile tugging at your lips. “Go play for a bit while I take care of breakfast.”

“Yay! I get to play Legos with my dad!” He lets out excitedly, jumping from foot to foot and clapping without rhythm. 

Everything this kid does makes him want to cry like a baby. The excitement on his face helps settle that restless feeling of being unnecessary, of being unwanted. Ender wants him to be here, wants him to be his father, and that’s all he really needs right now. “I’ll play Legos with you any time you want,” Satoru says gently, reaching down to gently brush his fingers against his son’s cheek. With that, he goes to retrieve the half-pieced-together model from Ender’s bedroom. 

When he comes back, Suguru is crawling around on the floor with the kid on his back. He’s got quite the grip on the man’s long, raven hair, tugging on locks of it like they’re horse’s reins. Satoru was gone for less than two minutes; how did this chaos break out in that short time? He chuckles at Ender’s sweet, high-pitched laugh when Suguru rolls him onto the floor and pins him down to tickle him. Glancing over at you, he doesn’t miss the small, contented smile on your lips as you bustle around in the kitchen. 

You look happy. Good. Because he’s happy and he wants both of you to be happy, preferably together. 

He carefully sets the model on the floor, and Ender quickly squirms his way out from under Suguru’s merciless grip to scamper over and join him. Carefully spreading out the diagram to where they left off, he sits criss-cross on the floor beside Ender, only for the kid to sneak his way into his lap. Suguru follows not too far behind, and soon the three of them are lost in a world of bricks. 

The larger pieces Ender can place himself, but he struggles with the smaller ones, or pieces that need to be connected in more fragile areas. When he needs help, he’ll look up at Satoru with those wide blue eyes and say so politely, “Help, please, Dad.” It just about melts his heart. Satoru wraps his larger hand around his son’s small one and helps him place the piece. And after, the way Ender looks back up at him and says so sweetly, “Thanks, Dad.” Every time he does it, Satoru comes a little closer to crying. 

Every so often, he steals glances up at you, watching as you quietly whip up breakfast for them all. He can’t help it. His eyes are drawn to you like a hummingbird to the sweet flavor of honeysuckle. One of the times, you happen to look up from what you’re doing, catching him in the act of staring. A pretty flush spreads along your cheeks, and you quickly look away, but god does that make him want to just eat you up.

Letting out a breath, he looks away because if he looks at you any longer, he’s liable to drag you away somewhere for him to do just that. He looks back down at the Lego model and forces himself to focus on that. But Suguru catches his eye, a sly smile on his face from having witnessed the interaction. 

“Shut up,” Satoru mutters, glaring as he guides Ender’s hand to press in a small, round circular piece. 

The smile on his best friend’s face only widens, and he says, “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

Of course, Ender feels the need to innocently chime in, not understanding the subtleties of the situation, “Yeah, Dad, he didn’t say anything.” He’s still so little that he can’t really read the room yet, so to speak. 

“He said it with his eyes,” Satoru mutters, throwing Suguru a dirty look. He probably already freaked you out earlier with the whole green card marriage thing. The last thing Satoru wants is to freak you out and cause you to pull away completely. No, this needs to be handled at your pace. 

It doesn’t take you long to finish breakfast. Soon, there’s a steaming pile of pancakes on a big plate at the center of the table. They smell so good that Satory is practically floating. He missed your cooking a lot, too. As a child, his mother never cooked. When he had your cooking for the first time back in college, it was the first home-cooked meal he’d ever had that wasn’t made by the family’s cook, which he doesn’t think really counts. Kaori doesn’t cook either, but then again, she’s pretty much a clone of his mother, so that’s not really surprising. There’s something so sweetly domestic about this—sitting down to share a homemade meal, fixed by the mother of his child, sharing it with you, Ender, and Suguru. 

His family. For a long time, he was scared of losing his parents because, in his mind, they were his only family. He hadn’t considered that family didn’t have to be forged in blood, but could be carefully chosen from the people who put you first, something his parents never did. Suddenly, he remembers a conversation the two of you had, back when you guys were in college. 

You were teaching him English idioms. The two of you were cuddled up in his apartment, a place he rented near campus. His hand stroked up and down the bare skin of your back as he just enjoyed the feeling of having you in his arms naked, pliant, and completely, utterly his. “A lot of the idioms that get passed around in America are only half of the original, which changes the meaning. Take blood is thicker than water, for example.”

“What does that one mean?” He asked, hand pausing on your back.

“It’s a fancy way of saying the bonds of blood, of family, can never be broken,” you replied, your finger tracing gentle circles over his chest. “But the original phrase was blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb.” You paused again before breathing, “The full phrase has the complete opposite meaning. It says you get to choose the bonds that are the strongest.” Shrugging, you finished, “I don’t know. I just like the idea of getting to choose your own family.”

The memory hits him square in the gut. He’d forgotten about that conversation, held somewhere in the wee hours of the morning after hours of fucking like rabbits. Even then, it was like something in you knew just how desperate and starved his parents had made him for love. Maybe the conversation was a coincidence, maybe it was just idle talk that you were making, but his younger self had listened a little more carefully to them and taken them to heart. Maybe even then, you were trying to look out for him in your own way. You hadn’t met his parents yet, but you had listened in on a few phone calls where they did nothing but belittle and berate him. 

“If the green card marriage is out, you could open a business in America and give yourself a work visa.” Suguru’s voice draws him out of his thoughts. “You have the capital to. If I were you, I’d open a tech company. You were the driving force behind Gojo Inc.’s tech division, which became their biggest revenue stream after you took over.” 

“Mommy, what’s a green card marriage?” Ender asks, looking up from his pancakes. 

You choke on your own bite of food, leading to a small coughing fit, then you guzzle down a glass of water. All around his little mouth is smeared sticky golden brown syrup. Ender’s little tongue darts out to try and clean it up, but to no avail. Satoru’s not sure how he even managed to get so much syrup on his face. The kid looks between you and Satoru, completely unaware of the kind of question he just asked. 

Looking up from your food, you shoot them both a glare and grouse, “You guys can explain that one to him since you guys thought that was a concept he needed to know about.” Your irritation has Satoru throwing a glare at Suguru, too.

“A green card marriage is when two people get married so they can move to a new country together,” Satoru explains as simply as he can. It’s not exactly right, but it’s the best way he knows how to put it without going into a definition that really wouldn’t be appropriate. 

“Oh, then I think Uncle Suguru is right,” Ender says brightly, making you choke again on your sip of water. “You should have a green card marriage, Mommy.”

Your glass of water hits the table with a thunk, your shaking from how hard you’re coughing. On the one hand, Ender is being incredibly cute, but on the other, Satoru thinks you might just have a heart attack if he says one more word. Reaching over, he pats your back to help dislodge the water in your lungs. Once you’re no longer coughing up a storm, you look up at your son and say, “Ender, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not, Mommy?” 

“Because it’s not appropriate,” you reply through gritted teeth, giving Suguru a look like you might fucking strangle him. The man just smiles and shrugs like he isn’t saying outrageous things and putting ideas into his son’s head. Shaking your head, you look over at your son and say, “Marriage isn’t something you should treat like a game, baby. It’s a promise between two people to always love each other and always put each other first. That’s not the kind of thing you just do willy-nilly.”

“Yeah, promises are serious stuff,” Ender says, nodding solemnly. “It’s important to keep them because it means others can trust you.” He recites the words so perfectly, Satoru is sure that this is something you taught him,

That thought’s confirmed when you nod and say with a hint of pride, “That’s right, baby. Good job. So, you should be careful who you make your promises to and be careful in what you make promises about.” Your fork taps lightly against the rim of your plate, the faint clink catching Satoru’s ears. “Do you understand?” You ask, tilting your head as you look at him. 

The kid nods, his silky white locks bouncing, “I think so, Mommy.”

After breakfast, Satoru and Suguru work together to clean up the kitchen while you give Ender a bath to clean the syrup from him. Suguru gathers up all the dirty plates while Satoru takes care of any trash and puts away any stray ingredients in the kitchen. Then, they work on the dishes together, Satoru washing, Suguru drying, shoulder to shoulder. 

“This is good,” Suguru says contentedly. “This is the life I wanted for you. Your kid is … he’s a good kid. She did good.”

Satoru lets out a breath and says, “I know. I don’t deserve this gift. Not even a little bit.” He means it. Down to his bones, he knows he doesn’t deserve this second chance, this chance to make things right. His throat tightens just thinking about it.

“The funny thing about thinking you don’t deserve things is that when you believe that, you cherish them closer to your heart,” Suguru replies, his hand turning a plate around and around in a dishcloth. When he’s done, he holds the piece the plate up and inspects it. “The world would benefit from fewer people believing they deserve the things they have,” he says, something in his tone solemn. After a second, he lowers the plate and adds, “Like your parents.”

“Yeah,” Satoru can only nod in agreement, momentarily pausing his scrubbing. He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. He can’t say that Suguru is wrong. 

They wrap up the dishes neatly and, afterward, Suguru goes to hang out in the living room while Satoru wipes down the counter. From the kitchen, he can hear the phone ring, and Suguru answers. The conversation is too low for him to quite make out, but a minute later, he hears the TV flip on. Then, “Hey, Satoru, you might want to see this.”

A bad feeling settles in the pit of Satoru’s stomach. Slowly, he sets down the rag and the spray bottle he was using. Everything feels so distant and far away, his footsteps and heartbeat strangely loud in his ears. He looks at Suguru first, then at the TV. As his head starts to swivel back to Suguru, he pauses when he realizes who he was seeing on the screen. 

His parents. It’s a media frenzy. It looks like they’ve gathered every major news source based in Tokyo that they could. His mother looks cold, but flawless, her face not yet set with lines despite her age. His father looks every bit the noble man he imagines himself to be. When he sees Kaori behind them, looking fragile and grief-stricken, he scoffs in disgust. What is this fucking circus his parents are running now? The reports circle like vultures, cameras flashing, questions being shouted from all sides. 

Eventually, though, his father raises both hands like he’s the messiah. Only when the room is silent does he lower them and finally speak, “It is to our greatest shame and sorrow to announce that we have stripped our son, Satoru Gojo, of his position as CEO of Gojo Inc. effective immediately. Our disappointment is immeasurable. We had thought we raised a man of honor and integrity, but his actions have shown that his character is not as unassailable as we had thought. Our son has engaged in extramarital affairs after being seduced by a foreign woman and has even fathered a bastard child. Not only has he deeply hurt his loving, loyal fiancée, but he has damaged the reputation of our family and company. Furthermore, it is our greatest sadness to announce that the Gojo family has cut ties with him due to this incident. Thank you for your attention. We appreciate your respect for our privacy at this time.”

Satoru is fucking speechless. Somehow, his parents have managed to twist the entire narrative all over again to make Kaori and themselves look like the victims on national television. His heart is racing, slamming against his ribs so hard he swears he’s going to be sick. This time, his parents had truly outdone themselves—making you out to be some kind of succubus, referring to Ender as a bastard, making it seem like Kaori was there first, like Kaori ever held a place in his heart at all. At his hands, his hands ball up into white-knuckled fists, shaking at his sides. He’s so angry that he quite literally sees red for a moment, a wash of crimson over his sight before disappearing. 

Instead of ‘respecting their privacy,’ the reporters act like a bunch of sharks when there’s blood in the water. They swarm his parents. Just then, you come out of the bathroom with a damp Ender in your arms. He’s in another onesie, this one, though, is like a little bear suit, complete with a hood sewn with fluffy round ears. It’s so cute that all the anger drains from his body at once.

“What’s going on?” You ask, sensing something off in the atmosphere. 

Letting out a sigh, Satoru says, “We need to talk.” The heavy words settle over the room, and your gaze slides to the TV, then back to Satoru. After all, this doesn’t just affect Satoru anymore; his parents have successfully dragged you into the epicenter of a media shitstorm. And that is just fucking unacceptable to him. 

The old him would have remained silent, would have taken it lying down, forcing you to choose between worsening their relationship or standing up for yourself. He would have done nothing, just hoped his parents would move on and try not to piss them off any further. That’s not how things are going to work anymore. No. If his parents want to talk shit, if they want to sic the media on you, then he’ll pry every fucking skeleton out of the Gojo family’s closet, and he’ll whistle a jaunty tune while doing it.

When you realize that something must have happened with his parents after scrutinizing the television, you just nod. “Yeah, I suppose we do.”

A/N: Whew, thank you so much for your patience y’all. I appreciate you all for that. I hope you guys are enjoying the break from the angst hehe. Thank you to everyone for reading. Reblogs and comments are especially appreciated.

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He memorized every step exactly the way you taught him. First came the spray bottle with warm water. Then the kid friendly leave in conditioner he had to get imported from outside Japan. After that, he carefully detangled from the ends upward before using a lightweight curl cream meant for children and sealing everything with a tiny bit of oil.

Satoru approached the routine like studying an opponent. Except in this case his opponent was the most adorable princess with a tender scalp and the patience of a angry little dictator.

Soon he was researching satin pillowcases for kids at three in the morning. Ordering soft brushes that wouldn’t pull on her curls. Watching routine videos while lying across your chest after missions because he refused to be bad at something connected to his daughter.

And honestly, it worked. Satoru Gojo was annoyingly talented at almost everything. Within weeks, his daughter only wanted him to do her hair. Whether it be ponytails, wash and go's, braids, you name it.

“Daddy does the...the braids prettier,” she declared all shy one morning while you stared at her in fake offense.

Satoru looked unbearably smug sitting on the bathroom floor with pink clips between his teeth. “Sorry, baby. I’m simply gifted.”

Your daughter giggled loudly while he separated another section of curls carefully. His large hands moved with surprising gentleness as he twisted each puff into shape. Tiny colorful barrettes covered the counter beside him, organized by color because apparently Satoru had developed opinions about hair accessories.

He held up two clips seriously. “Strawberries or stars?” “Stars!” she answered immediately.

“Excellent choice!" he exclaimed, "you don't want everyone at school to eat'cha up from how much of a cutie you are.”

You leaned against the doorway watching them quietly. Your daughter giggling at his compliments while Satoru clipped the glittery yellow stars into her hair with intense concentration. It was still surreal sometimes seeing the strongest sorcerer alive crouched on the floor arguing with a four year old about accessories.

But Satoru genuinely loved this.

Loved every second of being a father.

He loved the domesticity of it all in a way that surprised everyone around him. Morning cartoons playing in the background. Tiny pajamas dragging across the floor. The scent of crayon wax and Doc Mc'Stuffins bath solution filling his home. He soaked it up like he had been starved for softness his entire life.

Maybe he had been. Afterall, the Gojo clan never gave him moments like this growing up.

He never knew his parents. No one ever sat patiently between his little legs, brushing through his hair while humming under their breath. There was no warmth tucked into the ordinary moments of childhood. No bonding over rushed breakfasts, school uniforms, or getting ready for family events. Those tasks were handled by an emotionally detached maid, efficient but distant. Long before adulthood, Satoru had already grown into someone powerful, isolated, and impossible to reach.

Now he overcompensated by pouring every ounce of affection into his little girl.

“Daddy,” she asked suddenly, “was Mommy pretty when you met her?”

Satoru paused mid twist and stared at her like she’d asked the most ridiculous question in human history.

“Pretty?” he repeated dramatically. “Your mommy was the prettiest person I’d ever seen. Still is too.”

You rolled your eyes from the doorway, but he continued, “the best part is that she looks just like you! You really didn't wanna twin with your old man here huh?" That made your daughter laugh so hard she nearly slid off the counter.

Satoru steadied her automatically with one hand before continuing her hair. The movement was instinctive now. Everything about fatherhood seemed instinctive for him despite how nervous he had been before she was born.

Sometimes you caught him staring at her when he thought nobody noticed. Usually during quiet moments.

Like when your girl was asleep against his chest with one tiny hand fisted in his shirt. Or when she laughed so hard she snorted exactly like you. Or during mornings like this when sunlight hit her bouncy curls and made them glow warm gold around her face.

Every single time, Satoru looked overwhelmed by love.

“She has your eyes,” he murmured softly while fluffing one of her puff ponytails carefully. “And your smile.”

“She's got your boundless energy though,” you added.

“That’s very fortunate for us all.” Your daughter tugged at the fabric of his pants, raising her arms, “I’m funny daddy!”

“You’re hilarious, babygirl!” Satoru corrected immediately before kissing the top of her head and spinning her around. Then he leaned back to admire his work proudly.

Two perfectly shaped curly ponytails with two framing braids in the front. Decorated with gold star clips, and all her curls were perfectly moisturized and shiny without being weighed down. Not a single coil left behind.

“Masterpiece,” he announced confidently.

Their daughter scrambled off the counter immediately and ran toward you. “Mommy look!”

You crouched down with a smile, adjusting one clip gently before nodding approvingly. “Wow! Daddy did a really good job.”

Satoru looked ridiculously pleased with himself over the praise. Honestly, you thought he enjoyed your approval almost as much as your daughter’s.

The little girl sprinted toward the living room after that, curls bouncing wildly while she searched for her toys. Satoru watched her disappear around the corner with this soft expression that still caught you off guard sometimes.

Then he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. “She looks just like you,” he said quietly.

You rested against him easily. “She looks like both of us, Toru.”

“I know.” His voice softened further as he watched their daughter disappear into the living room. She had his dimples and his nose, he could see himself in her easily enough, “but every now and then she looks at me and I swear I’m seeing you all over again.”

That made your chest ache.

Because Satoru remembered everything about you with terrifying accuracy. The hairstyles you wore as a teenager. The exact expression you made when annoyed. The first time he made you laugh hard enough to snort. He remembered it all like precious memories carved permanently into his bones.

Now pieces of you existed inside your daughter. And Satoru loved her so much it was almost frightening. From the living room came a loud crash followed by excited giggling. Satoru sighed instantly. “ You were right. Definitely energetic...”

You laughed while he walked away toward the chaos your little girl ensued. A second later your daughter had launched herself directly into his arms without warning. Satoru caught her easily, smiling while she wrapped tiny arms around his neck. Her curls bounced against his shoulder, little glitteryclips glittering beneath the sunlight.

And for a moment he just stood there holding her carefully against his chest.

Like he still couldn’t believe someone so precious belonged to him.

omg my studies have been killinggggggggggggg me like vro i was not built for this T0T ACCIDENTALLY DELETED OG POST UGHHH

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Toji's cock twitched hard under the sheets, because he was instantly rock hard at the sight of you like this, actually every single morning, it did something filthy to him. He tried to look away, but his jaw clenched tight, the longer he tried to tell himself, not again. Just one morning he hoped his cock wasn't aching and painful because of you.

And you noticed right away. How could you not? His body language gave him away every time, the slight adjusting or where he'd pull the covers up over himself in an attempt to hide his boner. You shifted closer voice coming out soft and teasing. "What's wrong, Toji? You look like you're in pain."

He let out a low grunt, eyes flickering back to yours. The smudged kajal around them made his thoughts spiral. "Fuck. You look too good like that, Dollface. With your eyes all dark and messy. Makes me think about.. how y'er pretty mouth was taking all of me last night, stuffed ya full didn't I?

He lifted his hand mid sentence, reaching towards your face cupping your cheek as his thumb swiped right under your eye.. right where the kajal was the thickest. "Ruined that pretty liner even more."

Your heart fluttered. Heat pooled low in your belly. You knew exactly what he meant. His eyes always betrayed him. That hungry stare. The way his gaze dropped to your full lips next. He was imagining them stretched wide around his thick cock again.

You didn't say anything at first. Instead your hand roamed down his bare chest. Fingers tracing the hard lines of his abs. Lower, until you reached the heavy tent in his sweatpants. He was leaking already, a damp spot blooming under your palm.

Toji hissed through his teeth. "Shit. Yeah. Just like that."

You freed him with eager fingers. His cock sprang out. Thick, veined. The head flushed dark and shiny with pre-cum. It bobbed heavily against his stomach. You licked your lips. The sight making your mouth water.

Leaning down, you settled between his spread thighs. He opened them wider for you. Gentle and loving were his big hand as it came to rest on the back of your head. Fingers stroking through your hair with surprising tenderness.

You wrapped your plump lips around the tip first. Tongue swirling to lap up every drop of pre-cum. Salty-warm and perfect. Toji let out a guttural groan from deep in his chest. His hips bucking up just a little.

"Fuck, Dollface. Your mouth's... always so good for me."

You took him deeper. Inch by thick inch. Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked. The weight of him on your tongue felt divine. Your fingers teased along his happy trail. Petting the dark hair there. Tracing the muscles that flexed under your touch.

He guided you down slowly. "That's it. All the way, baby. Take every fucking inch f'me. I know you can."

You did. Relaxing your throat. Letting his cock slide in until your nose pressed against his pelvis. Your walls massaged him tight. Wet heat enveloping him completely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. They spilled over. Smudging the kajal even more, black mixing with your tears, running down your cheeks.

Toji's gaze was locked on you. Hyper focused. He drank in every detail. The beauty marks around your eyes. The cute one right above your upper lip. Your hair framing your face like a halo. You looked so beautiful. So fucking ruined for him.

His thumb brushed your stretched lips. Gathering the drool that slipped out. "God, you're gorgeous. Look at you. Taking me so deep. My pretty girl."

You hummed around him. The vibration made his thighs tremble. You bobbed your head. Sucking harder. Tongue working the underside of his shaft. One hand cupped his heavy balls. Rolling them gently while your other hand stroked what your mouth couldn't reach.

Toji's fingers tightened in your hair. Not pulling. Just holding. Guiding you back and forth on his cock as his breaths came rougher now. "Yeah. Just like that. Gonna make those pretty eyes water more. Love seeing my good girl gag on my cock."

You pushed yourself further. Throat fluttering around him. Tears flowing freely. The kajal was a complete mess now. Dark smudges painting your heated skin. You looked up at him through wet lashes. Eyes glassy and devoted.

That was it. The sight broke him.

Toji came with a fevered moan. Thick ropes of cum flooding your throat. Hot, heavy and endless. You swallowed around him. Milking every drop, throat working rhythmically. Taking it all like the good girl you were.

When he finally eased out, a string of spit and cum connected your swollen lips to his glistening cock. You gasped for air. Lips shiny and wrecked.

Toji pulled you up immediately. His mouth crashed onto yours in a deep kiss. Tasting himself on your tongue. Then softer kisses followed. Across your cheek. Along your jaw. Gentle presses just under your eyes where the kajal was darkest. Kissing away the messy streaks with surprising care.

"You wrecked me, princess," he murmured against your skin. His hand stayed at the back of your head. Massaging your scalp in slow circles. "So fucking pretty in the morning. Thank you. My beautiful girl. My sultry little thing."

You smiled. Curling into his broad chest. His arms wrapped around you tight. The sun climbed higher outside. But neither of you moved. Just tangled together. His cock softening against your thigh. Your smudged kajal marking him now too.

Toji pressed one last kiss to your forehead. "Gonna need you to line those eyes every night. Just so I can wake up to this. Every damn morning."

His voice was low, a little possessive, but full of that lazy affection only you ever got to see. You nestled closer. Already thinking about tonight. How you'd line them even thicker. Just for him.