you walk in when the jjk men accidentally let your children fall while playing—panicking, whispering apologies the babies don’t yet understand, trying to stop the crying before their scary wife (you) sees.
including: satoru, nanami, toji, & geto.
warnings: MDNI, jjk men as dads, suggestive, cursing, vulgar language, lowkey crackfic
a/n: this has been in my drafts for so long lol
SATORU GOJO —
gojo knows what he is doing. he is only fully convinced it will go the way he has been anticipating.
it probably won’t.
your daughter is already giggling in his hands, tiny legs kicking as he lifts her slightly in the air.
“okay,” he says, focused for once. “watch this. this is gonna be cool.”
she squeals, approval granted, legs curling slightly.
gojo adjusts his stance, eyes narrowing behind the glasses. it won’t be a throw—not really. it’s more like a controlled drop.
he’ll just stop her midair. easy for a man like satoru.
he lets go and for a split second, everything aligns. then, nothing. no catch, and no pause.
just a soft thump.
gojo’s brain goes blank, your daughter blinks up at him from the floor, stunned, not even hurt, yet, just stunned.
“huh..” he breathes.
then her face starts to scrunch.
“oh, no- no, no.. wait!” he drops instantly, scooping her up. “that was— you were supposed to..”
her lip trembles.
“i’m sorry, sorry, sorry.” he whispers as if she understands a thing about what he is saying, or of what just happened. “i miscalculated.” he whispers quickly, bouncing her. “just don’t cry, please don’t cry babygirl.”
he’s too late. a sharp wail fills the room, and from the kitchen.. everything goes quiet.
“satoru?” your voice, laced with worry, the soft sound of a kitchen towel rubbing against your hands, and then your fast footsteps.
he freezes. “everything’s fine!” he calls, way too fast. “we’re just doing advanced techniques, mama!” he says, too loud, trying to outdo your daughter’s cries.
you step into the doorway and your eyes go straight to the crying infant in his arms. then to him. “what did you do.”
gojo swallows. “..maybe I overestimated myself. no, that’s not even possible. i just—”
the baby cries harder.
you step forward, arms already spread out. “give her to me.”
he hesitates, but only for a second. “she was supposed to stop. i was gonna teleport her to the bed.” he murmurs as he hands her over. “like… you know..”
you stare at him. “you tried to teleport her? our daughter? our ten month old daughter?”
“but when you say it like that-”
“i am saying it like that because that’s exactly what you were going for.”
you give him a look and he winces, then leans in anyway, gently brushing her hair back. “I’m sorry.. that one's on me.”
his hand trails down to your hip, squeezing gently.
a pause follows, short, awkward. then you whisper, “no more experiments.”
“yes ma’am.” he says quietly. “that’s fair..”
later, it is quiet. gojo lays beside you, struggling to keep his hands to himself.
“baby.. pleasee.” he murmurs, moving closer.
it is his tenth.. no, eleventh time asking. you fold your pillow so that both sides cover your ears. “it’s been a long day, toru. go to sleep”
“you’re still mad about earlier? i didn’t mean to drop her..”
you turn now, eyes wide in the sharp, warning like manner that gojo has feared since you met. “but you did.”
“come on, baby. you know i didn’t mean to. at least she didn’t land on her head, right?” he gets closer, fingers brushing your side.
your breath hitches despite yourself, eyes trailing down his body and landing on the hard, defined outline of his dick.
you swallow, cheeks hot, trying not to let him see just how much you want him despite your anger. but gojo grins knowingly, his hand slipping under the sheet to your thigh.
his thumb traces gentle circles there, testing just how close he can get. you clench your thighs instinctively. “fine.” you breathe.
“aw, i knew my pretty wife wouldn’t hold-”
your hand tracks from his chest to his mouth. “shh.”
“yes ma’am.”
KENTO NANAMI —
nanami has everything under control, as always.
your son is steady, small hands raised and gripping the edge of the desk, little legs wobbling but determined.
“i’ve got you. we need to perfect this so we can show your mother.” nanami says, voice softer than usual. “just one step.”
the plan is simple; help him stand, snap a photo, keep it until you’re done with training so that he can show you.
a small milestone, safe and documented.
your son looks at him, then nanami lets go. the baby takes one wobbly step forward, then another. kento’s breath catches.
“that’s it..” he says quietly, a hint of awe slipping through. “come here. come to dadda.”
your son wobbled toward him. three steps, four, and then his foot caught. a tiny stumble, then a thud.
nanami moves immediately, shaking his head, taking his son gently. “sorry, i’m sorry.” he whispers rapidly, as if he’s apologizing to you.
your son’s face crumples anyway.
“it’s alright..” he sighs, his grip tightening slightly, cradling him closer. “i shouldn’t have let you try that alone.”
a cry breaks out and footsteps approached quickly.
“ken?” you enter and see your son crying in his arms. your eyes flick to the desk and then back to him. “…what happened?”
“he walked to me,” he said quietly. “i thought i could catch him before he fell.”
your expression shifts, surprise and then concern. “he walked?” you whisper. “and you did not wait to practice this with me?”
kento shuts his eyes for a second, they’re low when he opens them again. “..yes, and i failed to support him properly.”
you step closer, taking your baby. “he just fell,” you say, too gentle. “that happens.”
nanami stays quiet for a second, throat dry. “please, don’t talk like that.. i’d rather hear you scream.”
your sons cries soften against you. nanami watches, something heavy in his expression.
“i’m sorry..” he murmurs. not just to the baby.
later the house is quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes after a long day—soft, dim, wrapped in low light and the steady rhythm of a sleeping child down the hall.
you’ve just finished getting ready for bed, sitting at the vanity, fingers absentmindedly working through the last steps of your routine.
the master bathroom door opens behind you. nanami steps out, hair still damp, a towel slung low across his waist.
“he asleep?” he murmurs, stretching behind you.
your eyes meet his in the mirror. “mhm..”
“you’re still mad?” he whispers loud enough for you to hear.
you don’t answer, you just resume your nightly routine. he sighs heavily, one hand dragging down his face.
he crosses the room sheepishly, grabbing for your shoulders and pulling you against him gently. “i’ve been thinking about you all day. forgive me, please.”
you are about to stand, turn away and get in bed, but then you feel his erection pressing tight against your back.
“i’d like to apologize properly now, darling.”
“kento—” you gasp, hands flexing where they rest against your vanity.
“shh” he says, leaning down and nibbling your ear softly, fingers tracing your jaw. he leans in, pressing gentle wet kisses against your neck.
you lean in because of course you do, it’s your husband.
TOJI FUSHIGURO —
toji isn’t trying to be dumb, because, to him, he isn’t. at least it sounds efficient, two babies, one workout.
your twins are perched on his back, giggling as he lowers himself into another push up.
“hold on,” he mutters. “don’t start sliding. i’ll never hear the end of it.”
a tiny laugh escapes your son, encouragement. your daughter slaps his back repeatedly, giggling along with her twin.
“mhm,” he groans. “real funny.” despite his words, the corner of his mouth twitches, scar stretching.
another push up, and then another, and then a shift. there was too much weight to one side and his advance faltered.
both of the twins roll off. at first, toji freezes, then he glances at them and laughs, trying to play it off—trying to distract them.
their faces distort. toji’s eyes shut as if he’s only praying they won’t make a fuss. “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
the babies blink up at him, lips trembling—then, in perfect sync they weep.
“oh, don’t-” toji mumbles, hands reaching out for them. “not both of you..”
way too late, and from where you were, silence falls. his eyes shut again at the sound of your footsteps.
“toji?” you appear and freeze. both babies crying, toji sitting there with one already in his arm, reaching for the other.
“what did you do?”
“they rolled.” he says.
your stare sharpens and he tenses visibly. “you dropped both of them?”
“they rolled,” he repeats, more firmly.
you step inside and pick up your son. “they were on your back, weren’t they?” you say, noting the red marks on toji’s shoulders.
“maybe..”
they cry louder and toji clicks his tongue, clearly irritated.. but not at them. “they’re fine.. didn’t hit too hard.”
your daughter stops crying the moment you take her and turn away, just like that. toji goes still behind you. “…seriously?” he mutters.
you don’t even look at him. “what?”
“i had her handled.”
“mm,” you hum, swaying gently. “looked like it.”
he clicks his tongue, but there’s no real bite to it. just slightly bruised pride. by the time both babies are finally asleep, the house settles into a quiet that feels earned.
you stretch once, then move into the kitchen. you barely get started before you feel him again. toji doesn’t announce himself—he’s just there, close and warm, one hand braced against the counter beside you, the other settling at your waist.
“you know,” he starts, voice low, “they stopped crying real fast when you picked ‘em up.”
“mhm.”
his thumb brushes lightly against your side. “feels like favoritism.”
“that’s because you used them as gym equipment.”
“they were participating.. and helping.”
you snort. “they can’t even hold their heads up properly.”
“they held on just fine.”
There’s a pause. Then his hand shifts—slower now, more deliberate.
“you didn’t look this calm earlier,” he murmurs.
“I wasn’t,” you reply. “you dropped both of our babies.”
“they rolled.”
“you dropped them, ji.”
“…semantics.”
you try to step away, but he keeps you close—not forceful, just enough to turn you slightly back toward him.
“be careful,” you warn. “I’m cooking.”
“yeah,” he says, glancing down briefly. “I can see that.”
there’s a pause, then he speaks again. “you always get like this after?”
you narrow your eyes. “after what?”
“handling everything.” his mouth tilts faintly. “all calm and in control… kinda unfair.”
“toji.”
“what?” he says, completely unbothered. “just an observation.”
“you’re not subtle.”
“never said i was.” he leans closer, voice dipping just enough to make your focus slip. “should i start doing push ups with them more often?”
you elbow him immediately. “don’t you dare.”
he laughs under his breath. “if we have another,” he adds, like it’s nothing, “i won’t use them as gym equipment.”
you stop completely. “what?”
“i said,” he repeats easily, “if we have another, i’ll adjust.”
you turn slowly, staring at him. “If we have another?” you cross your arms. “you just dropped two today.”
“they rolled, baby. I'm telling ya.”
“you dropped-” you cut yourself off with a sharp exhale. “and so your solution is more?”
a hint of a grin tugs at his mouth. “i said i’d learn.”
“that’s not reassuring.”
“it should be.”
you turn back to the stove, shaking your head. “Incredible.”
there’s a quiet pause behind you, then his hand returns to your waist—slower now, less teasing.
“besides,” he murmurs, “you handled them pretty well.”
“they’re babies. i’m their mother. its the job.”
“yeah,” he says, thumb brushing lightly again, “but you make it look easy.”
“flattery’s not fixing this.”
“wasn’t trying to fix it.”
you glance back at him and this time, he’s looking at you steadily, not joking.. not entirely.
“…you’re serious,” you say.
“about not using them as weights? yeah.”
“that’s not the part i meant.”
“why not? why not another?”
the question hangs. you turn fully now, folding your arms. “becayse we already have two.”
“aand?”
“and that’s enough, they’re newborns.”
he tilts his head slightly, considering it, not dismissing, just thinking.
“maybe it’s enough,” he says.
“toji!”
“what?” he murmurs, softer now, hand still resting at your side. “just saying.”
there’s no pressure, just that same quiet certainty, like the idea doesn’t bother him at all.
like maybe, he’s already thought about it.
you hold his gaze for a second longer, then turn back to the stove—though your focus isn’t nearly as steady now.
“you can cook your own dinner,” you mutter.
a low chuckle sounds behind you. “yeah,” he says. “we’ll see about that.”
SUGURU GETO —
suguru knows exactly what he’s doing. he thought it would be harmless, teaching your one year old son how to play ball…
your boy sat in front of geto, fascinated, watching the basketball in his hands.
“alright,” geto smiles, bouncing the ball lightly. “watch closely.”
the ball hits the floor and comes back up, a simple dribble, smooth and controlled.
your son giggles and geto’s smile softens. “see? like this.”
he dribbles again, but your son reaches forward too suddenly.
the timing breaks, the ball bounces wrong, and taps right into him.
not hard, but hard enough, your son loses balance, tipping backward.
thump
geto’s heart drops
“oh!” he’s there instantly, picking him up. “i didn’t think you’d— im so sorry.”
your sons face twists. geto holds him closer.
“no, nope. its okay!” he bounces your son gently in his arms.
“suguru!” he hears you coming from your bedroom, every one of your steps suddenly exaggerated and loud in his head. “why’s he crying?! i cant enjoy one moment with the girls without you turning boy time into a mess!”
you walk in only to see his nervous expression and your baby boy, writhing in his arms. you take him gently.
“what…happened?”
“i was trying to teach him how to hoop!” he blurts out. “he fell, baby im sorry..”
“suguru you are going to watch five little monkeys with this boy every night until he falls asleep. and if he doesn't.. you're going to put it on loop. do you understand?”
“no! i’ll do anything.”
“nope. you will watch it.”
later that night, you and the girls peek through the hallway door and see geto on the couch with your son, baby sprawled on his chest like he has nowhere else to be, little fist in his mouth as he rewatches five little monkeys for the fifth time tonight.
you snicker as quietly as you can but your husband isn’t an idiot. he knows you’re watching.
notes: i get so shy writing anything lewd it feels like i’m being watched by everybody who’s ever met me in the world
