âPairing- Satoru Gojo x Fem!reader
Summary - Y/N believed in blessingsânot because she had received one, but because she was given the chance to become one for her family. The opportunity to change her parent's lives was on the table. And who was she to hesitate? Though the great decision Y/N chose raises questions about her understanding. Especially towards her âLovers Affection.â
Warningsâ MDNI 18â Only, NSFW, Female Reader, Plot with Smut, Family issues, Angst, Arranged Marriage, CEO!Gojo, Modern AU, Confessions, Stalking, Clueless Reader, Slight OC Satoru.
Y/Nâs parents stopped praying for miracles long before she was old enough to understand what one was.
Ironically, it all began the year she was born.
The year had started with hope. Nozomi was expecting their first child, and Koji couldnât hide his excitement. They werenât wealthy, but they managed. Bills were paid on time, groceries filled the refrigerator, and the future seemed predictable enough to believe everything would be alright.
Nozomi went into labor just after sunrise.
The drive to the hospital was one she had imagined countless times throughout her pregnancy. She had pictured Kojiâs hand wrapped around hers, his nervous smile, his voice reassuring her that everything would be okay.
Instead, she arrived alone.
Koji hadnât abandoned her. He was at work.
Construction sites werenât forgiving places, and Takasi Corporation was even less forgiving. Missing a shift without approval was grounds for immediate disciplinary action, and parental leave was little more than a luxury the company refused to offer.
So while Nozomi was wheeled through the emergency room doors, Koji was lifting steel beams several districts away, completely unaware that his daughter was about to enter the world.
The delivery room felt far colder than she had expected.
Bright fluorescent lights stretched across the ceiling, washing the room in a sterile glow that made everything seem lifeless. Nurses moved with practiced urgency while a doctor calmly guided her through every contraction.
âYouâre doing great.â
Their encouragement reached her ears, but none of it eased the loneliness settling in her chest.
Her fingers dug into the hospital sheets until her knuckles turned white. Every wave of pain stole another breath from her lungs, yet it wasnât the labor that frightened her most.
It was the empty space beside the bed.
This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
Instead, she faced it surrounded by strangers.
Hours later, the cries of a newborn filled the room.
The weight pressing against her chest disappeared, replaced by something impossibly small.
ââŚHello, sweetheart.â
Nozomiâs voice barely rose above a whisper. It was hoarse from hours of crying and screaming, but it carried every ounce of love she had left.
The baby stirred in her arms, tiny lashes fluttering against soft cheeks as sleepy eyes blinked open. A small nose scrunched beneath the blanket, and just beneath her right eye rested two delicate moles.
Nozomi smiled through her tears.
For the first time that day, she no longer felt alone.
âYou look just like your father,â she murmured, brushing a thumb across the babyâs cheek. âI wish he couldâve met you today.â
The infant responded with nothing more than a quiet yawn.
She paused, studying the tiny face in her arms as though waiting for confirmation.
âI think Iâll name you Y/N.â
It wasnât a name chosen after weeks of debate or written neatly inside a baby book.
Nozomi held her daughter a little tighter, unaware that the bond forged inside that quiet hospital room would become the strongest relationship either of them would ever know.
Outside those hospital walls, however, another beginning was quietly taking shape.
Two weeks after Y/N was born, Koji lost his job.
Missing a single shift had cost him everything.
With a newborn to support and no steady income, finding another job should have become his only priority. Instead, rejection followed rejection. Takasiâs influence reached farther than he expected, and before long, his reputation had been blacklisted throughout the district.
Every interview ended the same way.
Every opportunity disappeared before it truly began.
Then came the overdue rent.
Then the eviction notice.
Koji convinced himself they were only temporary.
Just enough to keep food on the table.
Just enough to pay the bills.
Just enough until someone finally hired him again.
At first, that was exactly what he believed.
Then someone introduced him to gambling.
One lucky win became another.
One borrowed loan became two.
Soon, the money sitting in his hands looked less like debt and more like opportunity.
âIf I win one more time,â heâd tell himself, âI can pay everything back.â
The first few times, luck favored him.
Koji returned home carrying more cash than heâd ever seen in one sitting.
Crisp bills filled the kitchen table as though every problem they had been carrying had suddenly vanished.
For the first time in weeks, Nozomi smiled.
The overdue rent was paid.
The refrigerator was full again.
Even Y/N received a new blanket and a stuffed rabbit that was nearly as big as she was.
One that wouldnât last.
Because every victory only convinced Koji he could do it again.
The money stopped feeling borrowed.
Horse races became card games.
Card games became sports betting.
Every win pushed him further.
Every loss demanded another chance to recover what had disappeared.
He wasnât gambling because he enjoyed it. At least, thatâs what he kept telling himself. He was gambling because he believed one perfect bet would erase every mistake heâd already made.
The victories grew smaller. The losses became impossible to ignore. Bank statements filled the mailbox faster than paychecks ever had.
Interest accumulated quietly in the background, and every loan he took to repay another only buried him deeper.
Nozomi noticed before he admitted it. At first, it was little things. A utility bill left unopened. A rent notice shoved beneath a stack of newspapers. An empty refrigerator despite Koji insisting heâd âalready handled it.â
She wanted to believe him.
After all, he was trying.
One evening, while Y/N slept peacefully on the couch with a trail of drool dampening the cushion beneath her cheek, Nozomi opened the refrigerator.
Half a bottle of soy sauce.
The kitchen sink dripped steadily into the basin below. Around it sat unopened envelopes stamped with red letters she had grown to dread.
She stared at them for a long moment before the apartment door slid open.
Koji stepped inside with tired shoulders, slipping off his jacket and running a hand through his messy hair.
His voice barely filled the room. Nozomi didnât answer immediately. Instead, she closed the refrigerator with a quiet sigh.
Kojiâs gaze wandered across the apartment until it landed on the couch. There slept Y/N. Curled into herself. Completely unaware of the storm brewing around her.
A faint smile found its way onto his face. He walked over, crouched beside the couch, and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead.
ââŚWhereâs my little troublemaker?â
Y/N stirred in her sleep but didnât wake.
For a brief moment, the exhaustion weighing on Kojiâs face disappeared. Watching his daughter sleep always did that to him. He loved her.
There was never any question about that.
Yet somewhere deep inside him lingered.
If she hadnât been bornâŚ
âŚhe never wouldâve missed work.
He never wouldâve lost his job.
He never wouldâve needed those first loans.
The thought disgusted him.
It returned more often than he cared to admit.
Nozomi noticed the change before anyone else did.
Not because Koji stopped loving Y/N.
That would have been easier to understand.
Instead, it was because he loved her and still allowed his bitterness to grow.
There were moments when he looked at his daughter with the same warmth he had when she was born.
Moments when he would carry her around the apartment, make her laugh, or smile when she reached for him.
Then there were moments when exhaustion took over.
When unpaid bills sat on the counter.
When another notice arrived in the mail.
When another person called asking when he planned on returning what he borrowed.
Those were the moments when his expression changed.
The way his shoulders tensed whenever he looked at their expenses.
The way silence filled the room whenever money was mentioned.
The way he stared at Y/N sometimes, as if he was trying to separate his daughter from every problem surrounding them.
Not because she believed Koji was a bad father.
But because she could see him slowly becoming someone neither of them recognized.
Before Y/N was born, Koji was different.
He was the kind of person who would walk across town just to buy Nozomi her favorite snack after a long day.
He was the person who promised her they would build a happy family together.
He had been excited to become a father.
So why did it feel like he was slowly blaming the very thing he once wanted?
Nozomi tried to convince herself it was temporary.
That anyone would struggle under the weight he was carrying.
But stress could explain anger.
It could explain exhaustion.
It could not excuse everything.
One night, after putting Y/N to sleep, Nozomi found Koji sitting alone at the kitchen table.
The apartment was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock above the sink.
Several envelopes were scattered in front of him.
He didnât notice her standing there at first.
His eyes remained fixed on the numbers printed across the pages.
His shoulders immediately stiffened.
Nozomi slowly walked closer.
That silence told her enough.
âI said Iâm handling it.â
Nozomi looked at him carefully.
The hands that used to hold hers now gripping pieces of paper that represented everything falling apart.
âYou keep saying that.â
âAnd every day it gets worse.â
For a moment, he looked less angry and more ashamed.
âIâm trying, Nozomi.â
Her expression softened slightly.
She wanted to believe him.
The words came out quieter than she expected.
âBut trying doesnât mean pretending everything is okay.â
The room fell silent. From the hallway came the soft sound of Y/N shifting in her sleep. Both parents looked toward the sound. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Because despite everything falling apart around themâŚ
Their daughter was still there.
And that was what hurt the most.
She had no idea how much their lives had changed because of her.
The years that followed did little to soften the weight pressing against the L/N household.hh
Koji never found another stable job.
Every opportunity seemed to disappear before it could become something permanent, and eventually, he stopped looking altogether.
Borrowing money became easier than earning it.
At least, that was how he justified it.
A few thousand yen from one person.
A little more from another.
A loan to repay the previous loan.
And whenever he managed to get his hands on enough money, some of it would inevitably disappear into another bet.
He always promised it would be different next time.
Nozomi stopped believing him.
By the time Y/N was old enough to walk, the apartment had already begun to feel different.
There were fewer groceries in the cabinets.
More envelopes on the counter.
More nights when Nozomi whispered to Koji instead of speaking normally, as though raising her voice might make everything collapse faster.
Y/N didnât understand what any of it meant.
She only understood what she could see.
And neither of them smiled as much as they used to.
Nozomi eventually returned to work.
Every part of her wanted to stay home with Y/N, especially after realizing how quickly her daughter was growing.
But wanting something and being able to afford it were two different things.
Then she worked some more.
Some mornings, sheâd leave before Y/N woke up.
Other nights, sheâd return after her daughter had already fallen asleep.
Whenever she could, sheâd make up for it.
Sheâd sit beside Y/Nâs bed and brush her hair away from her forehead.
Sheâd listen to whatever story her daughter had been waiting all day to tell her.
Sometimes sheâd even fall asleep beside her.
Those moments were small.
But they were enough to remind Nozomi why she kept going.
Koji, however, continued sinking.
The money he borrowed never seemed to stay in his possession for long.
Neither did his patience.
Arguments became more frequent.
And occasionally, strangers began appearing at the apartment.
Y/N was too young to understand why they were there.
She only knew that whenever someone unfamiliar knocked on the door, her motherâs expression changed.
Sometimes Nozomi would send her into the bedroom.
Sometimes sheâd tell her to stay quiet.
And sometimes, sheâd hold Y/N against her chest a little tighter than usual.
âDonât worry, baby.â
That was always what she said.
âEverythingâs okay.â
The first time someone threatened Koji in front of Nozomi, she realized the situation had become something neither of them could control anymore.
The man stood in the doorway, his voice low and impatient as he reminded Koji that debts were meant to be repaid.
Nozomi kept Y/N behind her.
She didnât understand every word being exchanged, but she understood enough.
After the man finally left, Nozomi locked the door.
Then she leaned against it.
Koji stood several feet away, staring at the floor.
Nozomiâs voice cracked.
He finally looked at her.
And for the first time in years, she saw genuine fear in his eyes.
Y/N watched from the hallway.
She didnât know what debt was.
She didnât know what gambling was.
She didnât understand why Papa had become so different.
But she knew Mama was scared.
So she quietly returned to her room.
She climbed onto her bed and pulled her blanket beneath her chin.
Maybe if she stayed quiet enough, everything would go back to normal.
Maybe Papa would smile again.
Maybe Mama wouldnât look so tired.
Maybe tomorrow would be different.
Children were good at believing in tomorrow.
It wasnât long before someone else noticed.
A visit from child protective services was brief.
Questions about the condition of the apartment.
Questions about whether she was being fed, whether she was safe, and whether there was an adult capable of caring for her.
Nozomi answered every question carefully.
She knew how everything looked.
She knew how close they were to losing control of their lives.
But she also knew one thing with certainty.
She would not let anyone take her daughter.
Not if she could help it.
The visit ended without Y/N being removed from the home.
But the warning remained.
Things couldnât continue like this.
How to recognize the sound of her motherâs footsteps in the hallway.
She learned that some bills were more important than others.
She learned not to touch the envelopes on the kitchen counter.
Most importantly, she learned when to stay out of the way.
But children notice more than adults realize.
By the time Y/N was old enough to understand that her family was struggling, she had already become accustomed to it.
She didnât think their apartment was unusual.
She didnât think it was strange that Mama worked so much.
She didnât question why Papa was rarely home.
It wasnât supposed to happen.
Y/N hadnât planned on going far.
She had only wanted to follow the familiar streets she had walked countless times before.
But one wrong turn became another.
The buildings around her slowly became unfamiliar.
The voices of strangers replaced the sounds she knew.
The street sheâd been so certain she recognized suddenly looked completely different.
Her little hands tightened around the straps of her bag.
Her heart began beating faster.
The realization slowly settled in.
She didnât know where she was.
She tried to remember the way home.
And for the first time in her young life, she was completely alone.
A few minutes later, she spotted someone standing nearby.
He looked around her age.
And an expression far too calm for someone who had just found a lost child wandering the streets.
She had no reason to trust him.
But she didnât know anyone else, either.
The boy glanced toward her.
Y/N wiped quickly at her cheeks.
Then, with a trembling voice, she spoke.
The boy raised an eyebrow.
âDo you know how to get home?â
He stared at her for a moment.
âYouâre lost, arenât you?â
She looked down at her shoes.
âI canât find my mommy.â
The boyâs smile didnât disappear.
Instead, he stepped a little closer.
âWhatâs your name?â
The boy repeated it quietly.
As if committing it to memory.
Something about the way he said it made her look up.
