Chapter Text
The first week after the twins were born nearly killed everyone emotionally.
Not because something catastrophic happened.
Because reality finally settled in.
Babies were terrifying.
Tiny, loud, fragile little creatures who apparently required constant supervision despite both possessing cursed energy signatures powerful enough to make trained sorcerers sweat nervously.
And Shoko—
Shoko was not recovering well.
That part frightened them most.
The delivery had been brutal on her body. Too long. Too complicated. The old scent gland scar tissue reacted badly to labor stress, leaving her feverish and physically weakened afterward. Between blood loss, exhaustion, and the immense cursed energy strain from carrying twins tied to two separate inherited lineages, her recovery became painfully slow.
She slept constantly.
Or tried to.
Some nights pain kept her awake anyway.
Other nights the babies did.
Or Satoru did.
Or Suguru did.
Nobody in that apartment functioned properly anymore.
The twins themselves had already developed deeply unfair personality traits.
The daughter—currently unnamed because everyone kept emotionally imploding before serious discussions could happen—slept peacefully only if physically touching Satoru or Shoko. Otherwise she screamed with the fury of someone personally betrayed by existence.
Meanwhile the son preferred Suguru almost obsessively already. The second the alpha left the room too long, he immediately became deeply offended and loud about it.
“Your children are manipulative,” Shoko muttered weakly one morning while lying half-conscious beneath blankets.
“Our children,” Suguru corrected softly from beside the bed.
“You contributed to this disaster too,” Satoru added while gently rocking their furious daughter against his shoulder.
The baby quieted instantly the second she heard his voice.
Satoru physically stopped breathing every time that happened.
Shoko would have found it funny if she wasn’t so exhausted she occasionally forgot her own name.
Recovery frustrated her deeply.
That was perhaps the hardest part emotionally.
Shoko had spent her entire life being capable. Independent. The person patching everyone else together. Now standing up too quickly made her dizzy. Her body hurt constantly. Some mornings Suguru physically carried her to the bathroom because her legs still trembled badly after labor.
She hated it.
Not because she didn’t trust them.
Because helplessness felt unbearable after surviving so much through sheer stubbornness alone.
Unfortunately, both men noticed immediately.
Of course they did.
The argument finally exploded three days after they returned home from the medical wing.
Shoko sat on the couch holding the son against her chest while trying to ignore the deep ache radiating through her abdomen. Suguru had just finished helping her take medication when she made the fatal mistake of attempting to stand alone.
Pain hit hard enough that her knees nearly buckled instantly.
Suguru caught her before she hit the floor.
“Shoko.”
“I’m fine.”
“You almost collapsed.”
“I’m literally standing.”
“You are being held upright.”
Shoko glared weakly.
Across the room, Satoru looked up from changing the daughter’s clothes with immediate alarm.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Shoko snapped automatically.
Suguru sighed softly.
“Your stitches are pulling again.”
Silence.
Satoru’s expression changed immediately.
Not panic.
Worse.
That quiet devastated look both men got whenever Shoko visibly hurt.
Shoko suddenly felt horribly guilty.
Because they already looked exhausted beyond reason.
Neither of them slept more than two consecutive hours anymore. Satoru carried dark circles beneath his eyes constantly now while Suguru had started falling asleep sitting upright against walls whenever the babies finally settled.
And despite all that exhaustion, both men still hovered around her constantly.
Helping her eat.
Helping her walk.
Helping her shower because she nearly fainted trying alone once and traumatized all three of them permanently.
Shoko hated feeling like another responsibility on top of newborn twins.
“I can do things myself,” she whispered finally.
The room softened instantly.
Suguru’s hands gentled carefully against her arms.
“Nobody thinks you can’t.”
“You’re both looking at me like I’m made of glass.”
Satoru laughed weakly from across the room.
“Shoko, you pushed two tiny special grades out of your body six days ago.”
“When you say it like that—”
“Because it’s horrifying,” he informed her seriously.
The daughter chose that exact moment to start crying again.
Satoru immediately abandoned the argument entirely.
“Oh no no no, princess, absolutely not—”
Shoko burst into helpless laughter despite herself.
Because there he was:
Gojo Satoru.
Strongest sorcerer alive.
Reduced completely into panicked nonsense by a six-day-old infant.
The baby quieted eventually after Satoru started pacing the apartment while rambling emotionally about dessert shops.
Apparently she enjoyed his voice.
Suguru watched them both quietly while helping Shoko sit back down properly against the couch cushions.
Then, softer:
“You don’t have to recover alone.”
The honesty in his voice hurt.
Because that was the real issue underneath everything else.
Shoko still struggled instinctively with being cared for.
Even now.
Even after years together.
She leaned tiredly against Suguru’s shoulder without arguing further.
Progress.
Tiny progress.
The apartment door opened moments later.
And instantly all three adults relaxed visibly.
Yaga.
The beta entered carrying grocery bags and looking profoundly exhausted in the specific way only grandparents did after voluntarily involving themselves in newborn chaos.
“I brought food,” he announced.
Then immediately stopped.
“…Why are you all crying.”
“We’re emotionally unstable,” Satoru answered honestly.
“Reasonable.”
The twins reacted instantly to Yaga’s presence too.
The daughter quieted in Satoru’s arms while the son blinked sleepily up from Shoko’s chest.
Yaga softened immediately.
Every single time.
It happened without fail.
No matter how tired or stressed he looked beforehand, the second he saw the twins his entire expression gentled into something almost unbearably fond.
Shoko noticed.
Suguru noticed.
Satoru definitely noticed.
Which was precisely why the conversation happened later that evening.
The apartment smelled warm now—soup cooking quietly in the kitchen, newborn omega scent, exhaustion, home.
Yaga sat awkwardly on the floor because the daughter refused settling unless someone bounced her gently. Currently, she lay against his chest making tiny sleepy noises while he looked deeply betrayed by how attached he already was.
“She has your eyes,” he muttered toward Satoru.
“I know,” Satoru whispered emotionally.
Suguru snorted softly.
Meanwhile the son slept peacefully curled against Suguru’s shoulder with one tiny hand gripping dark fabric stubbornly.
Shoko watched the entire scene from the couch wrapped in blankets and overwhelming affection.
Then quietly:
“We want you to name them.”
Silence.
Yaga looked up immediately.
“…What?”
The three of them exchanged one brief glance.
Then Suguru smiled softly.
“You’ve been there for all of this.”
“Since the beginning,” Shoko added quietly.
Satoru looked suspiciously emotional already.
“You’re basically their grandfather anyway.”
Yaga stared at them for several long seconds afterward.
The daughter yawned sleepily against his chest.
The son made a tiny annoyed sound because Suguru adjusted position slightly.
The apartment glowed softly beneath evening light while exhaustion and warmth wrapped around everyone equally.
And suddenly Yaga looked old in the gentlest possible way.
Not weak.
Just loved.
His throat moved slightly before he spoke.
“…Are you sure?”
“Yes,” all three answered immediately.
Yaga laughed quietly under his breath.
Then looked down toward the sleeping babies again.
The daughter first.
Tiny and bright and already emotionally dramatic enough to qualify as Satoru’s child beyond doubt.
Then the son.
Steady even in sleep, curled instinctively toward warmth exactly like Suguru.
Yaga’s expression softened impossibly further.
“…Akari,” he said quietly after a long moment, touching the daughter’s tiny hand gently. “For light.”
Satoru immediately started crying again.
Nobody acknowledged it.
Then Yaga looked toward the boy sleeping against Suguru’s shoulder.
“…Haru,” he murmured softly. “For spring.”
Silence settled warmly around the room afterward.
Akari.
Haru.
The names fit immediately.
Like they had always belonged there waiting.
Shoko suddenly felt tears burning unexpectedly behind her eyes.
Suguru looked openly emotional now too.
Satoru, meanwhile, had fully collapsed into silent crying while holding one hand dramatically over his chest.
“You’re impossible,” Shoko muttered weakly.
“I’m a father,” he whispered tearfully. “I contain multitudes.”
Yaga sighed deeply.
But beneath it, affection lingered warm and steady.
And surrounded by exhausted love and newborn cries and the strange little family they had built together from years of pain and survival, the apartment finally felt complete.