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0 month
The afterglow of intimacy lingered in the air, a mix of warmth and contentment that had nothing to do with cursed energy and everything to do with the woman nestled beside him. Gojo Satoru, master of infinity and connoisseur of all things sugary, was experiencing a different kind of sugar rush – the kind that came from holding his wife close, her familiar scent a calming balm to his usually chaotic soul, a goofy grin plastered across his face.
If this were a manga panel, a giant heart would be pulsating above his head, radiating an almost sickening level of lovesick energy. In reality, he simply grunted contentedly, nuzzling Shoko’s neck with the enthusiasm of a particularly affectionate golden retriever.
“You’re getting hair all over me.” She snorted, her lips curving into a smile that made his heart do a little fluttery thing that was both alarming and incredibly pleasant.
“Can’t help it, love. You’re just too irresistible.”
“So,” she started, “since you’re clearly in such a good mood, I have something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“You know,” she turned to him, trailing a finger across his chest, “I wouldn’t mind having another child.”
Satoru’s eyes snapped open, his blissful haze evaporating like morning mist. He sat up abruptly. “Wait, what?!”
He stared at her, his mind struggling to catch up. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. He’d spent weeks, months even, trying to reconcile his desire for a larger family with his crippling fear of putting Shoko at risk. He'd mentally prepared himself for another round of late-night phone calls to Utahime (sorry, Utahime), another lecture from Yaga about responsible parenting, another layer added to his ever-growing tower of anxieties.
And here she was, casually suggesting they procreate again like it was nothing more complicated than choosing a new brand of coffee.
"Are you sure you're up for the whole pregnancy thing again? We could always adopt a litter of white kittens if you’re craving something chaotic and adorable."
“And you hated being pregnant.” He said cause knew she downplayed the hardships, the physical and emotional toll it took on her.
“I did,” she admitted. “But… things are different now. We’re different.”
“And Hikaru's barely… uhm.. ten. Aren't you exhausted enough with one mini-Gojo running around?"
“He is almost as tall as me. and he’s practically a saint compared to his father. But seriously,” Shoko continued, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have another child? One with your ridiculous white hair.”
“You want a kid with my snow-white locks? Are you sure you’re feeling alright? Have you been spending too much time with the elders?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"I just think it's quite striking, you know.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, love. But not this time.”
“And do you know my Infinity, it doesn’t—“ he stammered, his mind already racing through a thousand scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.
“I know,” Shoko interrupted. “I remember.”
“But it’s too dangerous,” his hands balling into fists. “I can’t… I won’t risk it.”
“And what if I told you, that I’m willing to take that risk?”
"No," His throat was suddenly tight. “No, I won’t let you.”
“Satoru,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “look at me.”
She reached out, gently tracing the lines of worry etched on his face.
"I want a child who can take over my job. Someone who can stitch up your reckless students and lecture them about proper sleep hygiene. All your students, including your son, are destined to become powerful sorcerers. Especially Hikaru, the clan elders would have a collective aneurysm if I suggested he pursue a career in medicine.”
“Point taken,” he conceded.
He knew how much Shoko valued her independence, her career. He also knew that the constant exposure to death, to the gruesome aftermath of cursed battles, took a toll on her.
And of course, Satoru wanted another child, wanted to see Shoko’s belly swell with life, wanted to experience the miracle of birth again, but not at the expense of her safety.
“Shoko, if we do this, you have to promise me something.”
“Anything."
“Promise me that you’ll put yourself first. Always. Not the baby, not me, not the clan. Your safety, your well-being, that’s what matters most.”
He saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes, followed by a warmth that made his heart skip a beat.
“I promise.”
“Good. And one more thing…”
“You’re full of demands tonight, aren’t you?” Shoko raised an eyebrow.
"If you're going to be carrying my child, Ieiri Shoko, you're not going anywhere alone." He rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her, his blue eyes unusually intense.
“Promise me,” he pressed as his grip on her hand tightened. “No more solo missions to the clinic, no late-night grocery runs by yourself. Two people, minimum, wherever you go. Students, colleagues, hell, I’ll even hire a couple of those bodyguards those movie stars are always surrounded by."
“Two bodyguards? Where am I supposed to find a pair of highly skilled sorcerers willing to follow me around twenty-four-seven?”
“I’ll ask Mei Mei to draw up a contract,” He said matter-of-factly, already mentally calculating how much of his (admittedly substantial) fortune he was willing to part with to ensure his wife’s safety.
“Satoru, that’s absurd,” she chided, gently prying his fingers from her hand. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Paranoid?” he scoffed. “Paranoid is walking around with your eyes closed when invisible curses and power-hungry sorcerers surround you!”
“You do it all the time,” she pointed out.
“That’s different. I’m Gojo Satoru. I can handle myself.”
“And I’m Ieiri Shoko, remember?” she countered. “Remember, I survived three years of your antics in high school, a little pregnancy isn’t going to slow me down.”
Shoko watched as her husband's face fell into serious contemplation. His brow furrowed, lips pursed in thought, he had the audacity to look downright adorable while pondering the logistics of baby-making.
“But—”
Shoko leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, effectively silencing his protests.
"That was one time. A fluke. Nothing happened. Utahime handled it. It's not going to happen again."
"It could. And I won't risk it. Not with you. Not with another child."
"You're being ridiculous."
"I'm being serious!" he insisted, she could hear the slight waver in his voice.
“For real? You’re going full-on overprotective dad already? I haven’t even peed on a stick yet.” Shoko's lips twitched.
“It’s not ‘overprotective,’ it’s called being responsible,” he retorted, puffing out his chest in a way that did very little to mask his underlying anxiety. “Besides, you know the rules. My Infinity, your uterus… it’s a recipe for disaster.”
“Oh, please,” She rolled her eyes. “Like you’re one to talk about responsible parenting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you remember when Hikaru was three?”
“Of course I do. He was learning how to control his cursed energy. It was adorable, little sparks of blue light shooting out of his fingertips–”
“Satoru, you left our son, who was still mastering the art of potty training, with a teenager Megumi who barely knew which way up a diaper went, while you played pachinko with Yuji all day,” Shoko added. “And when I came home, poor Megumi looked ten years older, I was afraid he might get PTSD from babysitting. If you keep doing that, I think you won’t see your grand-students soon."
“Okay, maybe that wasn’t my finest moment.” He winced. “But in my defense, Yuji was new to Tokyo! I was showing him the cultural delights of the city!”
“Right. Cultural delights.”
“You already gave me the preach about that.” He pouted.
“About what exactly? Leaving your son with a teenager? Or teaching your student how to gamble away his allowance?”
“I was teaching Yuji a valuable lesson about the consequences of gambling addiction!” He protested. “I lost, like, 700,000 yen that day! He learned a valuable lesson.”
“The only one who learned a lesson that day was you, Satoru” she raised an eyebrow. “And 700,000 yen? Do you know how much top-shelf sake I could have bought with that money?"
“You’d choose alcohol over our son’s financial education?” He gasped.
“...We’re terrible parents, aren’t we?”
“The worst,” A mischievous glint in Satoru's eyes. “But hey, maybe we’ll do better with round two.”
He leaned in to kiss her but she held him back, her gaze unwavering.
“Fine,” he conceded. “No bodyguards. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. There are creeps and weirdos lurking everywhere.”
“Seeing one here right now.”
“Hey!” He feigned offense.
Then Shoko laughed again, the sound music to his ears. She pressed a kiss to his jaw, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
"But," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, "this time, I'm hoping for a little girl. Someone to spoil with cherry blossom sweets and teach how to outsmart those stuffy old clan elders. What do you think, Shoko? Ready to give Hikaru a little sister?"
Shoko couldn't help but laugh, his ridiculousness never failed to disarm her. "So, we're putting in a special order with the stork now?"
"Why not?"
“Then stop worrying and kiss me, you ridiculous, powerful man. We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to produce a mini-you with a medical degree.”
Hearing that, Satoru grinned, grabbed the condom box, and threw it straight into the trash before rushing into his wife's arms.
--------------------------------------------
1 month
Satoru always prided himself on his strategic mind, his ability to anticipate his opponent’s moves with an accuracy that bordered on precognition. But when it came to family planning, even his Six Eyes and boundless cursed energy proved to be woefully inadequate.
Exactly ten days, 240 hours, and 14,400 minutes after their late-night conversation, Satoru experienced a chilling realization.
He couldn’t teleport Shoko.
He tried, of course, because Gojo Satoru was nothing if not persistent, even in the face of mounting evidence to the contrary. He’d suggested a spontaneous trip to a secluded hot spring resort and pictured Shoko relaxing in a steaming bath surrounded by snow-capped mountains (and, if he was being honest, himself joining her, their earlier conversation replaying in his mind with a decidedly more physical interpretation). Instead, he found himself sprawled on the living room floor, his pride dented, his ego bruised, and his attempts at teleporting them resulted in nothing more than a faint buzzing sensation and a mild case of spatial disorientation.
A slow grin spread across his face, his heart doing a victory lap in his chest. “Well, well, well, looks like we’ve got a bun in the oven.”
Shoko refused to celebrate prematurely.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. It could be a false alarm. Now, how about we forget about that hot spring and order some takeout instead? I’m craving spicy tuna rolls.”
False alarm, her foot.
They scheduled regular check-ups with the most skilled healers in the jujutsu world, endured endless blood tests and ultrasounds with a mix of trepidation and excitement, and even submitted to the dreaded NIPT test (Satoru, upon learning it involved needles, had almost passed out).
--------------------------------------------
2 months
Then came the day of their eight-week appointment. Shoko lay on the examination table, her expression carefully neutral as the technician applied cool gel to her belly while her partner hovered nearby, his eyes glued to the monitor.
The technician, after a few moments of silent maneuvering, turned to them, a smile gracing her lips.
“Congratulations, you two. You’re having twins.”
Twins.
Two babies! In one pregnancy! It was like winning the lottery, except the prize was infinitely more adorable (and infinitely louder, especially at 3 AM).
Satoru was going to be a father. Twice over.
He glanced at her, expecting to see a similar expression of delight. Instead, she met his gaze with a look that could only be described as horrified amusement.
“Twins?” Shoko echoed, her voice flat. “Are you serious?”
The technician, mistaking her horror for disbelief, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, indeed! Two heartbeats, strong and healthy. Congratulations again!”
Satoru didn’t hear another word. He was vaguely aware of Shoko’s laughter, the technician’s gentle congratulations, but his mind was a whirlwind of images: two sets of tiny hands clutching his fingers, two pairs of eyes, hopefully inherited from Shoko, staring up at him with unconditional love, two voices calling him “Papa” in unison.
He might not be able to teleport Shoko while she was pregnant, but he was pretty sure he could teleport himself to the nearest baby store in record time. He had a feeling they were going to need a bigger crib.
--------------------------------------------
3 months
The joy from the news of the twins only lasts until a meeting held by the Elders.
“It is a delicate balance,” Elder Ito explained as he gestured towards a particularly gruesome illustration of conjoined fetuses in a centuries-old medical text. “The womb can only sustain so much power.”
He’d then launched into a lengthy lecture on the importance of fraternal twins, citing historical examples of powerful sorcerer siblings who’d inherited distinct cursed techniques, conveniently ignoring the part where most of them ended up battling each other to the death for control of the clan.
“The Twin Curse is a well-documented phenomenon within our lineage. It is said that when twins are born to a sorcerer, their cursed energy is… diluted. Split between them, resulting in two weaker vessels instead of one strong heir.”
He fixed on Shoko's burgeoning belly as if it held a ticking time bomb rather than two innocent lives.
“You must pray that the twins are fraternal. Only then is there a chance that both of them will inherit the full potential of the Gojo bloodline.”
Shoko remained remarkably calm throughout this display of superstition and misogyny. She’d endured countless lectures and thinly veiled insults during her marriage to Satoru, and her patience, like her medical expertise, was legendary.
“With all due respect, Elder Ito. I’m a doctor, not a soothsayer. And I’m fairly certain modern medicine doesn’t allow us to choose the zygosity of our offspring.” She placed a hand on her belly. “Besides, fraternal or identical, these babies are mine. And I wouldn’t trade them for all the cursed energy in the world.”
“This meeting is over,” she declared, her voice laced with a finality that brooked no argument. “And consider this a warning, elders. If you ever, ever, threaten my children again, I will personally ensure that the Gojo bloodline ends with my husband.”
Satoru rose to his feet and placed a hand on the small of Shoko’s back, his touch was a silent message to the room at large.
As they walked out, their steps echoing through the silent chamber, he couldn't resist a parting shot.
He offered a mocking bow, his lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “Have a lovely afternoon.”
--------------------------------------------
4 months
The tension only escalated as the weeks progressed. At fourteen weeks, an ultrasound revealed the truth – identical twin girls. The news hit the Gojo clan elders harder than a point-blank blast from Satoru’s Red.
“Ieiri-san, surely you understand the implications of this… situation.” Elder Ito cleared his throat.
“The current clan head,” another elder chimed in, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fury, “and the future clan head… cannot, cannot, have such…abnormal daughters and sisters. It is unthinkable!”
He paused, his gaze hardening.
“Terminate the pregnancy. It will be as if it never happened.”
A heavy silence descended upon the room. Then, two voices shattered the tension.
“Absolutely not.”
“Over my dead body.”
The battle lines were drawn.
“We are not having this conversation. They're my children, and that’s the end of the discussion.” Satoru stepped up to shield his wife from the elders' prying eyes. “If anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”
After the disastrous meeting with the elders, where Shoko’s unborn daughters had been demoted from “potential heirs” to “unfortunate inconveniences” in record time, Satoru was ready to unleash a level of fury that would make Sukuna look like a playful kitten.
On an ordinary Monday morning, after sending Hikaru to school, Shoko found her husband pacing the length of their living room, his phone pressed to his ear, his voice a low growl as he addressed whoever was on the other end. She recognized that tone, which usually meant someone was about to regret crossing Gojo Satoru.
“No, I wasn’t aware that the Gojo Clan Handbook now included a chapter on 'Optimal Uterus Management for Vessels of the Bloodline'," Satoru bit out. "Perhaps you could send me a copy? I’ll be sure to add my own annotations. I’m thinking something along the lines of ‘Mind Your Own Damn Business’ in bold, flashing letters.”
He paused, listening for a moment.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt your afternoon nap with my blatant disregard for tradition? My apologies. Next time, I’ll be sure to consult the elder council before I decide how many perfectly healthy daughters my wife should carry.”
Then he tossed the phone onto the couch with a sigh.
“Another enlightening conversation with Elders, I presume?”
“You could say that,” he grumbled. “Apparently, carrying twins, especially female twins, is a sign of weakness. Who knew?”
Once she was settled on the couch, he took a cup of warm water and placed it on the table.
“Those fossilized hypocrites. Diluted power? I’ll show them diluted power! I’ll dilute their tea with laxative tea! I’ll dilute their precious hair tonic with…”
“Satoru,” Shoko interrupted, “calm down. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack, and then who will take care of me and our daughters?”
"Calm down?! They practically suggested you abort our daughters because they might not be strong enough! As if their cursed energy levels are the only thing that matters!"
The very idea was sacrilege to him. His daughters, his and Shoko’s, were already perfect in his eyes. He’d burn the entire jujutsu world to the ground before he let anyone, even his own clan, make her doubt that.
"I know, I know," she said, her voice soothing, "but arguing with them is pointless. They're stuck in the past, clinging to their outdated traditions like a drowning man to a leaky raft."
He trailed off as he caught a glimpse of her exhausted expression.
“Don’t lower yourself to their level, Satoru,” she pulled him to sit down. “Best to handle them cleanly and move on.”
"But it's not right," he insisted, his blue eyes flashing with anger. "They treat you like... like you're some incubator instead of a brilliant, powerful woman who just happens to be carrying my ridiculously awesome offspring."
Shoko couldn't help but chuckle at that. Leave it to Satoru to make even a tense situation sound utterly absurd.
"But attacking them won't help."
“You’re right. It’d probably just make them think you’re a bad influence on me.” He paused mid-pace, his brow furrowed.
“Oh, I’m sure they already think I’m the Yoko Ono of the jujutsu world, single-handedly breaking up the band and corrupting their precious heir.”
“I will not allow them to treat you like that.”
“You get used to it,” her tone light, but he saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes, the way her hand instinctively rested on her belly, sent a pang of anger through him.
“I won’t let them hurt you, you know.”
“I know, you big softie,” she teased, reaching out to ruffle his hair. He lay on her lap, pulling her hand to place on his temple. Without glasses, he often got dizzy and had headaches, but since their school day, whenever she massaged his temple, her RCT made him feel much better so it became a common thing. It wasn't until Hikaru was born that he realized she didn't always use RCT on him. Just being with her was enough for him.
“I’m handling those clan gatherings solo. You can spend your weekends indulging in your hobbies, dissecting interesting specimens, or, you know, just generally being fabulous.”
“Oh? And deprive me of the pleasure of listening to Elders drone on about the purity of the Gojo bloodline? You’re too kind.”
“Think of it as a vacation,” his fingers toying with a strand of her hair.
Shoko knew he meant well, but she also sensed his protectiveness stemmed from a place of guilt, a misguided belief that he needed to shield her from the ugliness of his clan.
Little did he know, his protectiveness would backfire in a spectacularly entertaining way.
The following week, an invitation arrived, addressed to Shoko in delicate calligraphy and scented with enough jasmine to induce a sneezing fit in a field of daisies.
Shoko read the invitation aloud.
My dearest Ieiri-san, it would bring me immense joy if you would grace us with your presence at a small gathering of Gojo women. We’d simply adore hearing all about our… delicate condition. Your presence would be a true honor.
Sincerely,
Lady Yoshino - Elder Ito’s wife
“Absolutely not,” Satoru, predictably, had been furious. “They think they can just summon you like some servant? Over my perfectly toned, six-eyed corpse!"
“It would be rude to decline,” she added. “It’s alright, I’ll survive. Besides, I have a feeling those old crows are more afraid of me than I am of them.”
“They should be. You’re terrifying when you’re angry.”
Shoko sipped her green tea, the taste acrid on her tongue. She accepted the invitation to a carefully orchestrated ambush. Now, she sat amongst a group of women who could have graced the cover of "Jujutsu Elite" magazine as they took turns praising Gojo’s accomplishments, lamenting Hikaru’s lack of siblings (preferably male, naturally), and subtly, yet unmistakably, dissecting Shoko’s every perceived flaw.
"Such a lovely kimono, Ieiri-san," purred Lady Yoshino, her voice dripping with faux admiration. "Though, perhaps a more vibrant color would better suit your… complexion."
Clad in a simple pale green houmongi, Shoko resisted the urge to point out that Lady Yoshino's outfit resembled a Technicolor explosion in a fabric factory. Instead, she offered a polite smile. "Thank you. I prefer understated elegance."
"Darling, how lovely to see you!" chirped one woman, her eyes raking over Shoko’s simple kimono with barely disguised disdain. "We were starting to think you'd gone into hiding after… well, you know."
“Yes, dear,” chimed another. “it’s admirable you’re still trying to fit in… given the circumstances.”
“I’m not sure I follow.” Her eyes narrowed.
“How are you feeling? Twins must be such a strain on your… delicate constitution.” Another one interrupted.
"I’m perfectly fine," Shoko said evenly.
The women exchanged knowing glances, their smiles widening, a chorus of "Of course, darling," and "We understand completely" filling the air while Shoko carefully arranged the folds of her houmongi as if she hadn’t just been insulted in five different ways before noon.
“Everyone knows Gojo-sama only married you because you, well… trapped him with that first pregnancy. It's a testament to your, shall we say, resourcefulness.”
“Indeed,” another added, her lips pursed in a moue of disapproval, “and to think, we were all so relieved when you managed to secure the Gojo last name for Hikaru. Such a clever strategy, really.”
“He seems perfectly content with his ‘trap,’ wouldn't you say?” Shoko’s fingers tightened around her teacup.
“Of course,” the first woman replied, her voice laced with a condescending sweetness that made Shoko want to gag. “We understand. You’re not exactly from… our world, are you? Trapping a man with a child is a rather… common tactic amongst your kind, isn’t it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t play coy, dear,” Lady Akiko said, her smile widening. “We all know your job keeps you busy, surrounded by… all sorts of men. And let’s be honest, your background isn’t exactly… prestigious. It’s a miracle Gojo-sama even agreed to marry you in the first place.”
“And don’t be so sensitive,” another woman interjected, waving a dismissive hand. “We’re just trying to help you understand how things work in the Gojo clan. A woman in your position… well, let’s just say you need to play your cards right if you want to hold onto a man like our clan head.”
"And those demands of yours," another woman added, "Keeping your own name, refusing to live in the ancestral home… It's no wonder he's grown distant. He doesn’t even bring you to clan meetings anymore."
"Distant?"
Shoko struggled to maintain her composure. She was tied to this clan, not just by marriage, but by her son, by the two daughters growing within her. She wouldn't jeopardize their future, their safety, by engaging in a petty squabble with a group of bitter old women.
"Oh, darling, you must know," the ringleader chuckled, her laughter as brittle as spun sugar, "Men like Gojo-sama, powerful, charismatic... they need more than just a wife. Especially one who's… let's say, past her prime.”
“And you’re only holding onto him because of those cursed twins,” Another woman, Madam Akari, a woman whose husband was rumored to be on his third mistress and second mid-life crisis, said. “Imagine, trying to trap the strongest sorcerer with two weak daughters. How desperate can you be?”
Shoko took a deep breath, reminding herself that these women were not worth losing her composure over.
“And what exactly do you mean by that?”
Emboldened by the murmurs of agreement from the other women, Madam Akari continued, her voice laced with a condescending tone that made Shoko’s blood boil.
"There, there," she said, patting her hand with a touch that was about as comforting as a venomous snake. "We're just looking out for you. A woman in your position needs all the help she can get. After all, you wouldn’t want to lose Gojo-sama, would you? Especially now that you've gone and gotten yourself pregnant again, let’s just say your days as Mrs. Gojo might be numbered."
The room erupted in a chorus of polite giggles, each one sharper than a well-aimed Senbonzakura. Shoko fought the urge to hurl her teacup at the nearest wall, picturing the look of horror on Madam Akari’s perfectly powdered face as boiling green tea splattered across her pristine kimono.
“And what’s best, in your opinion?” She asked, her tone dangerously calm.
“Strong, male heirs, of course,” Lady Aiko declared as if stating the obvious. “Not… these. It’s common knowledge that Gojo-sama only married you out of obligation. A little Reverse Cursed Technique keeps you looking presentable, but let’s be honest, dear, you’re no match for the women he could have had.”
Shoko resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Reverse Cursed Technique might have kept her looking youthful, but these women, with their surgically altered faces and carefully curated wrinkles, were hardly in a position to comment on anyone's age.
"I wasn't aware that the Gojo clan had a eugenics program in place." Shoko's smile tightened.
"Don't be absurd, Ieiri-san. We're simply concerned for the future of the clan. After all, Gojo-sama is the strongest sorcerer alive. His offspring should be… exceptional, not a diluted echo of his power."
“You see, a wife’s duty is to produce strong heirs, preferably sons. And twins, especially girls? Such a… burden. You must try harder, Ieiri-san, to provide him with proper heirs. It’s the least you can do after he so graciously elevated your status.”
"Such a shame. Especially considering how well Hikaru turned out. Such a promising young man." Lady Hanako's perfectly manicured nails clicked against her teacup.
"And I suppose you're the expert on exceptional offspring, Lady Hanako?" Shoko countered. "Considering your own son's greatest achievement seems to be mastering the art of polishing his father's shoes."
“How dare you speak to us with such disrespect!” Lady Yoshino sputtered, her face turning an interesting shade of puce. “We’re only looking out for your best interests, child. You’re clearly out of your depth here, a low-class woman who doesn’t understand the complexities of our world.”
Shoko’s fists tightened beneath the folds of her kimono. Normally, no one dared to speak to her this way. She’d always taken quiet pride in her accomplishments, her independence, and the fact that she stood beside her husband as an equal, not a trophy wife or a broodmare. Her cursed technique was a gift, her career a source of pride, not shame, and her own lineage, though not steeped in ancient magic, was built on generations of healers and intellectuals. Moreover, her son a genius, and her husband… well, he was Gojo Satoru. But this pregnancy gives them a chance to unleash their pent-up envy and insecurity.
“You’re right. I don’t understand your world. I don’t understand the need for petty gossip, backhanded compliments, and the constant denigration of others. I prefer honesty, integrity, and a good stiff drink when faced with such appalling company.”
She’d had enough. They could insult her, and belittle her, but attacking her children, her innocent unborn daughters? That was a line she wouldn’t let them cross.
A stunned silence filled the room, and their carefully crafted facade of politeness momentarily shattered. The room erupted in a chorus of gasps and indignant protests.
“How dare you!”
“You’re ungrateful!”
“You clearly don’t understand the importance of tradition!”
“Perhaps I don’t. Perhaps I find it absurd that a clan obsessed with power and lineage would dismiss two innocent children before they’ve even had a chance to prove themselves.” Shoko continued. "And for the record, I retained my family name, a concept that seems lost on those who view women as nothing more than vessels for the Gojo seed."
She rose from her cushion, her gaze sweeping over the assembled women, her next words dripping with ice.
“And let’s be clear, ladies. I didn’t trap your precious Gojo-sama. He married me because he chose to, because he’s not a heartless coward who abandons his responsibilities."
“Now excuse me,” she said, her voice smooth as silk, “but I seem to have misplaced my appetite for bitter tea and even more bitter company. Please, enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
And with that, she flung open the door and stormed out, leaving a stunned silence and a lingering scent of jasmine and righteous fury in her wake.
When Shoko got home, she found her husband in the living room. His eyes lit up as soon as he saw her.
“So,” he drawled, before going to the kitchen and bringing her a batch of fresh strawberries, “how was tea with the fashionably challenged?”
“They indirectly called me a gold digger, Satoru,” She sighed. “Said their Gojo-sama only married me because I ‘trapped’ you with Hikaru.”
"Did you mention that I am the one who couldn't keep my hands to myself that night and that you’re the only reason their precious clan head isn’t a complete and utter disaster?"
"I did, and it got worse,” Shoko continued, picked up a strawberry, and took a bite. “They called my daughters ‘weak echoes’, and said I was ‘diluting the bloodline.’ One even suggested I was clinging onto you with this pregnancy because…and I quote… ‘Reverse Cursed Technique can only mask your desperation for so long.’”
“Those old vultures need a lesson in respecting my wife, their future clan head's mother.” Satoru declared firmly.
Shoko smiled. But her calm facade wavered, and in that moment of vulnerability, Satoru saw the true depth of the elders' cruelty. They hadn’t just insulted her; they’d chipped away at her confidence, her sense of belonging in a clan that had never truly accepted her.
His fists clenched.
“Satoru, it’s fine,” she said, attempting to downplay the incident, but he cut her off.
“No, it’s not fine.” He lowered his head. "I just… I hate that they make you feel like you’re not good enough, Shoko. You're brilliant, strong, and frankly, you're the only person in this entire clan who can actually hold a conversation without mentioning their cursed technique every five seconds. Those old geezers keep kissing my ass and want to make me feel superior, that you’re the one to blame."
She interrupted by feeding him a strawberry.
"As long as you don't think the same way, I'm perfectly fine with that. I have you, I have Hikaru, and soon, we'll have two more little miracles to add to the chaos."
His lips curled as the sweet and sour taste of the strawberry spread in his mouth. However, deep down, he knew, however, that her nonchalant was a carefully constructed facade. He’d seen the flash of hurt in her eyes, the way her jaw had tightened when Elder Ito suggested she “try for a proper heir” next time.
"You know I'd burn down the entire jujutsu world for you, right?"
"Try not to incinerate the planet. I've grown rather fond of it." She smiled as he pressed his cheek against her belly.
But the seeds of resentment had been sown, a bitter harvest waiting to bloom.
--------------------------------------------
5 months
The third trimester of Shoko’s twin pregnancy brought with it a new set of challenges. Her usual effortless grace had been replaced by a waddle that Satoru found endearing, though Shoko herself felt less than glamorous. Since her marriage, her wardrobe had been filled with bright colors. This change was necessary; otherwise, Satoru's white strands of hair would stand out against the dark clothes she used to wear. Now, with her pregnancy, those bright outfits only emphasized her belly even more.
She loathed the constant attention, the way everyone, from well-meaning students to gossiping faculty members, felt the need to inquire about her well-being every ten paces.
"Are you alright, Ieiri-san?"
"Do you need a chair?"
"Are you sure you should be standing/walking/breathing/existing in your current state?"
"Shoko, darling, are you sure you shouldn't be at home, knitting tiny booties and composing lullabies?" (That last one, courtesy of her husband, earned him a well-aimed glare and a muttered, "Shut up, Satoru").
“Yes, I’m fine,” she’d grit out through clenched teeth, “Just carrying two extra humans in my uterus. It’s a casual Tuesday.”
The nights were no less challenging. She’d often wake up in the middle of the night, her legs cramping, her back aching, her bladder protesting the constant pressure from her expanding uterus. She’d try to endure it, biting back a cry as she massaged her aching muscles, unwilling to disturb Satoru’s sleep.
However, her man possessed an uncanny ability to sense her distress, even in his sleep.
“Sho? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she’d mumble, her pride warring with her discomfort. “Go back to sleep.”
“Cramps?” he asked as he pulled her into his embrace.
She’d nod, burying her face in his chest, her tears finally spilling over.
He never pressed, never uttered any useless platitudes about the miracle of life or the joys of motherhood. After brewing her a cup of calming herbal tea, his movements were practiced and efficient, and then proceeded to massage her swollen feet.
“Better?”
As Shoko nodded and her eyes fluttered closed, he’d stay by her side, whispering silly jokes and stroking her hair until her breathing evened out and she drifted back to sleep.
“These tiny humans,” she muttered one night, “Why couldn’t they inherit your ability to teleport instead of torturing my poor legs?”
Satoru chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple, his fingers continuing their soothing ministrations on her calves.
“Patience, Sho,” his voice laced with amusement. “They’ll be here soon enough. And then you can unleash your full arsenal of medical curses upon them.”
--------------------------------------------
6 months
Her pregnancy hormones, coupled with the constant scrutiny of the Gojo clan, made her increasingly irritable. One afternoon, at a clan gathering, a lady decided to “help” Satoru by introducing him to a group of eligible young women.
“Gojo-sama,” the lady had chirped, “these lovely young ladies are eager to meet you. Perhaps you’d like to… discuss the finer points of cursed energy manipulation over a cup of tea?”
Shoko’s face turning an alarming shade of red, wanted to throttle the woman. She was six months pregnant, dammit! How dare she suggest that her husband needed to seek "relief" elsewhere, as if she were some broken appliance incapable of fulfilling her wifely duties? And how dare she do it while Shoko was standing right there, looking like a pregnant hippopotamus while Satoru was still strutting about like a peacock in mating season?
She shot him a look, her unspoken message clear: If you even think about entertaining these vultures, I’ll sterilize you with my scalpel.
Notice her cue, he walked over to her, ignoring the gasps of the assembled women, and placed a hand on her belly.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she muttered. “Just peachy.”
That evening, when they got home and were getting ready for bed, Satoru noticed that his wife still looked uncomfortable.
“Shoko, what’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.
“Wrong? I'm huge, I’m hormonal, and I’m surrounded by idiots who seem to think my pregnancy is an open invitation for you to start a harem!”
“Now, now,” he said as he gently rubbed her back. “Don’t get your blood pressure up. It’s not good for the babies.”
Then he chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Jealous, are you?”
“Of course I’m jealous!” she throws a pillow at his head. “I’m pregnant with your child, no, children, I haven’t slept properly in weeks, and I look like a pufferfish that swallowed a basketball, while you’re.. still… you. It’s so unfair.”
He caught the pillow, his laughter echoing through the room before jumping to the bed next to her.
“Shoko, you’re beautiful. Always. Pregnant or not, you’re the most captivating woman I’ve ever met.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re contractually obligated to.” She was unconvinced.
“You are my everything. My wife, my close friend, my colleague, the mother of my children. And for the record, I haven’t seen another woman since the day I laid eyes on you in that god-awful school uniform.” He reached behind her back to tuck the soft pillow under her.
Shoko felt her cheeks flush despite herself as she swatted his hand away.
“You make me feel even worse. Can't believe I turned from that young and beautiful teenager to this big and hot-tempered woman. My younger self would look down on me right now.”
“Don’t say that, my younger self would cheer so hard that he earned the prettiest woman alive.”
Shoko shook her head, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her guy was an idiot, but he sure knew how to make her feel loved, even when her body felt like a ticking time bomb of hormones. And she knew that he meant every word.
“I’ve seen the way you look at those starlets in those ridiculous magazines you insist on reading.” Still, she snorted.
“Don’t worry about those airbrushed fantasies, love. I’ve got the real deal right here, swollen ankles and all. Besides,” he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve always had a thing for curvy women.”
“You’re stuck with me, Shoko. Whether you like it or not.” He growled and gave her a love bite on the cheek, making her laugh.
-------------------------------------------------------------
7 months
It started subtly: extra wards around their home, a constant stream of high-grade talismans tucked discreetly around the house, and a personal guard detail comprised of hand-picked sorcerers sworn to secrecy.
But Satoru remained worried. He'd consulted with every expert in the jujutsu world, from seasoned midwives to curse spirits rumored to possess ancient knowledge of pregnancy and childbirth. The verdict was unanimous: twin pregnancies were unpredictable, and in their case, potentially dangerous.
His solution: a luxurious, state-of-the-art hospital suite, booked for the final two months of her pregnancy.
So, when Shoko hit the seven-month mark, he laid down the law. “We’re moving into the hospital, and that's final."
"Think of it as a… babymoon," he'd insisted, waving his hand dismissively at the astronomical cost. "A five-star sanctuary where you can relax, indulge in your cravings, and be pampered by a team of highly trained professionals."
Shoko couldn't help but see the appeal, she’d rather give birth in a dumpster fire than endure the clan's antiquated traditions.
The elders, predictably, were not amused.
“A hospital?” Elder Ito sputtered, his monocle nearly popping out of its socket. “Preposterous! A Gojo born amidst the stench of sickness and despair? Unthinkable! We have traditions to uphold, rituals to perform!”
“Ito,” Satoru drawled, “with all due respect, your traditions involve incense that smells like mothballs and chanting that sounds suspiciously like a dying walrus. My wife, and my children, deserve a more… modern birthing experience.”
The icy glare from Shoko, coupled with Satoru’s nonchalant, “Whatever she wants, she gets,” had silenced their objections. And never ask Hikaru, this child will buy a hospital if that makes his mother happy.
And so, Shoko found herself whisked away to a world of five-star luxury, her every whim catered to. She swam in the rooftop pool, devoured gourmet meals, and even indulged in a prenatal massage (courtesy of a masseuse flown in from Bali) while her doting husband read aloud from a book of baby names (he'd vetoed any suggestions that sounded vaguely like a cursed technique).
At first, Hikaru is skeptical about his mother's extended hospital stay, but is quickly won over by the endless supply of video games, unlimited dessert options, and the sheer novelty of having his father’s undivided attention.
--------------------------------------------
8 months
Then, one Tuesday evening, Hikaru diligently completed his schoolwork, pausing only to engage in spirited gaming sessions with his father and to pepper Shoko with questions about his soon-to-be-born sisters.
“Do you think they’ll have your eyes, Mom?” he’d ask, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Or Dad’s hair? Will they inherit his Infinity too? Do you think they’ll be as good at shogi as I am?”
She answered each question with a gentle reassurance that his sisters would be perfect, just as he was.
Then he asked about homework, his mother began to explain the practical applications of algebraic concepts, her voice soothing, her hand gently rubbing his head.
Suddenly, a sharp pang shot through her abdomen.
“Mom? Are you alright?”
A gush of warm fluid pooled beneath her, confirming her suspicions. Her water had broken.
“Karu,” she gasped, her hand flying to her stomach, “I think… I think it’s time.”
Hikaru stared at her with wide eyes.
"Time for what?"
“Time for your sisters to make their grand entrance. Now, would you mind calling your dad over here?”
As soon as their son called out, her husband immediately activated his Infinity, only to stumble into an invisible barrier, a reminder that his own children were immune to his signature technique.
“Right, no teleporting,” he mumbled. “Old-fashioned way it is.”
Then he pressed the emergency call button. Within minutes, the room was abuzz with activity, a flurry of doctors, nurses, and a very confused Hikaru (who was still clutching his algebra textbook, convinced that his mathematical struggles had somehow triggered the premature arrival of his sisters).
Shoko remained calm, her focus on the task at hand: bringing her daughters into the world. She squeezed her husband's hand, offering a reassuring smile that did little to quell his anxieties.
“It’s going to be fine, Satoru,” she said, her voice steady despite the growing intensity of the contractions. “Just breathe.”
He nodded and clung to her hand as if it were a lifeline.
After a moment, standing outside the delivery room, Satoru was frantically trying to remember his Lamaze breathing techniques. (“Breathe in, breathe out, imagine you’re at the beach… no, wait, beaches are relaxing. Imagine you’re battling a particularly challenging curse… no, that’s just my Tuesday…”).
He determined to remain conscious this time. But it was a herculean task, especially when Utahime, who, in a moment of panic-induced affection (or perhaps a subconscious desire to inflict pain on the man who’d caused her so much stress over the years), grabbed his arm, her nails digging painfully into his flesh.
“Don’t you dare pass out, Gojo! You will witness the birth of your daughters, even if I have to physically hold your eyelids open!”
“Utahime, as much as I appreciate your… enthusiasm… you’re cutting off my circulation.”
If it weren't for Hikaru sleeping on his lap, he would have activated Infinity. Satoru's eyes watering from the pain in his hand, briefly considered passing out just to escape Utahime’s iron grip. But the thought of missing the birth of his daughters, of failing Shoko yet again, spurred him on. He gritted his teeth, and endured the pain, as Utahime muttered a string of curses under her breath.
“Why did she have to get pregnant with twins? Those Gojo genes are clearly a curse in disguise.”
Just when he thought he might lose his battle against unconsciousness, the delivery room door swung open, and a relieved-looking doctor emerged.
“Congratulations, Gojo-san. You’re the father of two healthy baby girls.”
Satoru let out a shaky breath. He’d done it. He’d survived another childbirth without fainting, though Utahime’s death grip on his arm had nearly pushed him over the edge.
“Can I see them? Can I see my wife and my daughters?”
The doctor stepped aside. “Of course. She is asking for you.”
He let out a sigh of relief so profound that it nearly knocked Utahime off her feet.
His movements woke Hikaru up, he was still sleepy.
“Dad, what happened?” The boy rubbed his eyes and looked at him.
“Hicchi, ready to visit your mother and sisters?”
“Yes, yes. But dad, don’t call me by that nickname, it’s not cool.”
The boy immediately jumped down from the waiting chair, eagerly grabbed his father's hand, and almost dragged him away.
“You should blame the Elders for changing your kanji name, Hicchi.” Satoru grinned intensely ruffing Hikaru’s head.
Two baby girls, their skin flushed, their hair a shock of white against the pristine hospital blankets were placed in their parents' waiting arms, their tiny faces scrunched up in identical expressions of displeasure.
“They are pretty cute, aren’t they?” Satoru remained upright, his eyes filled with wonder as he gazed at his daughters.
Utahime, however, was not so fortunate. Upon seeing the two miniature replicas of Gojo Satoru, complete with his signature shock of white hair and unnervingly intense blue eyes, she promptly fainted.
Megumi barely managed to catch her before she hit the floor. He had momentarily lost his cool, his hand instinctively summoning his Divine Dog. It took Shoko’s exasperated sigh and a gentle reminder that “not everything that looks like your sensei is a threat to humanity” to calm his nerves.
“Well,” Shoko remarked, looking at Utahime, “that’s one way to react to the news.”
“Get her a glass of water, Megumi,” she instructed, before turning to the father of her children. “And you, if you’re going to cry, please do it outside. I just had my hair done.”
“Awhh, I always know you care for me.” Satoru’s eyes widened in surprise.
“So you don't need to active your technique all the time to fry the brain, it got burned already.” She sighed. “...Megumi, get him a glass of water too. Please.”
About the twins’ “weakened” cursed energy? A trivial matter, as far as their parents were concerned.
“So, they’re not going to be world-ending sorcerers,” Satoru declared while bouncing a daughter on his knee with an enthusiasm that made Shoko fear for their tiny spinal columns. “Who cares? They’re Gojos! They’ve got me, the Strongest, as their father! And the most beautiful, talented mother in the entire jujutsu world! My baby girls have already won the genetic lottery!”
"Besides," he glanced at his firstborn, who was patiently reading a book to his giggling baby sister, "they have a big brother who’ll inherit all the ‘strongest’ nonsense soon enough. My daughters are free to pursue more…refined interests.”
And so it was decided. The "lesser" Gojo twins, were free to forge their own paths, unburdened by the weight of expectations that rested so heavily on their older brother’s shoulders.
They could become artists, scholars, or professional dessert-tasters… the possibilities, like their father’s ego, were limitless.
As Satoru lifted his gaze, his eyes met Shoko's across the room. She was pale, and exhausted, her usually sharp features softened. And in that moment, a slideshow of memories flickered through his mind.
He saw Shoko in her Jujutsu Tech uniform, a cigarette dangling from her lips.
He saw her, radiant and breathtaking, in her simple turtleneck and jeans.
He saw her, a vision in white, on their wedding day.
He saw her, her body swollen with new life.
He loved her since the moment they met.
He loves her right now when she is right in front of him.
He loves her, and he would spend the rest of his life, however long or short it might be, proving it to her.