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Gojo just had a walk in the park. No. It's actually a mission, but it's the same. Just some low-grade curses swatted away like annoying flies, a barrier dismantled with a casual flick of his wrist. Honestly, the commute had taken longer than the actual exorcism. But Gojo wasn't complaining. An easy mission meant an early return, and an early return meant more time for his true priority.
He strolled through the bustling streets of Tokyo, the afternoon sun casting long shadows. He was on a quest. For cake. Specifically, a very particular, somewhat obscure cake that Shoko had mentioned in passing three days ago.
"Not too sweet," she’d mumbled around a yawn, "but the cream needs to be… fluffy. Like a cloud. And the strawberries have to be tart."
It was a riddle wrapped in a pregnancy craving, but Gojo Satoru loved a challenge almost as much as he loved his wife.
Man didn't just listen, he cataloged. It had taken him four bakeries and a mildly terrifying interrogation of a pastry chef, but he’d found it. Or at least, a close approximation that hopefully wouldn't result in him sleeping on the couch.
Now, triumphantly clutching a pristine white box tied with a silk ribbon, silver strolled up the path to their home.
The door was unlocked, brows frowning slightly. Inside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of lavender and… stale popcorn?
Walk past the genkan. And there she was. His great love.
Shoko was sitting on a yoga mat spread out on the floor, back propped up against the sofa. She was wearing one of his old, oversized t-shirts, the fabric straining slightly across swollen belly. Her legs were sprawled out in front, toes wriggling occasionally in sleep.
Yes, sleep.
Her head lolled to one side, a strand of brown hair falling across her face, fluttering slightly with each soft snore. The TV was blaring a cheerful instructor guiding viewers through a "Prenatal Flow for Pelvic Floor Health." Remote control lay abandoned on the floor.
A wave of tenderness washed over him so potent it almost buckled his knees. This shouldn't be normal. Ieiri Shoko, the woman who could dissect curses with clinical detachment and perform surgery under fire, asleep in the middle of the afternoon in front of a prenatal yoga video? It was absurd. It was adorable.
But then, she was growing two whole humans inside her. It explained everything.
Guy tiptoed closer, knelt beside her, picking up the fallen remote. The woman on TV was now transitioning into "Child's Pose." Gojo aimed the remote and clicked the power button.
Big mistake.
Shoko’s eyes snapped open instantly.
"Why did you turn it off? I was watching that."
Gojo bit back a laugh. "You were snoring. Loudly."
"I was meditating," she tried sitting up straighter and wincing slightly as her back protested. "I was trying to do prenatal yoga. To cure my insomnia. Which, thanks to you, is now ruined."
"Of course you do."
She’d been out cold for at least an hour. The popcorn bowl was barely touched. The drool spot on his t-shirt was evidence enough. But he was a wise man and a husband who valued his life.
So Gojo picked up the remote, turned the TV back on, and placed it carefully on the sofa armrest, within easy reach.
"My mistake. I clearly underestimated your multitasking abilities."
He lowered his head further, kissing the curve of her belly. "Sorry. Daddy didn't mean to interrupt your meditation."
Shoko huffed, though the corner of her mouth twitched. She eyed the box.
The grumpiness is melting away like snow in spring. She yawned widely.
"Is… Is that…?"
"The cake from that place in Ginza? The one you mentioned exactly once, seventy-two hours ago? I believe it is." Gojo grinned, presenting the box with a flourish.
He set the box on the coffee table and opened it. Inside is a pristine slice of strawberry shortcake, the cream looking fluffy enough to sleep on, the strawberries glistening like rubies, with a light dusting of powdered sugar. It looked exactly like a cloud.
"Gimme," hands holding up.
Gojo chuckled, taking a fork from the box and placing it directly into the waiting palm.
"Mission accomplished."
A small moan of satisfaction escaped her lips. It does taste like a cloud, too.
Scanning something, Gojo headed into the kitchen. On the counter sat a large cardboard box. A gift from Shoko's parents from the countryside. He hoisted the box effortlessly, lifting it onto the counter with one hand. He grabbed a utility knife and sliced through the tape, folding back the flaps with the eagerness of a kid on Christmas morning.
The earthy scent of soil and fresh greens wafted up instantly. Plump, dirt-dusted potatoes nestled next to vibrant orange carrots with their feathery tops still attached. There were huge, glossy eggplants, a bag of onions with papery skins, and nestled carefully in straw, several perfect, blushing peaches. There were apples, too, crisp and red, smelling of autumn sunshine. It was the kind of wholesome, organic bounty that Shoko usually appreciated, a stark contrast to the convenience store onigiri that fueled most sorcerers.
He picked up a carrot, brushing off a clump of dark earth. "Jackpot," mind scrolling through recipes.
"Shoko!" he called out, leaning back to peer into the living room. "Your folks really outdid themselves. We got enough veggies to feed an army of rabbits. What are you feeling for dinner? I could make that eggplant miso stir-fry you like? Or maybe a pot-au-feu with these carrots?"
"Nothing," her voice muffled by a mouthful of cake.
Gojo frowned. Carrot in hand, he walked back to the doorway, leaning against the frame. Shoko was curled on her side now, looking miserable.
"Come on. You have to eat real food, not just cake. Those two terrors are sucking the life out of you."
"They're not…," she grumbled, putting the empty plate down on the floor with a clatter. "Ugh. The burping. It's relentless. I feel like a shaken soda bottle."
"Still has it?"
"Awful. If I eat, I burp. If I don't eat, I feel sick. It's a lose-lose situation.”
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
"Should never pee on that damn stick."
Gojo stepped closer, reaching out to gently massage her ankle.
"Don't say that. Whether you peed on the stick or not, they'd still be there. The stick just… gave us a heads-up. Gave me time to panic properly."
He squeezed her foot. "Think of it this way: only three more months. And then we can trade the burping for sleepless nights and diaper explosions. Doesn't that sound fun?"
"You really know how to sell it."
"I try," he grinned. "Now. Eggplant stir-fry. Yes or no? I'll make it mild. And I'll even cut the vegetables into little stars if it makes you happy."
“You’re the only one happy with the star vegetable. Whatever.”
Dinner was underway. Gojo wiped his hands on a towel, breathing a sigh of satisfaction as he looked at the bubbling pot on the stove. The eggplant stir-fry was glistening in the pan, and the soup was bubbling cheerfully. Perfect. He was a genius at jujutsu, and apparently, a prodigy at domesticity too.
He glanced down at his wrist, catching the way the afternoon light danced off the polished sapphire crystal of his watch. A Vacheron Constantin Traditionnelle Tourbillon. It was a birthday gift, cost more than most people’s houses, and he never, ever got tired of looking at it.
Chest puffed out like a runway model, he strutted into the living room, striking a pose that was equal parts Vogue cover and toddler showing off a sticker. Just stopped in front of Shoko, showing off his forearm, and flashed the watch.
"Look at the time, gorgeous. " his grin was like a Cheshire cat.
"It’s only 4 PM. You don't need an eighty-thousand-dollar watch to know it’s too early for dinner." He’s doing it. Again.
Couldn't really blame him, though. That watch had a history. Last year, she’d bought it, a purchase that had cost her roughly eight months of her salary and a significant chunk of sanity. It was hidden in their bedroom for a quiet reveal after his boisterous party. But Gojo, being Gojo, had spent the entire day sulking, pouting through the cake and the festivities because, despite receiving a mountain of expensive tributes from the clans and students, he couldn't find a single thing from his wife.
By the time the guests left, man was practically vibrating with neediness. Fed up with the moping, she dragged him into the bedroom, before she could even reach for the box, he’d misinterpreted her intentions entirely (well, maybe not entirely). Pinning her to the mattress with an enthusiasm that, while usually welcome, was terrible for gift-giving logistics. It wasn't until minutes before midnight that she finally managed to toss the box at his chest.
To this day, Gojo insists he got two presents that night. Meanwhile, Shoko received a sore back, a day off without pay to recover, and a bank account that was weeping tears of blood.
Looking at the manchild preening now, she gritted her teeth.
Lesson learned. Never hide gifts in the bedroom. This year, I’m leaving it in the fridge.
"So," Gojo dropped the pose and flopped down, careful of the boundaries of her yoga mat. "Why are you home so early? Finally run out of corpses to poke?"
The tips of her ears turned a bright, betraying pink. She mumbled something incoherent, grabbed a throw pillow, and buried her face in it, letting out a muffled groan. Then shuffled herself upright and waddled toward the laundry room.
"Shoko?" Gojo followed, curiosity piqued.
"Don't ask."
"Now I have to ask."
He leaned against the doorframe of the laundry room as Shoko angrily stuffed clothes into the washing machine. Sitting right on top of the laundry basket was the light blue maternity dress she wore that morning. There was an unmistakable damp stain on the back.
"I want you to go out and buy me dresses. Dark blue. Charcoal. Black. Vantablack, if you can find it."
"But you look pretty in light colors. The pastel yellow one makes you look like a lemon meringue pie. It's cute."
He picked up the dress. “ And this blue brings out your—"
There was a glare so scorching it could have exorcised a special-grade curse.
"It brings out the piss stains!" she snapped. "I… I had an accident."
“Wha—”
"I peed myself, Satoru," she stated flatly. "I sneezed in the faculty lounge, and I peed my dress. That’s why I went home soon."
Gojo bit the inside cheek, fighting a losing battle against the laughter bubbling up in his chest. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it was mean. But the image was too much.
"Don't you dare laugh," she poked a finger at his chest. "Your children think my bladder is a squirt toy or something. One good kick right in the center, I didn't even have a chance."
He wrapped arms around her from behind.
"They're just running out of room in there."
"They're doing it on purpose," she muttered darkly.
"Maybe the kids just wanted to make sure you came home to me sooner. They're on my side."
Her hands covered the face. "Had to fake a family emergency to leave early. I can't be seen like this. It's humiliating."
Gojo bit his lip harder, fighting back a chuckle, not out of malice, but out of pure adoration for how flustered she was. "Oh..."
"It's not funny!" she peeked through her fingers. "Clearly, these freeloaders just want to embarrass me.”
She slumped against the washing machine. "Doesn't matter. I married you, after all. The man who wears sunglasses indoors and eats cake for breakfast. Maybe they think it's just the family business."
"Hey, look on the bright side. At least you were at school. You have access to scrubs."
"Had to tell Ijichi I spilled tea," she grumbled into his chest.
Gojo couldn't hold it back anymore. He let out a laugh.
"Fine. Fine. I'll go buy you some black dresses."
"But seriously," he pulled back slightly. "You're technically on maternity leave. The council signed the papers weeks ago. How about just… stay home?"
"If so, I'm just a pregnant lady sitting on a yoga mat eating cake." She sighed again. "I’ll forget how to be a doctor."
"No way. You could take a ten-year nap and still be the best doctor in the Jujutsu world."
Shoko didn’t reply. Just groaned, placing a hand on the arm of the wall and another on her lower back, preparing for the Herculean effort of walking.
However, the white-haired hummingbird seems worried.
"Whoa, easy, easy. Cramps? Apples? Do you need a pillow for your back? A different pillow? Ice? Heat? I can run to the store—"
"I need to pee. Can you teleport it out of my bladder directly into the sewer system?"
Gojo blinked. "Theoretically, with enough precision, I could try to warp space around—"
"That was rhetorical," she snapped. "Going to the bathroom."
"Nope."
He scooped her up smoothly, likely using a touch of Blue to negate the gravity so she wouldn't feel the sudden shift. It was maddeningly gentle if the woman was in the mood. She wasn't.
In front of the toilet, Shoko smoothed her dress, waiting. Her husband just stood there, arms crossed, beaming at her expectantly.
"Planning to construct a barrier?"
"I'm on guard duty."
"Trying to urinate here."
"I thought we passed the point of 'shy bladder'."
Shoko wanted to talk back, but her back was killing her.
Interpreting her silence as permission, he knelt and, like peeling a banana, lifted the dress gently. Fingers moved toward the waistband of her maternity underwear.
That was the line.
"I can take down my own pants."
"You said your back hurt!"
"It does hurt! But my dignity hurts more!"
"Okay, okay. Message received. Independent woman peeing."
"Turn around," she commanded.
He spun on his heel to face the door. "You're no fun."
"I'm pregnant. Fun was canceled six months ago."
Shoko loved this man. She really did. But if he tried to wipe her next, she was going to punch him in his perfect, Six-Eyed face. And then probably cry because her hand would hurt.
"Stop staring. I can feel you looking." Her face is now buried in hands.
He just whistled an off-key tune. "Can't help it. You know how the Six Eyes work."
"Your eyes are perverts," she muttered through her fingers. "It's a genetic defect. A perverted genetic defect."
"They're a gift from the heavens!"
“Thank God none of my children will ever inherit that.”
Being pregnant meant bladder was currently being used as a pillow by two growing fetuses. The pressure was immense, and the resulting sound seemed to echo in the tiled bathroom like a waterfall in a canyon. It was mortifying.
Suddenly, the roar of rushing water filled the room. Gojo cranked the cold water tap on the sink to full blast.
"There," he said. "White noise. Relax, Sho. It's a good sign. You're peeing for three people. It’s impressive, really. Like a camel releasing its stores."
"A camel," she deadpanned behind her hands. "You just compared your wife to a camel."
"A majestic camel!"
"You're an idiot."
"I know. Almost done?"
She finished up, maneuvered her maternity underwear and the heavy fabric of the dress back into place. "Decent. You can turn off the tsunami."
He killed the tap and spun around instantly, offering his arm like a courtier. And kept an arm firmly around her waist as he walked her slowly back toward the living room.
"This wouldn't be so hard if you just let me assign a detail to you."
Shoko groaned. "Not this again."
"I mean, why are you still struggling with the little things at school? Coffee runs, carrying files, walking across campus... just let me send a few of the clan servants. They're sitting around the estate dusting vases, thrilled to be useful."
He guided her back to the sofa, but didn't sit down, looming over her with a frown. "It's dangerous to be waddling around Jujutsu Tech with a big belly. One trip on the stairs, Shoko... or if a student gets rowdy..."
"I do not waddle," she definitely does, but whatever. "And I don't want them. It’s weird."
"It's not weird, it's practical."
"Have you seen your family's retainers? They don't just 'help.' They hover. They wear matching black suits and bow every time I sneeze."
She adopted a stiff voice, mimicking the clan elders' servants.
"'Gojo-okusama, may I carry your pen?' 'Ieiri-dono, please allow me to open this door you are perfectly capable of opening.'"
Grabbed the apple fork on the side table, she pointed it at him accusingly. "If I walk into the faculty lounge with a phalanx of servants trailing behind me, I don't look like a doctor. More like a dictator. Or worse, some gold digger."
Her target scratched the back of his head, glasses shifting slightly.
"If it makes you feel any better... those servants earn a higher salary than you do as a school doctor. Technically, they'd be the ones engaging in charity."
The air froze for a split second.
Brown eyes narrowed into slits. Grip on the small metal fruit fork tightened.
"Fuck off."
It was a good throw, aimed right between his eyes. Of course, it never reached target. The fork hit the invisible barrier of his Infinity an inch from his nose, bounced off harmlessly, and clattered to the floor.
"Whoops."
"Get your ass here," she ordered.
"Shoko, I was joki—"
He approached cautiously.
"GET HERE."
He stepped into her range. Instead of hitting him again, she grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down. He fell to his knees between her legs, burying his face in her chest.
"I'm sorry!" he muffled into her cleavage. "Just a trophy husband! Please don't stab me, I'm too pretty to die!"
Shoko’s fingers traced patterns on his back. "You freaking expensive moron."
Nuzzing deeper into the soft warmth of her chest, his nose twitched slightly. Pregnancy had changed her body in ways he found endlessly fascinating. Her breasts, already a favorite feature of his, were heavier now, fuller, the skin incredibly soft against his cheek. And there was a new scent clinging to her, something primal and sweet, like warm milk and honey. Intoxicating.
"It's unfair. They get to be this close to you all day. Listening to your heartbeat. Inside you and stimulate your bladder. It's supposed to be my doing."
“One more word and you’re outta here.”
"Huhhh. You smell like… milk and sunshine."
"I smell like hormones and sweat," Shoko corrected.
"Nope. Sunshine." He tilted his head back, resting his chin on her breast so he could look up at her. His blue eyes were bright. Too bright.
"I'm just jealous. Want someone there to watch over. Make sure no one bothers you."
"There's a scalpel in my purse."
"I know, I know. But you still look incredible. Some idiots are going to try and hit on you. Give you their number. Try to buy you a drink, apple juice, maybe."
"If any guy tries to hit on a married woman who is visibly six months pregnant, that's not flirting, Satoru, that's a pathology. A fetish I want no part of."
He pulled back, grinning up at her, that freaking boyish grin that had saved him from countless scoldings over the years.
"Hey, don't knock it. Some guys are into the 'Mother Earth' vibe."
He leaned in closer. The hand began to slide downwards, slipping beneath the hem of her dress to rest on her thigh.
"What you think you're doing?" Shoko flinched.
"Just admiring the view. If you weren't already pregnant, I might be tempted to put a baby in you right now."
"We are not having four children," she said flatly.
"I know," his hand moving higher, dangerously close to the warmth between her legs. "But we can have something else tonight."
Shoko seems unimpressed. "A restraining order?"
"Roleplay? I like where your head is at. I can be the bad boy sorcerer you have to interrogate."
“That's all you can think about?”
"Of course not, I was thinking of a massage. Full body. With oil. But hey, if you want to handcuff me to the bed, no complaint. Might make the massage harder, but I'm adaptable."
"Try carrying two children on your bladder," she hissed, "and see if you're in the mood."
He grabbed her hand and pulled it down, pressing her palm firmly against the front of his trousers.
"Carrying a few million potential children right here. And they're all very eager to meet mom."
Shoko felt the hardness beneath the denim of his jeans. For a second, her hand lingered, old habits dying hard. Then, she snatched it back and pinched his cheek, hard.
"Ow!"
It left a red mark on his perfect skin.
"It is purely luck that you have such a handsome face, Gojo Satoru. Pure, dumb luck. Imagine our children inherit your personality and a face like a squashed cabbage? I'm sending them back."
Just as Gojo rubbed his sore cheek, a sudden movement caught the sky-blue eyes. An undulating bulge rippled across the tight fabric of her shirt. One of the twins, or maybe both, had decided to make their presence known.
The father placed his large hand over the movement, feeling the strong, insistent push against his palm.
"Hey now," he cooed. "Mama was just joking. You two are going to be perfect. The most beautiful, well-behaved children in the history of children. So be good to her, okay? Don't hurt Papa's favorite person."
Miraculously, the kicking stopped. The bulge receded. Peace returned to the Ieiri-Gojo ecosystem.
"They know their Papa."
Gojo then stood up to stretch his long limbs, joints popping satisfyingly. He bent to retrieve the fallen fork from the floor. As he straightened, Shoko’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and tugging him back down.
"Stay."
Of course, he's more than happy to comply.
"You should be jealous. Every girl in this house is going to be head over heels for me."
"Name one."
Gojo paused for a second. "…Shoko?"
"Jury's still out on that one," she closed her eyes. "God, I'm tired. Is this genetic payback?"
His smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
"Who knows? My parents weren't exactly... hands-on."
"That's a wonderful tradition. Let's make sure our children follow it."
"Hey," he nudged her gently. "We're different. We're breaking the cycle. And if they're mischievous, it just means they're healthy. Powerful sorcerers. You'll see. Top of the food chain."
"Are you implying Hicchi is weak?" Shoko opened one eye. "That boy was the easiest pregnancy ever."
“Not weak. Kid is… gentle. He’s like a kitten. Quiet. Observant."
"Depends on the kitten. Some grow up to be house cats. Some grow up to be mountain tigers."
"Okay, okay," Gojo surrendered. "Your son is the best. The strongest. The tiger king. I won't speak ill of the Golden Child."
He knew better than to push it. Shoko was fiercely, almost irrationally protective of their eldest. She carried that child through the darkest period of their lives, birthed him in a world that wanted to use or kill him. The fact that Hikaru was kind, wasn't broken by the weight of his legacy; it was a miracle she guarded with her life.
"Good," she closed her eye again. "Because these are the last ones. No more. If you want a football team of 'strong sons' to add to your collection, go find one somewhere else. Your clan elders might actually be happier for finally getting their 'heir and a spare and a third for good measure' without dealing with me."
Gojo nuzzled his face into the side of her belly, blowing a raspberry that made her jump and then giggle despite herself.
"Come on, I already apologized. Actually, I'm secretly relieved they're girls."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. If they were boys, I'd have two more rivals. I already have to compete with your son. Fighting off two more guys for Mom's love? Exhausting."
With that, Gojo leaned in and snatched the half-eaten apple slice right out of her hand, taking a bite with a deliberate, exaggerated crunch.
Luckily, his pregnant wife is just too comfortable to actually fight for the fruit at the moment.
"Where is the Golden Child, anyway? Usually, he's hovering around you like a protective little satellite."
Shoko gave him a look that suggested he might be suffering from early-onset dementia.
"On a school field trip. You signed the permission slip."
"Ah. Thought that was next week."
Shoko searches the cushions for a weapon. Finding nothing but lint, she grabbed another apple slice from the plate and hurled it at that menace.
He didn't even activate Infinity, simply opened mouth and caught it mid-air, like a trained seal.
"Delicious," Gojo completely pleased with himself, as usual.
Realizing that throwing food at The Strongest Sorcerer was a futile endeavor, Shoko snatched up the remote instead, jamming her thumb onto the channel button. The screen flickered, the soothing yoga lady replaced by a glossy studio set.
The screen was filled with images of radiant, glowing pregnant women doing yoga on a beach, laughing while eating salads, their skin flawless, their hair perfectly coiffed. A cheerful narrator was currently discussing the "Pregnancy glow" of motherhood.
"Pregnancy glow my ass."
Gojo chuckled, reaching over to stroke her brunette hair. "Just ignore it. It's TV. They lie about everything. That woman probably has a team of stylists and a personal masseuse. You have me. Which is much better."
"Arguably," Shoko conceded.
"Turn it off. Find something else. Something with explosions. Or murder. Anything but this."
Whatever she wants, she gets. Gojo flipped through channels until he landed on a gritty crime drama, while the woman next to him just settled back, watching a detective examine a gruesome crime scene with a critical eye.
"That lividity is wrong. The body's been moved."
Her devoted husband handed her the popcorn bowl.
"And that's my Sherlock."
The happy moment lasted for another minute till Shoko shifted uncomfortably as a tiny foot performed a drop-kick on her bladder.
Just as the bathroom door clicked shut, a rhythmic pounding echoed from the front entrance.
Shoko gripped the edge of the sink, exhaling sharply. She shooed him away with a flick of her wrist. "Go, I won't be long."
Gojo nodded, backing out of the bathroom and pulling the door almost shut, leaving just a crack for ventilation. Sauntering toward the genkan, the Six Eyes already picking up the distinct Cursed Energy signatures waiting on the other side.
The tall figure paused just before the door, leaning in. Who could resist a little reconnaissance?
"I read an article online," It’s Nobara. "It said that prenatal influence is real. The parents' conversations, their vibes... it shapes the kid's future profession from the womb. Shoko-san is a doctor, right? So she probably talks about healing and guts and stuff. The babies are definitely going to be doctors."
"No way," Now Yuuji’s. "Think about it. They listen to Gojo-sensei's lectures all day. They're totally going to be teachers. Or super-talented sorcerers like him!"
There was a pause, a contemplative silence.
Then, Megumi spoke up. "Don't say that. Think about the alternative. Imagine a mini-Doctor Gojo."
"Oh God," Nobara whispered. "Operating with a blindfold on? 'Oops, wrong kidney, tehe!'"
"Or," Megumi relentlessly twisted the knife, "a mini-Teacher Shoko."
"Class starts at noon," Yuuji mimicked, trying for a bored drawl. "'Here's a scalpel. Figure it out. I'm going for a smoke break.'"
A collective shudder seemed to ripple through the group on the other side of the door.
"That's the end of the Ministry of Health."
"And the Ministry of Education."
Gojo's grin reveals as he throws the door open violently.
The three almost jumped from the loud sounds. They were laden with bags, pastel-colored gift bags overflowing with tissue paper, plush toys peeking out from the tops.
"Sensei!" Yuuji was holding up a huge bag like it contained a year's supply of diapers. "We brought gifts! For the babies!"
"And snacks for Shoko," Nobara added, lifting a box from a high-end bakery. "Since we figured you probably ate all the good stuff."
"Rude, but accurate."
He quickly rushed them inside. "Come in, come in! Leave your shoes, keep the gifts coming."
"Honey! The kids..."
"DAMN IT! I'M NOT DONE!"
The sheer volume and aggression of the scream vibrated through the apartment walls.
Of course, The Strongest didn't blink. He kept his smile plastered on, giving a thumbs-up to the hallway. "You're doing great, honey! Take your time!"
The living room fell into a dead silence. The students stared at the hallway, eyes wide.
"Truck driver," Megumi sighed. "Long-haul. Definitely."
Gojo clapped his hands together, ignoring the comment. "Surpriseeee! Isn't it magical? Kids, this is marital bliss! The unfiltered connection of two souls!"
Nobara looked around the somewhat messy apartment, then at the closed bathroom door where low muttering could now be heard, and finally at her teacher's frantic grin.
"Is the bliss in the same room with us right now?" she asked skeptically.
WHOOSH.
The distinct, roaring sound of a toilet flushing echoed through the apartment, followed by the sound of the sink running.
"Nope!" Gojo popped the 'p', steering them toward the living room. "My bliss is currently flushing the toilet and cursing my bloodline."
Toring opened a box from Yuuji's hand, he popped a grape into his mouth. "Learn from this experience. If you want children, have them early. In your twenties. Bounce back quickly. Because let me tell you... after 35? God bless you."
"I HEARD THAT!" the voice screeched from the bathroom.
"LOVE YOU!" Gojo shouted back, winking at Nobara.