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“Why does Gojo-sensei live in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?”
Nobara whined softly, her voice strained from the strenuous climb up eons of stairs, sweat dripping down her forehead. Yuji nodded in agreement as he wiped his own forehead, the sweltering sun showing no mercy. The trio had embarked from Tokyo and had taken a two-and-a-half-hour train ride for the sake of their instructor, who had texted them that very morning, informing them that he could not attend training that day due to some unexpected issues and wished for them to travel to Kyoto for the rest of the week. At his expense, of course.
It took another few minutes for them to reach the gates of the estate, large dark wood welcoming them as they caught their breath. Without a single word, the doors started to open slowly, revealing a servant who was bowing her head slightly. Her uniform was one of beige, the kimono lacking any design other than the insignia of the Gojo clan on the chest; a dragon formidable in infamy and mystical power.
“Gojo-sama had mentioned this arrival. Please follow me.”
The servant was given little attention as the trio began to follow her, Nobara and Yuji’s eyes widening as the opulence of the estate and the importance of the name, such as Satoru Gojo, began to finally weigh. Sometimes Yuji would forget that his teasing instructor was regarded as the most powerful sorcerer in all of Japan. But it was times like these when he was met with the
sight of dust-free Minka’s, sliding doors opening and closing gently, with multiple servants working around the estate with efficiency that he was reminded of.
Nobara whistled as she also reveled in the beauty of tradition; the estate was a vision of the past. The whistle caught the attention of Megumi, who spoke up softly, his tone scolding yet not unkind.
“Nobara. Unneeded noises aren’t welcomed in this area of the estate.” Megumi informed the girl, the servants bowing their heads as the trio passed. Yuji, ever so curious, quickly turned to face Megumi as they continued behind the woman. “What’s up with that?” Yuji quickly asked, making sure to glance at every tree in the vicinity, the bark speaking of wisdom and age. Megumi pursed his lips slightly, opening his mouth, but was never given the opportunity to answer when a booming voice echoed across the wind.
“My beloved students! Long time no see,” It didn’t take a genius for Yuji to guess who was behind the voice as his eyes landed on the white-haired man, lips curled in amusement. The Gojo head was clad in traditional attire: a casual, solid black yukata that carried the dragon in gold thread on his back, embroidered with detail and respect. Seeing his instructor in such a manner wasn’t surprising; the child in his arms that was squirming was.
Yuji would have guessed who the child belonged to if the resemblance wasn’t so obvious. The child’s almost translucent white hair could only be comparable to the man holding him, four eyes of blue staring at the teenagers. Nobara was the first to speak, well, rather yell.
“Hah?! Since when did you have a son, Gojo-sensei?” She threw an accusing finger at Satoru, who returned the question with a smile, bending down to place the child on the ground, who was quick to run away toward the swings that were built in the yard. The sight of something as novel in such a place was unnerving, especially when the boy on the swings was quickly joined by two other children, younger but almost identical to Satoru, as they ran from one of the rooms into the yard. The man in question could feel harsh gazes on his face, his smile never breaking as he stared back at his students.
“Hey, you guys never asked. And I don’t have a son- I have three,” Satoru replied, his smile slightly smug as he took in the astonishment in Yuji and Nobara’s eyes. Yuji had assumed Satoru was married, given how quickly the man was to leave right after practice, and well, the golden band on his left ring finger. What Yuji didn’t know was who married such a man and gave him three children. It didn’t seem like he had to wait long for his answer as Satoru quickly turned to the side, eyes focused on a figure as the trio followed the gaze.
Yuji’s eyes stopped on the most beautiful man that he had ever seen; honey-colored eyes shining in the sun without breaking contact with Satoru’s own blue ones. The illustrious man was of finely pressed olive juice, the tanness of his skin clashing with the white of his kimono, embroidered with lotus across the bottom half. The mysterious man was all sharp angles on his face, his nose bridge high with plump lips that belied the almost stubborn aura that he carried. Despite that, the softness and slight bump of his stomach spoke more about his relationship with Satoru than any words could.
The man was slow to approach them, his steps showcasing no desire to be entertainment, much less for teenagers from the Tokyo compound. Satoru reached out his arm, wrapping his built bicep around the brunette’s waist and bringing him impossibly close. Yuji watched as the man snuggled into Satoru’s embrace, though the taut lines of his body spoke of slight resistance. The man glared over the three with slight contempt, a sense of superiority clear in his body.
“This beautiful man is my wife, Naoya. Cmon, introduce yourself, babe.” Satoru chuckled softly as he stared down at the man, Naoya, with a lovesick expression. Perhaps Satoru was one of those men who simply never left the honeymoon stage. The disgusted expression that Naoya held toward Satoru simply furthered that statement. But it seemed like the puppy dog eyes from Satoru eventually worked as Naoya turned slightly toward the three.
“Naoya. Zeni-” The man didn’t get to finish his word as Satoru quickly interrupted with that same shit-eating grin on his handsome face. “Gojo.” Naoya closed his eyes, his lips pursing slightly as he looked as if he were stopping himself from slapping the life out of Satoru, and it surely seemed like that was the situation.
“Satoru, I am a Zenin.” Naoya rebutted, his expression one of annoyance with his eyebrows being furrowed slightly as he looked up at his husband, who stared back with the same smile he always wore. “You were a Zenin, sweetheart, now you’re a Gojo. And you have been for the past nine years.”
Yuji’s jaw hung open slightly at the tidbit of information, although he himself hadn’t had much experience in the area of love, nine years was almost a decade of loyalty and affection. And given the four children that the two shared, surely they were in love. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, curiosity strumming through his body. “Nine years? How did you guys meet?”
Naoya and Satoru shared a fleeting moment of gaze, eyes brimming with flashes of memories. There, Yuji could sense the unwavering bond between the two men, though there was something amiss in their story. Naoya scoffed loudly at Yuji’s words, shaking his head slightly as he looked over at the boy.
“Well, we were 12-”
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Naoya huffed slightly as he looked around the room, intricate designs of dragons suffocating his gaze. The Gojo clan was always known for being flashy and boisterous; the heir was the prime example. Naoya could feel a sense of slight envy as he stared at the mentioned heir who sat a few seats away from him, hair glinting as if he were a star that had managed to fall onto Earth and bless them with his presence. He bet that Sato-or whatever his name wasn’t even that strong. Not as strong as Toji, at least.
The scent of meat engulfed his senses, and he stared down at his meal, the steak cooked medium rare and beckoning his call. Naoya decided that at the very least, he couldn’t let a good piece of meat be neglected. As such, he reached for his knife and fork, the utensil cutting into the tender meat as he pierced it with his fork and took a bite of the juicy steak. The taste of garlic and rosemary penetrated his tongue, and with a hum of approval, he repeated the steps.
His gaze was forced upon a young girl from the Gojo clan, albeit one of the branch families, who flinched slightly at the warmth of the soup that a servant had served. A scoff almost rips out of Naoya at the sight; the weakness of women never failed to infuriate and confirm his father’s words. His eyes slowly moved from the girl to a servant bowing her head at the edge of the room, ready for any command at any notice; that was what women were supposed to portray and embody: a vessel for men to control and desire. The young boy planted his attention back onto his steak, cutting into the meat once more as he felt the presence of someone in front of him.
Naoya looked up, eyes meeting with blue as Satoru stared back. In the first three seconds, he let it slide, given the importance of a diplomatic relationship between the two clans. When the seconds reached into the double digits, Naoya suddenly got up, their heights of similar stature. “What the hell do you want, freak eyes?” The boy didn’t respond at first, his gaze solely on Naoya’s face, his pale lips slowly quivering upward.
“I’m going to make you my wife.”
It was the Zenin heir who stared now, eyes widening at the audacity of the words that had escaped Satoru. Naoya was anything but a woman, let alone a wife, and he would never allow such humiliation for himself and his clan. A male wife-hah, it was a hysterical thought.
“Men can’t be married, dumb dumb.” Naoya huffed out loudly, his eyes filled with hatred despite their short conversation. They were lucky that both clans were too busy discussing their own politics, or else his father would have really given Satoru a hard time, Six-Eyes or not.
“We’ll see about that,” Satoru responded with a slight chuckle, sparing Naoya one last glance before continuing his exit from the dining room. That was the last day that Naoya had seen Satoru Gojo until he turned eighteen, dressed in white.
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The shiromuka that he adorned was heavy as it drifted onto the ground, the wataboshi blocking his sight so that the only thing that he could see was Satoru’s smug face, with the clear ‘I told you so’ smile threatening to spill from his lips and onto the cups of sake. The sky was free from any clouds for miles, the elders nodding that this union was fated by Heaven itself. Naoya knew that was bullshit when he heard their whispers, because Heaven was staring right at him with bright watercolor eyes that spoke of his underhanded devices that brought them to this point.
Naoya had fought and yelled when he was informed of the marriage, a side that he rarely showed to Naobito. His father had gathered the elders and the main branch of the family to convince Naoya, well, it was more than they were comforting him, since he never had a choice to begin with. Repeated phrases about loyalty to the clan and his duty as a member filled his ears, though even when he left the room, it continued ringing.
The first sip of the sake was unbearably bitter, or perhaps that was his ego. The second sip tasted like copper, a small chunk of flesh being subjected to the ruthlessness of his teeth. The last sip was filled with his anger, at his clan for selling him off, at himself for being so weak, at Satoru Gojo for orchestrating everything. He was a Zenin; he wasn’t supposed to marry for politics like the women in his clan. Well, he wasn’t until the priest finished the vows, and he let Satoru place a chaste kiss on his own colored lips. Satoru pulled away, the redness of Naoya’s lipstick staining his own pale lips.
The claps and shouts of congratulations were deafening, though the only thing Naoya could focus on was the drum of his heart and Satoru’s hand on his waist, because he was allowed to, because he was the taller’s property now, because he was a Gojo. Naoya glanced at his father, expecting any sort of sadness or pride in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not that Naobito wore the same expression he did on any other day.
Satoru bent down slightly to whisper in Naoya’s ear, “See, what did I tell you?” The younger bit his lower lip at the snide remark before reaching over and pinching the white-haired man on his back, where no one else could see the exchange. The man flinched slightly as his smile transformed into a pout, pulling Naoya closer as if they were opposite ends of a magnet. Naoya felt an inkling of satisfaction before realizing that Satoru had allowed him to do such a thing. His infinity was a technique of power, and Naoya should feel content in knowing that Satoru would let the barrier for him, but it seemed more like a cage than a privilege.
Naoya spent the day meeting with members from both sides of the family, a series of faces flashing by in a haze. He saw Maki and Mai hiding behind their mother, the young girls staring at him with curious eyes. A small hint of displeasure began to blossom in his chest; even if he didn’t want this marriage, it was still an important event that the branch families were not worthy to attend. That emotion was quickly squashed as he felt Satoru tug him to a separate area of the venue. He had half a mind to yell at the pull, but he held his tongue since there was no need for such rumors.
There were multiple people he didn’t recognize yet heard of that attended the ceremony. Most of those faces belonged to Satoru’s clan members and friends from Jujutsu Technical High. Two of them, Geto and Shoko as they introduced themselves, weren’t from a prominent clan at all. Satoru Gojo may be the strongest sorcerer in the last few millennia, but he has a terrible taste in friendship.
The afterparty had been of music and dances, though all Naoya could revel in was his unfortunate situation. He didn’t even know what was happening until he was ushered into a sleek black car by Satoru. Naoya glanced at Satoru, who stared back immediately, a smile dancing on his lips as he leaned in closer. “Such a beautiful bride…..” Satoru whispered, reaching out his hand to stroke the edge of his eye, colored in eyeshadow. It was such a pitiful sight for him to adorn himself in makeup and feminine clothing as if he were a lowly woman.
“Don’t you dare refer to me as such,” Naoya replied with a snap to his voice, clearly not planning on being diplomatic in private. Well, as private it could get with a random man driving them to the Gojo estate. Semantics aside, Naoya made it clear regarding his feelings toward his new role. He was not a woman, he was not a wife, and he was not submissive, especially to Satoru Gojo. The man huffed out in amusement, wrapping his nimble fingers around Naoya’s hair before gently running through the strands like a man obsessed.
“Sweetheart, you’re too cruel to your poor husband!” Satoru cried out in a soft whine, pouting as he scooted closer to Naoya, who scowled at Satoru’s words. The white-haired man was regarded with such respect across Jujutsu society, but Naoya also thought of him as feminine. His emotions were all over the place, like a woman, always smiling and giggling like he was part of a clique.
“Start acting like a man….” Naoya mumbled out into the air, receiving a smile from Satoru that bordered on dangerous. The elder rested his head on the brunette’s shoulder, his finger drawing random patterns on Naoya’s chest as if it were a treasure that he won.
“I’ll show you what a man is.”
Naoya fell pregnant three months after their wedding day, receiving gifts from every clan that held any sort of prestige. The bright pink of the test mocked him as the suffocating embrace of Satoru almost caused him to pass out. “Honey, we need to start changing your diet and schedule. I’ll create a ward near your room for the midwives and healers to stay in during the pregnancy. Shall I ask the servant to bring in your favorite? Oh, but too much red meat isn’t optimal. Regardless, this news will surely spread throughout the clans. How beautiful will our child be-”
Naoya could only hear static in his head, glancing at his flat stomach with a hint of wonder. A child. Growing inside of him. How preposterous. This child was a disgrace to the Zenin clan, a freak of nature that went against biology. Despite that, Naoya’s fingers clenched around Satoru’s grey kimono slightly, grounding himself in the moment. It was a reminder of his sin. He wondered if his father had received news yet.
Satoru had changed since Naoya fell with the child, always clinging onto him as if he were a lifeline. Zenin couldn’t walk ten steps alone without the other man throwing a tantrum. The Gojo heir had to accompany Naoya everywhere he went, and dinner was almost claustrophobic given how close Satoru would stick next to Naoya. The brunette watched mindlessly as one of the servants placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of him, her figure retreating after the action. How disgusting was this sight? The once heir of the esteemed Zenin clan was pregnant with a child by none other than Satoru Gojo. He expected his early months of being of age to be filled with women, alcohol, cigars, and the taste of sweetness that was only present in youth.
Before he could reach out his hand to grab the spoon, Satoru did the action for him, pale fingers wrapped around the metal of the utensil. Naoya spared him a single glance; he had no intention of letting his man, his husband, toy with him. In response to his wife’s snarky behavior, Satoru let a feline-like grin overtake his face as he leaned in closer (if that was possible) and pressed the spoon into the wooden bowl, the liquid being forced into the confines of it.
“Honey, you know the soup is too hot. Here, let me blow it for you.” Satoru quipped in a sing-song voice as he brought the filled spoon to his lips and blew on it gently. Naoya froze at the action, embarrassment beginning to show as the tips of his ears redden. Was he so pitiful that another man had to do such a…… sacrilegious action? Satoru paid no mind to his wife’s obvious antics as he placed the spoon in front of Naoya’s lips.
The brunette began to feel a rise of anger at the action, twisting his head to the side, his displeasure clear in his actions. His moisturized lips were beginning to break as Naoya continued to bite his lower lip, his body as taut as a bow at the exchange. This sort of shame should only be experienced by women. He didn’t deserve to be treated like a woman, like Satoru’s women. His fist reached out before he could think, his actions leading with the scalding liquid falling onto the floor, the content reaching onto one of the servants, her voice screeched at the contact, redness forming on her arm where the soup had splashed.
Naoya flinched slightly at the sound, but it was the way Satoru’s body straightened that caused a sense of nervousness in him. For a few seconds, no one spoke, save for the whimpers and cries of the servant. After the initial shock of the situation had worn off, Satoru began to talk, his voice deep with timber and devoid of the usual upbeat manner that defined him.
“Naoya, apologize.”
Naoya felt his heart thumping at the words. Satoru never used his actual name to address him; this meant that he was thoroughly pissed. The Zenin felt equal parts exasperation and unease, the former because this wasn’t by any means a situation that required an apology in his eyes, let alone to a servant. And the latter sprouted from the way Satoru was staring at him, his eyes squinting slightly in a manner that reminded him of Naobito. Despite the rising panic, he would be caught dead before admitting he was wrong.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why should I have to apologize to her? She was simply in the way; that’s not my fault. Besides, this is her job.” Perhaps he was digging himself deeper into the mess with his words, as he felt Satoru place his hand on his waist, a familiar weight but with a different intention. This hold was a claim, a twisted reminder that Naoya was at the mercy of Satoru.
“Yes, she does work here. But that doesn’t justify any abuse that you will showcase. This isn’t the Zenin estate if you haven’t noticed, such actions will not be tolerated. You are my wife, Naoya. You hold power in the realms of my clan. You should know better than to take advantage of such responsibility for your petty outburst. Now, apologize to her.” Satoru’s words couldn’t have been clearer. Even if he cherished Naoya, the Zenin was no longer given the authority to handle the servants in similar manners as he did at his own estate. Naoya was tempted to argue back, to place his feet onto the ground and simply walk away. But he felt the fabric stretching over his stomach gently, and the ring on his finger felt too heavy all of a sudden. The stubbornness in his bones was but calm, despite that, his eyes glanced to the woman who was holding her arm in pain.
“I’m. Sorry.”
The words were forced out of him, voice strained with anger at the audacity of having to do such a thing, especially to a servant, a female one. The servant in question quickly raised her head in surprise, clearly not expecting Naoya to actually comply with Satoru. She had heard whispers of Zenin's attitude to those of lower birth, and was waiting for him to lash out. Given how the other Zenin acted in the vicinity of servants, this accident was nothing that she couldn’t handle. And seeing how Naoya had followed Satoru’s words, perhaps this was a change for the better. She stuttered out a response, thanking Naoya and accepting the begrudging apology.
The second those horrid words left Naoya’s lips, Satoru perked up. His lips curved upward as he began to crowd the man, throwing his arms around Naoya’s shoulders in a tight embrace. The Gojo nuzzled into the crook of the other man’s neck, pressing a few chaste kisses as Naoya watched the servant being escorted in the direction of the infirmary. Satoru pressed his large hand over the swell of Naoya’s stomach, rubbing soft circles around the area. “You’re such an amazing wife, sweetie. Forget the soup, how about I order the cook to bring in the cut of steak you like? Would you like that?”
Naoya could barely register the change in Satoru’s expression; one second, he was as cold as the night wind; the next, as warm as the summer heat that was present when they got married. All he did was nod at the question. He wasn’t particularly hungry after the altercation, but the last thing he needed was for Satoru to return to that manner. In the next few minutes, one of the other servants placed the cooked steak in front of him, and Satoru was quick to cut it using a knife. He pierced a fork into the meat before holding it in front of Naoya.
He took a bite.
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The night that their child was born was filled with cries. It was under the brightness of the moon that a son was born in the Gojo estate. The past two hours were nothing short of hell for Naoya, pain still echoing across his body as one of the midwives placed the crying infant onto his chest. He could feel tears dripping down his cheeks, and he brought his hand up to wipe the area, only for his fingers to remain dry. Naoya glanced higher, meeting the sight of Satoru staring down at them with an incredible amount of tears falling down his face. It was almost amusing, and Naoya would have laughed or mocked him if he weren’t so tired. That didn’t stop him from trying.
“What the fuck are you crying for? I was the one in labor for two hours.” Naoya grunted out, the child in his grasp beginning to settle down as he felt the presence of his mother. Small, grubby hands reached out and grabbed a strand of Naoya’s hair.
There was a pause around the room, the only sound being the shuffling of the midwives as they helped clean Naoya. Satoru bent down slowly, pressing a kiss that felt like a whisper onto Naoya’s lips. They stayed that way for so long that Naoya was sure his lips were numb. Only after a grunt of pain from Naoya did Satoru pull, not before pressing another kiss to his sweaty forehead. He probably looked like such a mess, but with the small pounding of the heart that mirrored his, it was hard for him to care.
“My beloved, you’re beautiful. Thank you so much for this blessing. He’s gorgeous, I guess he takes after his mother.” Satoru’s words were choked with emotion, reaching his fingers forward and gently caressing the child in between them. Naoya held no respect for the Gojo clan nor their noblesse oblige, but he did care for the child in his arms. And knew that this instinctual emotion was going to be the downfall for him.
This was the first time Naoya had seen Satoru cry, and given how Satoru had been infatuated with having multiple children, it wouldn’t be the last.
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The next time he met his father was the following year, when the cherry blossoms had bloomed across the Gojo estate. He sat across the table from Naobito, his once more swollen stomach a display of shame. His firstborn was laying across his lap, eyes shining with the same color of his father's. Their son was the spitting image of Satoru, as if Naoya’s genes didn’t even decide to put up a fight.
He could feel the gaze from his father, and his body shrank slightly. Satoru wasn’t present at the meeting as he was swept away with exorcising a curse spirit in Tokyo. And Naoya was grateful, for his husband would surely cause a commotion.
“Father, how have you been?” He asked slowly, the words sounding like nails on a chalkboard. Naoya was a prideful man, but even he understood the effect his father had on him. His father carried others' respect from the tips of his fingers to each strand of his greying hair, and Naoya was the only strain on his life.
“As usual. Your eldest brother has claimed the title of heir while you were off spreading your legs for the Gojo brat.” Naobito’s words were suffocating, and Naoya felt an inkling of anger at his father. For was it not he who had ushered him into such a role? And now that he had fulfilled the position given to him, he was a whore. The child in his lap looked up at Naoya, noticing the frown that was settling on his mother’s face.
“Why are you here?” Naoya asked, his voice devoid of any emotion that would expose how his heart began to clench uncomfortably. He didn’t expect his father to change so much in the manner of a year. Then again, Naoya had changed even more in the same year. He was a wife, a mother, a spectacle for his clan to stare and whisper about. His father didn’t respond, and the two Zenin staring at each other for prolonged seconds. Naoya knew why he was here. The older man was here to witness his son’s humiliation. The final nail in the coffin thoroughly removed all chances of Naoya returning to his past glory. Naobito glanced down at the child before glancing back up at Naoya. “Looks just like his father.”
“He does. His name is Kenji.” Naobito seemed unimpressed at the sight of the one-year-old who was latching onto his mother. The elder scoffed slightly as he assessed his grandson with a scowl, “Your Zenin genes didn’t even pass on. I’m starting to wonder if you’re my son at all.”
Naoya sucked in his breath, harsh words being held on the tip of his tongue. Was he wrong to think of himself as a man of power? Was he wrong to assume that he was an irreplaceable member of his clan? Was he wrong to think at all? Insecurity began to cover his senses, his heartbeat increasing as he slowly avoided eye contact with his father. It was almost amusing how he was already the mother of two children, and still searching for validation from his father, like he did when he as a child. A striking and painful sensation pricked at his heart; it was a feeling that he had never experienced, one that he wasn’t fond of experiencing again.
His attention was diverted to the door of the room as it slid open without notice. From the shadows emerged the familiar sight of Satoru, dressed in his usual black zip-up uniform. Naoya felt relief at the sight of his husband, and his straightened shoulders slightly relaxed as Satoru began to enter the room, plopping right next to Naoya.
Kenji babbled out happily, multiple “Dada”s leaving his lips as Satoru reached over to pick him up before placing him onto his own lap. The white-haired man threw his arm over Naoya’s waist, rubbing soothing circles on the bone of his hip. The Gojo heir tilted his head with a smile as he looked over to Naobito, “Father, it’s been a while. I know that we’re family, but you could have at the very least let me know you were visiting.” Naoya wasn’t sure what Satoru was doing at home since he was supposed to be gone for another few days, but in the moment, he was grateful for the figure beside him.
“Do I need a reason to see my son?” Naobito snapped back, his eyes clashing with light blue ones. Satoru laughed softly as he ruffled Kenji’s white hair that was of the same shade as his own, “I never said that, father-in-law. But as you can tell, my wife is pregnant, so it’s best to avoid stressors.”
Naobito’s eyes squinted slightly at the words, anger evident in the harsh tone of his voice, “What does that mean? I’m his father, not the core of stress or whatever bullshit you’re trying to imply.”
Satoru whistled softly in response, his pale fingers clenching slightly harder around Naoya’s hip. The brunette glanced over at his husband, and despite the smile that the white-haired man showed, he knew that the other man wasn’t exactly thrilled. Naoya looked back at his father before sucking in another breath, “I think you should leave, it’s getting late.”
Naobito huffed loudly as he quickly shot up from the ground, “Fine, as the wife wishes. I didn’t expect my own son to throw his own father out of his home. But that’s what engaging in sodomy gets you.” With those incriminating and bitter words, Naobito exited the room, his light steps leaving heavy marks on Naoya’s heart. Satoru was quick to steal Naoya’s attention and lips, the kiss chaste and sweet, like the candies that he would sneak to Kenji when both of them thought Naoya wasn’t looking.
“Your father is such an ass.” Satoru sighed, an unusual expression of annoyance painting his handsome face. Naoya wasn’t ecstatic at the dig toward his father, but he didn’t retaliate; his father was a strong personality, for sure. “You didn’t have to provoke him like that, Satoru,” Naoya whispered as he stared into lakes of blue. His husband let a smirk overtake his pink lips, shrugging slightly as he leaned in and started to bite down softly on Naoya’s neck.
“It’s hilarious to see your old man like that. Maybe I should kiss you next time, he’d get a heart attack and finally be out of our hair.” Naoya frowned softly as anyone would when the discussion leaned to his father's death, but he didn’t move from the spot, letting Satoru make a scene of his neck. Before he could respond, Kenji quickly squeezed in between the couple, wanting a piece of the affection being shared. The child wedged himself and plopped between Satoru and Naoya, his small body sprawled over both of his parents' laps. Naoya felt an upward curve of his lips as he ran fingers across their son’s white locks. “Such a spoiled baby, I wonder where he got it from.”
Satoru glanced to the side guiltily, trying to act like he wasn’t the reason why Kenji had new toys every week, even when Naoya complained that he wouldn’t play with them. Satoru coughed uncomfortably before speaking, “Maybe we should go on a family trip, sweetheart. How’s Okinawa? A break from all the stupid and boring shit. Just you, me, Kenji, and our little bun in the oven.” Naoya made a face at Satoru’s words, shaking his head slightly as he responded. “First of all, don’t call our baby ‘bun in the oven’ and second, alright.”
Satoru basically jumped on Naoya, taking Kenji along for the fall. All three-four members of the family were squashed onto the ground as Satoru began to kiss Naoya’s cheeks incessantly, stopping every few seconds to torture Kenji with the same action. And despite Naoya truly trying to keep a straight face, he couldn’t help but laugh softly as he held onto his family a little tighter.
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“Wait. So, you’re related to Maki and Mai senpai?” Nobara’s voice cut through the tension as she stared at Naoya with her eyes widened. The pregnant man thought about her words, he hadn’t thought about the twins in a long time, well, not since he had to think at all. Naoya nodded his head at her word, letting Satoru nuzzle into his neck like a starved man.
“Yes, I believe that they’re my cousins. Though, I haven’t kept in touch with them. Last time I saw them was when they were around Haruto’s age.” Naoya replied, glancing over to the boy who was playing with his brothers. He looked to be around 7. The man didn’t ask how the girls were doing, simply because he couldn’t seem to care. He had other things to prioritize, like how Haruto was already starting a fight with Kenji. Their middle child was a troublemaker like his father, always throwing fits. After a rough push, Kenji fell onto the ground, scraping his knee in the process. Their oldest was only a year older so it explained Haruto’s refusal to treat his brother like it. Naoya tried to be understanding; he was rowdy with his brothers as well, and a sigh left his lips before he tried to reprimand the child.
“Haruto. Come here.”
Satoru’s voice rang across the estate like law as the child flinched at the sound of his father’s words. Nevertheless, he slowly walked over to where Satoru and Naoya were standing, his face already full of shame and regret. Satoru didn’t care to bend down like how he would when talking with the children. Rather, he let his imposing figure intimidate Haruto, almost like his punishment. “Why’d you push your brother?”
Haruto began to stammer softly, eyes glancing at Naoya with hope that he would come to his assistance. Naoya could never say no to his sons so he bent down to carry Haruto in his arms. “Satoru, you’re being extra. You know that they’re just playing. I used to get pushed around by my brothers all the time.”
“That doesn’t change anything, honey. They’re not babies anymore; there won’t be any fighting between them. I thought I made that clear.” Satoru grunted out, his eyes glancing accusingly at Haruto, who quickly turned to hide his face in his mother’s neck. Naoya tsked softly at Satoru’s words, using his free hand to push the other male softly.
“Stop it. They might be getting older, but they’re still my babies.” Naoya reminded Satoru with a soft frown that was returned with Satoru’s own pout. “But, I’m your baby too…..” The brunette’s lips quirked with disgust as he took a few steps back. “You’re a grown ass man, by the way.”
Naoya shivered softly before nudging Hatuto to look at him, “Don’t be mean to your older brother, Haru. He really loves you, so be good, alright?” The child nodded his head as Naoya placed him onto the ground, watching as Haruto rushed back to the swings. Satoru quickly enveloped Naoya in a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist as he continued pouting. “Baby, you don’t ever say ‘I love you’ anymore. It’s like you don’t like me anymore.”
Naoya rolled his eyes slightly at the shameful display that Satoru was putting on, especially in front of his students, but leaned in slightly to offer a chaste kiss, a treaty of peace of sorts. “Yes, because if I hated you so much, I would have four children with you.” He reprimanded Satoru softly, who perked up immediately at the kiss.
Yuji watched the exchange silently with his teammates, noting how immature Satoru Gojo really could be. It seemed like out of everyone in the whole world, Naoya Gojo was the only one who could ever satiate the hunger of such an infinite beast. Satoru Gojo was nothing short of an enigma that no one could even begin to understand. But, Naoya had him wrapped around his ring finger. Satoru Gojo knew his wife as he understood rainfall before the first droplet. Each expression that Naoya Gojo made would be burned into his retina for the rest of his days.
Every strand of Naoya Gojo’s hair was more valuable than a life in Satoru Gojo’s eyes; that’s why Yuji never understood why he stood by while Maki massacred the Zenin clan.