💜🌙 Child Of The Shadow — Macaque X GN Reader (As Parents) HCs 🌙💜

ranking types of hugs he'd be comfortable with another guy giving his gf! a gojo satoru fic/drabble

cw: gojo x reader, established relationship, fluff LOLLL, gojo being a pathetic loser for his gf, use of baby, babe, reader referred to as gf and wears makeup, gojo being jealous, crack, based off this (instagram link)

"Ranking types of hugs I'd be comfortable with another guy giving my girlfriend." Satoru squints at the scene, reading out the caption on the TikTok as he watches the guy on the screen, long ass spider legs laid out on the couch while waiting for you to get ready. Curiously, he clicks on the filter without fully watching the video and starts filming to generate the different types of hugs.

"A back hug." The curious smile on his face slowly fades away as a grimace takes place as he gains the thousand yard stare. "Nine. Okay, not at a good start so far—"

He groans, face scrunching in pain as he exhales out at what he sees on the screen: slow dance hug. Then, he imagines you, a man's hand on your waist and you smiling just like those stupid fucking drawings at someone who's not him—"Ten. Oh my fucking god."

Clutching the lower half of his face, he looks concentrated as he waits for the shuffler to give him some less painful option, groaning in pain once again, looking back at the scene, and then groaning again. "One armed hug," he strains out, blindly reaching for the lowest number he could rank it as.

The filter shuffles yet again, and he's almost in tears, groaning immediately on instinct but then doubling back at his screen. "Polite hug." He contemplates it. "Okay, a two, not so bad, not so—"

A pause. "A classic hug." He stares at the screen like it just betrayed him, until he decides it's not so bad. Reluctantly, he ranks it at three.

Then, he waits for the filter to give him another painful vision, and it delivers. "A slow catcher hug—oh my godddd." Satoru is shaking his head, eyes teary as he groans loudly at the though of you jumping up to another man, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him in for a hug. If someone was listening to him, it would seem like he was dying with the way he was covering his mouth, shaking his head, and exclaiming "what the fuck"'s as he stared at his phone screen in sheer shock.

Unfortunately for you, you were within earshot, blending in your blush and doing finishing touches as you heard Satoru's shrieks coming in from the living room. He seemed to be on the edge of tears, and worriedly, you set down your brush and rushed to where his sobs were coming from.

And there he was: in fetal position, phone on the floor as he shook his head as if in shock. "Baby," you hurried to him, grabbing his face so you could figure out what was making him so distressed.

He didn't seem to be injured as he meets your eyes, upset. "I can't do this bruh," he laments while turning to be on his back and rubbing his eyes. You just look at him confused.

"Do what?"

He turns, and pauses. Scans you in your champagne dress for the fancy place he was taking you and the way you did your makeup so sultry. It's just for him, but after the events of that Tiktok—that's now stopped filming—all he feels is petty jealousy because other guys can see you like this.

Out of nowhere, he declares, "I can fight."

You blink. "What?"

"I can fight," he repeats, nodding emphatically as if trying to convince himself. Then, after a beat: "Why do I have such a pretty girlfriend?" He groans again, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Baby, why do you look so good right now?"

While he does this, you inspect him for any signs of injuries or things that could've caused him this much distress. Feeling his forehead while he continues on his rambling and moaning, you decide he's not immediately dying and then get up to return to your vanity.

Used to his theatrics, you sigh and pat his cheek. "I’m going to finish getting ready," you say, deciding he’s not in mortal peril after all.

As you return to your vanity, Satoru calls after you, still sulking. "Just so you know, I ranked the polite hug at two. Because I love you. And I can fight."

"Good to know, Satoru."

a/n lowk spiderman!gojo coded. i love writing fluff i would lowk want to write this for nanami i feel like he would slowly grow more and more jealous LMAOAO

18+ MDNI, fem!reader

having this really specific — and kind of goofy — thought about getting a tiny rubber duck as like a joke gift for your boyfriend yuuji, and him making sure it’s turned around whenever you guys fuck in the shower.

you’re having a full blown make out session and the water is hot as it runs down you both — yes, you’re squeezed together that tightly. his pink hair is dripping wet, it sticks to his forehead, and his mouth has formed into this adorable ‘o’ shape as he pants and stammers and grunts from how good your touch feels as you stroke him.

he’s got one palm pressed against the tiles that you’re leaning against, the other one is cupping your pussy. his fingers lazily circle your clit as his tongue tangles with yours; the tips nudging your warm entrance every so often and gathering the sticky arousal there before it can be washed away by the water because he knows he won’t be able to push that fat cock of his into you otherwise when the time comes for it.

however, when that time does indeed come and you hint at getting slammed, yuuji is pulling back, his honey-coloured eyes suddenly open wide. he’s still breathing like he’s just ran a marathon instead of standing in the shower and his broad chest heaves up and down as he turns his head to the side in one sharp movement; right in the direction of the spot where you both keep your shampoo bottles.

“yuuji…? what’s wrong?” you ask, eyelids still heavy with lust. it makes your vision somewhat blurry.

“just a sec,” he rasps, searching amongst the bottles. “gotta make sure we don’t have an audience.”

“an audience?” you repeat.

“yep!” he says, popping the p. “i meant this little sucker right… here.”

after a little rummaging, he finds the thing he’s been looking for: a small rubber ducky that you’d gotten him months ago as a means to cheer him up after he’d had a particularly bad day.

you watch, brow quirked in quiet amusement, as he carefully flips it around then, making sure it remains in the same exact spot, but this time with its little beak turned towards the shower wall instead of you.

he treats it with such care, like it’s made out of gold instead of plain vinyl. knowing him, he probably does see it that way and it makes you huff a laugh.

he’s just so goddamn endearing, isn’t he?

seemingly pleased with his actions, yuuji swiftly focuses his attention back to you. he smiles that beaming lover boy grin that you feel weak in the knees for, and his hands are loving but firm as he grabs you by the hips, silently urging you to press your front against the tiles instead of your back.

“okay, your turn now.”

with how hard he is, something tells you he won’t treat you as gently as he did his present.

We need that draft. Feed us mother.

Adonis was barely a few months old, yet he was already proving to be an expert at causing chaos. No matter how closely y/n or Telemachus watched him, the moment their attention slipped, the baby would somehow vanish from where he was placed, crawling off to explore the vast palace with an alarming speed and determination.“Where’s Adonis?” She asked, her voice laced with panic as she spun around the room. The play mat they had placed him on was empty, the soft rattle he had been holding abandoned like a forgotten relic.

Telemachus sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “This kid’s going to be the death of me,” he muttered, scanning the floor for any sign of their rogue son.

“Adonis!” She called, crouching to peek under a table. “How does he keep doing this? He’s a baby! He shouldn’t be this fast!”

Telemachus crossed his arms and frowned. “You say that, but you carried him for nine months. Speed clearly runs in your side of the family.”

“Excuse me?” She shot him a look before continuing her frantic search.

A muffled giggle caught their attention. Telemachus froze and cocked his head toward the sound. “There,” he said, pointing toward the curtains billowing near the open window.

She gasped. “If he’s near that window—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Telemachus was already striding over. He yanked the curtain aside to find Adonis sitting there happily, gnawing on the edge of the fabric. “Gotcha!” Telemachus exclaimed, scooping the baby up. Adonis squealed with delight, clearly thrilled with himself for being found.

“You little troublemaker!” She said, placing her hands on her hips as she marched over. “Do you know how much you scare us when you do this?”Adonis responded by reaching up and grabbing a handful of Telemachus’s hair, yanking hard.

“By the gods, he’s strong for his size,” Telemachus grumbled, wincing as she tried to pry Adonis’s tiny fingers loose. But before they could even breathe a sigh of relief, Adonis wriggled like a slippery fish in Telemachus’s grip.

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,” Telemachus said, tightening his hold. But Adonis started fussing, flailing his chubby arms and legs.

“He’s going to keep doing this,” she said with a resigned sigh. “I swear, he’s going to find a way to crawl out of the palace entirely one day.”

“And then he’ll probably start a war by accidentally insulting some visiting diplomat,” Telemachus added, half joking but mostly serious. They tried to settle Adonis back onto his mat, surrounding him with toys and cushions to create a barrier. But as soon as they turned their backs for a second, they heard the telltale rustle of movement.

She groaned, spinning around to see Adonis once again halfway across the room, heading straight for an overturned vase that had yet to be cleaned up. “How does he do this?!” Telemachus exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

She dashed after Adonis and scooped him up just as he reached the vase. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?” she said, laughing despite her exasperation. Adonis looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

Telemachus walked over, shaking his head but smiling. “He’s got your stubbornness, that’s for sure.”

“And your talent for getting into trouble,” she shot back, adjusting Adonis on her hip. The baby, apparently satisfied with his latest adventure, yawned and rested his head on her shoulder.

“For now, he rests,” Telemachus said dramatically, “but tomorrow, the chaos resumes.”

“Tomorrow?” She raised an eyebrow. “Try five minutes.” They both laughed as they carried their little mischief maker out of the room, knowing full well this was only the beginning of Adonis’s knack for trouble.

——

The next day, Adonis was at it again, proving once more that no barrier, no distraction, and no watchful eye could stop him. Y/n had only turned away for a moment to grab a fresh tunic for him, and in that short span of time, Adonis had vanished. “Telemachus!” She called out, frantic.

Telemachus appeared in the doorway, chewing on an apple. “What now?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Adonis is gone again!” she said, her voice trembling as she paced around the room.

Telemachus groaned, tossing the apple aside. “Where could he possibly have gone this time? We’ve blocked off the stairs, locked the storage rooms, and put cushions everywhere to trap him!” As if on cue, a palace guard peeked his head through the open door, looking sheepish. “Uh… my queen, your son was spotted heading toward the dungeon.”

Both parents froze.

“The dungeon?” She repeated, horrified.

Telemachus’s face darkened. “You mean he’s down there with Antinous?”

Before the guard could stammer out a response, she was already running, her heart pounding as she raced toward the dark, cold hallways beneath the palace. Telemachus followed close behind, muttering curses under his breath. Sure enough, when they reached the dungeon, they were greeted by an unexpected sight: Adonis sitting on the filthy ground, giggling and babbling nonsensically as Antinous sat cross legged in front of him, the bars dividing them.

“What the—” Telemachus started, but she held up a hand to stop him. Antinous looked up, his usual scowl replaced by a strange mix of confusion and irritation. “Your kid,” he said flatly, nodding toward Adonis, “just crawled in here and started treating me like some kind of playmate.”

She ran forward, scooping up Adonis into her arms. “Oh, Adonis, you can’t be down here!” she scolded gently, though she was visibly relieved to find him safe.

Antinous raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall. “You should keep a closer eye on him, sister. He could’ve gotten himself hurt.”

Telemachus crossed his arms, glaring at Antinous. “You’re one to talk about safety. You’re the one chained in a dungeon for plotting murder.”

Antinous’s lip curled into a smirk. “And yet, somehow, I’m still more capable of watching your child than you are.”

“Don’t push me,” Telemachus growled, stepping closer.

“Telemachus, not now!” She said sharply, shifting Adonis in her arms. Adonis, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room, reached out toward Antinous and babbled something unintelligible.

Antinous raised his eyebrows and let out a small, humorless laugh. “He’s bold, I’ll give him that. Takes after me, I suppose.”

Telemachus scoffed. “If he takes after you, I’m throwing him off a wall.”

She shot him a glare. “Telemachus!?”

“What? He shouldn’t be down here, and he definitely shouldn’t be fraternizing with the prisoner,” Telemachus shot back, gesturing toward Antinous.

Antinous rolled his eyes. “Relax, prince. It’s not like I’m going to corrupt the kid with my evil ways. He’s already crawling into trouble all on his own.”

She sighed, adjusting Adonis on her hip. “This isn’t a joke, Antinous. He’s just a baby.”

“He’s your baby,” Antinous corrected, his tone softening slightly as he looked at his nephew. “And despite who his father is, I suppose he’s… tolerable.” Telemachus bristled but said nothing, though his clenched fists spoke volumes.

, ignoring the tension, she smiled faintly at her brother. “Thank you for not… you know, yelling at him or scaring him.”

Antinous shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “He’s family, isn’t he? As much as I hate to admit it.”

Adonis reached out again, his tiny fingers grabbing hold of Antinous’s tunic. For a moment, Antinous didn’t move, simply staring down at the baby. Then, with a resigned sigh, he let Adonis pull at the fabric. “Take him back upstairs before he decides the dungeon is his new favorite playground,” Antinous muttered.

She nodded and kissed Adonis’s head. “Say goodbye to your uncle,” she said softly. Adonis responded with a loud squeal, clearly delighted with his adventure.

As they turned to leave, Telemachus lagged behind for a moment, fixing Antinous with a sharp glare. “You’re lucky he’s here, or I’d be reminding you exactly why you’re chained to that wall.” Antinous smirked, tilting his head. “And you’re lucky you’re married to my sister, or I’d have gutted you long before now.”

“Charming,” Telemachus said dryly before following her up the stairs, muttering under his breath about locking every door in the palace. Adonis, meanwhile, babbled happily in her arms, blissfully unaware of the chaos he’d left in his wake.

——

Late at night, when the palace was quiet and y/n and Telemachus were sound asleep, little Adonis was wide awake. The curious toddler had managed to wriggle out of his crib, determined to explore his favorite place—the dungeon. Somehow, his tiny legs managed to navigate the dark halls without stumbling, and before long, he found himself at the barred doorway of Antinous’s cell.

Antinous, sitting in his usual chained position against the wall, heard the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet. He raised his head, narrowing his eyes at the small figure in the faint torchlight. “Well, well. Look who’s back,” he muttered. “The little prince of trouble.” Adonis, giggling, crawled through the narrow gap in the bars and toddled over to Antinous, his chubby hands reaching for his uncle.

Antinous sighed but couldn’t suppress a faint smirk. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. Alright, kid. You want to learn something useful?” He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Repeat after me: Te-le-ma-chus is a whore.”

Adonis blinked at him, tilting his head. “Whoo-ah?” he echoed, his voice high-pitched and uncertain.

Antinous chuckled, his smirk growing. “Close enough. Let’s try again. Whore. Say it.”

“Whooo-ah!” Adonis squealed, clapping his hands.

Antinous grinned wickedly. “Good. Now, put it all together: Telemachus is a whore.”

“Te-le… ma… kooos… whoo-ah!” Adonis babbled triumphantly.

“Perfect!” Antinous said, his tone mockingly cheerful. “You’re a natural, kid. Keep it up, and you’ll be my favorite nephew for sure.”

Unbeknownst to them, y/n and Telemachus were already awake, frantically searching the palace for their runaway son. When they finally realized where he’d gone, she nearly fainted from exasperation, and Telemachus turned a dangerous shade of red. They stormed down to the dungeon together, their footsteps echoing ominously through the stone corridors. When they reached the cell, she gasped, spotting Adonis happily babbling at Antinous, who looked far too smug for someone in chains.

“Adonis!” She cried, rushing to scoop him up. “What are you doing down here?”

Antinous shrugged nonchalantly. “Having a little uncle-nephew bonding time. Nothing to worry about.”

Telemachus glared daggers at him. “What did you teach him, Antinous?”

Before Antinous could respond, Adonis clapped his tiny hands and proudly declared, “Te-le-ma-kooos whoo-ah!”

The room fell into stunned silence. Her eyes widened in horror, while Telemachus’s jaw dropped. “What… did he just say?” Telemachus asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Te-le-ma-kooos whoo-ah!” Adonis repeated cheerfully, pointing at his father with a giggle.

Antinous burst out laughing, his head falling back against the wall as he howled with amusement. “Oh, that’s priceless! Absolutely priceless!”

She turned to Antinous, furious. “You taught my son to call his father a whore?!”

Antinous raised his shackled hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I’m just expanding his vocabulary. You should be thanking me.”

Telemachus was fuming, his face red as a ripe pomegranate. “I swear, Antinous, the moment you step out of that cell, I’m going to—”

“Whore!” Adonis interrupted, pointing at Telemachus again with a squeal of delight.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Adonis, no. That’s a bad word. We don’t say that.”

“Whoo-ah!” Adonis repeated stubbornly.

Telemachus glared at Antinous. “You’re lucky y/n’s here, or you’d be dead.”

Antinous smirked. “Oh, come on. He’s got your attitude, Telemachus. Be proud.”

She shook her head, holding Adonis close. “We’re leaving. Now.”

As she carried Adonis toward the stairs, Telemachus lingered for a moment, leaning into the cell bars with a deadly glare. “I hope you rot in here forever, you bastard.”

Antinous grinned lazily. “Tell your son I said ‘goodnight.’ And maybe teach him some manners next time.” Telemachus stormed after her, muttering every curse he knew under his breath. Meanwhile, Antinous leaned back against the wall, his laughter echoing through the dungeon long after they were gone.

——

As her and Telemachus made their way back up the stairs, a heavy silence hung between them. She held Adonis close, her son now blissfully unaware of the chaos he’d just caused, his tiny hands playing with the edges of her dress. Telemachus walked beside her, his steps heavy, his expression an unreadable mix of exasperation and disbelief. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice hesitant. “So… I guess we have to face it.”

“Face what?” Telemachus snapped, though he already knew the answer.

“Adonis’s first word,” she said, her voice strained with the effort to sound calm. “It was… uh… ‘whore.’”

Telemachus groaned, rubbing his temples. “Out of all the words—ALL THE WORDS—his first word had to be that! Of course, it’s that! I blame your brother.”

“You’re acting like I’m happy about it!” She shot back, her voice defensive. “I didn’t exactly want his first word to be a slur against you!”

“Well, it was,” Telemachus grumbled, crossing his arms. “And now I’m going to have to live with the fact that the first coherent thing my son ever said was an insult. Directed at me.”

She sighed, trying to balance frustration and guilt. “Maybe he won’t remember it? He’s just a baby.”

“Oh, no,” Telemachus said bitterly, throwing up his hands. “You know Antinous is going to make sure he remembers it. He’ll find a way to remind him every chance he gets. ‘Hey, Adonis, remember when you called your dad a whore?’ That’s going to be his favorite story.”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, I already told you not to let my brother get under your skin. Why are you letting him win? He’s literally in a dungeon, Telemachus.”

“That doesn’t stop him from being insufferable!” Telemachus snapped, before pausing, glancing at Adonis. The boy had been babbling nonsense under his breath, but now he was looking directly at his father, smiling brightly.

“Whoo-ah!” Adonis squealed, pointing at Telemachus with enthusiasm.

“Oh, for the love of the gods!” Telemachus groaned, throwing his head back in despair. “He’s proud of it now! He thinks it’s a game!”

She bit her lip, struggling to suppress the laugh bubbling up in her throat. “You have to admit,” she said carefully, “it’s kind of… funny?”

Telemachus glared at her. “Funny? FUNNY? Y/n, our son just insulted me with his first word. That’s not funny. That’s tragic!”

She couldn’t hold back any longer. She burst out laughing, clutching Adonis tighter to her chest. “I’m sorry, I really am,” she said between laughs. “But this is exactly the kind of thing that’s going to be hilarious years from now.”

“Years from now?!” Telemachus repeated, his voice climbing an octave. “I have to endure years of people bringing this up?! Do you realize what my father’s going to say when he finds out? Or the entire court? I’ll never live this down!”

Still giggling, she reached over to squeeze his arm. “You’re being dramatic. It’s just a word. He’s a baby, Telemachus.”

“He’s our baby,” Telemachus retorted, glowering at Adonis, who grinned innocently back at him. “And this is how he starts his life? By humiliating me?”

She leaned closer, her smile softening. “Well, at least he’s ambitious. He’s already following in your footsteps.”

Telemachus blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged playfully. “He’s already knocking down his enemies, one word at a time. Just like you.”

For a moment, Telemachus considered that. Then, reluctantly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it’s better than him saying ‘Antinous.’”

“There you go,” Pandora said with a grin. “It could always be worse.” Adonis cooed again, reaching out toward his father. Telemachus hesitated, then sighed and gently took the boy into his arms. He looked down at his son’s wide, curious eyes, and despite himself, he couldn’t stay mad.

“Alright, kid,” he muttered. “But if your second word is anything else Antinous teaches you, I’m going to lock you in that crib until you’re thirty.”Adonis giggled, grabbing at Telemachus’s nose.

She wrapped an arm around Telemachus’s waist, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You’re a good dad, you know. Even if your son called you a whore.”

Telemachus snorted. “And you’re a great mom, letting him wander into a dungeon.”

She poked his side. “Hey, don’t start. It’s your fault too.” As they walked back to their chambers, Adonis babbled happily in Telemachus’s arms. Telemachus couldn’t help but glare at him one last time when the word “whore” slipped out again, but her laughter made the whole thing a little easier to bear

@simpformoonkight

Frowny Face

Summary: Nobara and Itadori try to figure out the similarities between Megumi and his son. They manage to find that the infamous Zen'in frowny face is a dominant trait.

Tags: Megumi x F!Reader, Humor, Fluff, SFW, 1200 wc

Notes: I had this drafted for weeks. After seeing the epilogue and the grandkids, wish I had posted sooner, I felt there wasn't a more appropriate time for this. Happy belated-birthday 'gumi.

“No, no, look again, he definitely has his eyes,” Itadori points out.

Nobara lowers her face towards the baby currently blinking at the two of them from the comfort of his plush crib. Megumi stands off to the side, arms loosely crossed over his chest and an increasingly spreading scowl as his two friends, if he could call them that right now, poke and prod at his kid.

Nobara was the first one to point out how much his child was growing and starting to resemble his parents before noticing that his new emerging features leaned heavily to your side of the family, leading to this search to pick out their similarities.

“I’m not seeing it,” Nobara disagrees, failing to find the hint of dark blue that Itadori swears he can see in the baby’s right pupil. To her, all she can see is black all the way through both eyes, like the majority of the Zen’in clan geezers from those centuries old family books she helped Maki trash; unfortunately, this didn't include Megumi so they couldn't even count it. With a hand on her hip, she turns to Megumi. “Sheesh, he doesn’t resemble you at all. The misses really said copy and paste, huh?”  

Megumi huffs, about three seconds away from shooing them into the kitchen where you’re making dinner. That’s until Itadori pipes up, “Sure he does.” And for a second, Megumi thinks they’ll finally drop this silly discussion. “He has the same grumpy face his dad does.”

Megumi sighs. He should’ve known better.

“Now that you mention it,” Kugisaki can barely contain her laughter as she reaches into the crib and gently pinches a chubby cheek. Your son makes no expression at her playful squeeze or poke to his belly. His tiny legs kick the same way any other baby would when tickled, but the flat line on his face refuses to budge. “This is the least smiley baby I’ve ever seen,” she concludes while Itadori nods in agreement as he goes in to tickle the baby’s foot – just to make sure.

Megumi knows the two idiots don’t mean any harm by it, being the person to receive the brunt end of their jokes and observations over his life, the kind that can only be made out of innocent obliviousness and overconfidence, but he can’t help but feel more defensive when it’s his kid.

“Do you two have nothing better to do than to shame a baby?” he gripes. “It’s late, go home.”

“Oh, lighten up, we were only teasing. He’s adorable,” Nobara dismisses as she notes how much bigger her future-partner-in-crime has become over the past few months. Looking back on it, she can’t recall any time she’s heard him laugh or much of anything. Sure, she’s seen him get fussy while babysitting, but she’s rarely heard him cry. “But you have to admit he isn’t very expressive…for a baby,” she mentions with a hint of concern, concern that isn’t needed from Megumi’s point of view.

“Maybe you two just aren’t funny,” he says, watching the way Itadori attempts to get his son to laugh by making silly faces; it results in little more than a fist full of pink hair getting tugged.

“I’m being serious. I mean…” she tilts her head, trying to word it delicately. “Does he smile at all?”

Megumi nods. “He smiles.”

“Does he?” Itadori presses, craning his neck as he struggles to free his hair.

“He does,” Megumi repeats, his eyes softening at the memory of that innocent and joyful giggle he first heard like an unimaginable dream come true. “It’s just when you’re not around.”

Nobara rubs at the back of her neck apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it. He’s a good baby,” she compliments before moving to help free Itadori’s hair from his iron-like grip. “And strong too,” she adds, looks at him, and clicks her tongue when she once again fails to find the bit of blue Itadori mentioned earlier, but it provides an opportunity to cut through the awkwardness they unwittingly created. She fakes a sigh. “Unlike your genes. I don’t think they even had a battle plan.”

“Very funny,” he puffs out between their chuckles then he hears another voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.

“That’s not true,” you say as you pad into the room with a milk bottle in hand, the grin on your face trembling as you try not to laugh with them. “They have a lot in common.” You begin to list off on your fingers. “They both like the same fruit and animals, he really likes books when you read to him, and do you think his hair maintains itself?”

Nobara breathes out an "oh" at your explanation. “So, he gets mom's good looks to balance out dad's aloof personality? Makes sense."

Your resistance breaks as you let out a giggle, ignoring the pout on your husband’s face. “Are you guys staying for dinner?”

“No, we should really get going,” Nobara states with a small yawn. “Mission reports won’t write themselves.”

You nod, handing Megumi the bottle of milk as you walk the others to the door and wave them off.

“Have a good night,” Itadori calls out while Nobara makes you promise to phone her tomorrow and to come hang out if you’re free.

Locking the door, you walk back in and head towards the crib.

“You really shouldn’t entertain them when they get like that," Megumi reminds you.

“You know they only do it to mess with you. It’s how they show they like you.”

“You mean they’re idiots.”

“Yet you open the door right up every time they come over.”

Megumi gives you a doubtful look. “Not by choice. It’d be like trying to stop a rampaging bull from barging in,” Megumi states, and you let out an amused huff. 

No matter how much he complains and comments that they haven't changed one bit after leaving school, he enjoys them. You remember how excited he seemed when Itadori called to ask if it was okay to pop in since they were nearby. Well, excited in that he immediately started to straighten out the house even though he had already cleaned earlier that morning. It's cute little quirks that often gives him away and the ones that make you like him even more.

“If it makes you feel better, I think you have a great personality and good looks,” you compliment with a brush of your hand over his hair. You look down at your son, who still seem unmoved by all the events of the evening. It makes you laugh because Nobara and Itadori were right. Your son does have Megumi’s ever-dull facial expression. 

“And both my boys have the cutest frowny faces,” you say, holding up your son to your face to nuzzle his nose. As you pull him away, your eyes brighten at the wide smile that flashes on his face followed by a warm giggle. “Hello to you too,” you coo and cuddle him again, causing another fit of giggles to fill the room, and the sound resonates in his chest and makes him forget any problems that arose on the way to getting to this point in his life.

“You forgot to tell them one thing,” Megumi says, coming forward to kiss your temple. As he told the others, his son does smile, and Megumi does too. “They both smile when they see mommy.”

waiting outside the car while u wait for their boner to go down after u kissed them

ʚ incl: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, higuruma, shiu, ino, uraume, ijichi

ʚ cont: suggestiveness, crack

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

When the moon fades, the stars guide

Part 1

Part two of "How does a moon lose its shine?"

Summary: When the chaos went down, what led up to it? And what will happen next in the dark, metal casements of the Tulpar?

Pairing: Father figure! Swansea x reader

a/n: ask and you shall receive~ thanks for y'all's patience!!

Trigger warning: Depictions of sexual abuse and violence. There are no explicit scenes of the rape itself but the trauma and experience of y/n is very much described. Please take care of yourselves while reading <3<3

Day of Departure

The Tulpar’s engines hummed steadily, a sound you came to think of as the freighter’s heartbeat. Three years on this ship, and it started to feel like a second skin at this point. But still, every haul gives you that faint, familiar buzz of excitement, like the thrill of stepping into something bigger than yourself. Responsibility.

You leaned against the inventory console, triple-checking your clipboard. Rows of numbers and codes blurred together, but the satisfaction of seeing everything in order made the strain worth it.

"So, you’re the famous Y/N," a voice chirped behind you.

You turned to find Daisuke, the new mechanic intern that Curly told the crew about. He looked barely out of his teens, his uniform covered with a bright yellow hawaian-patterned shirt that he somehow managed to smuggle and had a grin a little too wide. Newbie's buzz, you thought.

"And you’re the new grease monkey," you teased, extending a hand.

"Mechanic-in-training," he corrected, shaking your hand with exaggerated seriousness. "Big difference."

Swansea scoffed from the other side of the utility room, tinkering away with a coolant valve. "Big talk for a kid who just learned what a carburetor is."

"I thought it was a coffee maker for cars," Daisuke mumbled to you, pouting.

Biting back a laugh, you shot Swansea a grin that practically dared him to roll his eyes. He didn’t disappoint.

Jimmy entered the room, clipboard in hand. His presence had always been grounding, his confidence infectious. He nodded at you as he passed. "Inventory’s in good hands, as usual."

"As if you’d trust anyone else," you replied, your tone light but your chest warming at the compliment. He smirked, tapping the clipboard.

The ship’s intercom crackled to life. "Alright, folks," Curly’s voice boomed. "Buckle up, we're launching at five."

Your hand froze on the console. No matter how many times you’d done this, the Tulpar's jump during the launch always lit something in you. The co-pilot once commented how you're like a puppy with a treat dangling in front of you.

As a kid, you’d been obsessed with the idea of outer space. Not in a “memorizing star charts” kind of way, but in a way where you just admired them every night that you gazed at the night sky.

Whenever you see pictures of galaxies, stars, or any heavenly body, it was like looking at something familiar, something that made sense to you. The outer space wasn’t just an escape; it was home.

Anya appeared at your side, her medical bag slung over one shoulder. She flashed a small smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Let me guess," she said, her voice relaxed. "Gonna watch the Earth fade away again, huh?"

"Every. Damn. Time." You nudged her playfully, earning a laugh.

"Swansea's really rubbing on you with those words."

When the Tulpar lurched, you gripped the edge of the console, your gaze already flicking toward the viewport. For a moment, the universe stretched out in every direction, infinite and vast. You couldn’t help the grin on your face.

Out here, it all felt right. The stars, the ship, the crew… they all came together in a way that felt as natural as breathing. For now, at least, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

One Month After the Crash

When you thought things were about to get better the night you broke down, helpless, at the lounge... you were desperately wrong. Somehow, the man who betrayed you, the monster you treated as a friend, a mentor—hell, even family—claimed Curly's title and is set loose.

And now? You were cowering at the corner of the utility room, covering your ears as the voices outside grew louder with every passing minute. Funny how one voice made you gag and the other made you feel secure.

“Come on, Swansea. I told you, I’m not gonna hurt Y/N, alrig—”

“If you’ve got a death wish,” Swansea’s voice, low and bristling, cut through the tension. “Keep yappin’.”

It had been a month. A month of watching your back. A month of slipping between rooms, dodging Jimmy’s shadow, a sick game you were forced to play with him. But it was also a month of being under the mechanic’s wing, always having him or Daisuke by your side when checking inventories, because almost facing your deaths just days ago wasn’t enough reason to stop your job. Or being in the locked medbay with Anya when both your guards were busy.

“Look, I just wanna make things right,” Jimmy said, his tone too smooth, too practiced. “Curly’s out of commission, and now, as captain, it’s my job to take responsibility for what I’ve done.”

For a second, your stomach twisted at the pause. Would Swansea actually believe him? Could he? You strained to hear the older man’s reply, then there it was.

It started weak, the soft wheezing sounds went through the metal wall. It grew louder, rougher, until it was a full-blown, bitter laugh that rattled the air. Guilt filled your chest—why would you even ever doubt him after all he's done?

"What a fuckin' joke. Know what? If yer that desperate to play captain, wanna tell me how the ol' Tulpar really crashed?"

Silence. Not even a breath from Jimmy. Then, heavy, angry stomps faded down the hall.

For a solid ten minutes, you stayed frozen, your pulse loud in your ears. The air in the utility room felt thick, clinging to your skin. Then the door hissed open.

“That roach’s got some nerve,” Swansea muttered, stepping inside. His face was carved with exhaustion, but his sharp eyes softened when he met yours. He offered a tired smile, and you returned it, grateful.

"You shouldn’t be out here," Swansea grumbled, his eyes scanning the corridor as he steered you back toward the medbay.

"I’m fine." You tried evading him, but given his bouncer-like body, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Sure, and I’m the swan princess from that pink doll kid's show."

The Tulpar floated through infinite space, a shell of its former self. It wasn’t one of those massive freighters like the newer ones Pony Express had, but a running old freighter is infinitely better than a broken old freighter. Supplies were low, tensions were high, and the Tulpar's once-familiar corridors felt more like a prison than home.

When the asteroid hit, or so Jimmy claimed, Curly had supposedly saved everyone by making a split-second turn to minimize the impact. It was a story that gave the crew a shred of hope, something to hold on to.

But cracks already started to form in Jimmy’s tale. The damage didn’t match the trajectory of any known asteroid paths. The ship’s logs were corrupted, erasing any evidence of what really happened.

It wasn't farfetched to believe that Jimmy didn't stay put at his quarters when the crash happened.

Swansea has his suspicions. So did you. But neither of you said it out loud. The truth was a dangerous thing aboard the Tulpar now, fragile and very explosive, just waiting for the right moment to destroy whatever was left.

"Kid," Swansea’s voice broke through your thoughts. You hummed, "Don’t go doin’ that thing where you stare off into space like a lost puppy."

You managed a weak smile. "Can’t help it. Space is kinda my thing."

He snorted, but his eye-roll was absent. He didn’t let you go until he was sure you were back in the medbay, under Anya’s watchful eye and the door's lock.

2 Months before the Crash

Jimmy’s compliments had always felt harmless. You were used to his jokes, his easy smiles, and the way he called you "kid". It was comforting, in a way - until recently.

"Nice shirt," he said one day, leaning casually against the inventory shelves as you logged spare parts into the system.

You glanced down at your standard-issue disgustingly yellow t-shirt, streaked with dust and grease from helping Swansea earlier. "Uh, thanks? Didn’t know grease-stained chic was trending."

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You pull it off, though."

You gave him a half-smile, feeling like the co-pilot has something more to say than he's letting on. His tone felt... heavier. You chalked it up to overthinking and turned back to your work. Jimmy was your friend, someone you’d always trusted.

But somehow, the comments became more frequent, more pointed. A hand on your shoulder lingered too long. Always looking at you when he laughs.

The next time it happened, you were helping the mechanic in the engine room. You crouched next to him, handing over tools as he muttered under his breath about "cheap replacement parts." The rhythmic clank of the wrench echoed in the space while Daisuke watched because the last time he helped replace something, he had to receive 3 stitches from Anya.

"Careful not to scratch the paint off," you teased, smirking.

Swansea snorted, rolling his eyes. "Look who's talkin', Ms. 'I-can-make-any room-look-like-a-fukin' junkyard' with all the shit you leave laying around."

"Ha! Boss' got you there Y/N!" You poked your tongue out at the intern.

Swansea gave you a sideways glance, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wanna talk about paint? Maybe start by remembering where you put all yer inventory sheets before I have to staple ‘em to yer forehead."

You laughed, wiping your hands on your coveralls, when Jimmy walked in. His gaze lingered too long as he leaned against the doorway.

"Got the inventory finished?" he asked, his voice casual.

"Mostly," you said. "Swansea needed a hand, so I figured I’d multitask."

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed briefly, just a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. His smile returned, too quick to feel natural. "You’re a real team player, kid."

Swansea grunted in agreement, not looking up. "She’s handy, I’ll give her that. Saved me a headache with these damn filters."

"Hey! I'm here, to--"

"Tell me what happened to yer forehead with just a screwdriver, boy." That seemed to silence Daisuke up.

Jimmy’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, though he quickly masked it with a chuckle. "Better not let her show you up, old man."

"Not a chance," Swansea shot back, oblivious to the tension.

But you felt it. The way Jimmy’s smile didn’t match his eyes, the way his presence filled the room like static. Something about it was off. You wanted to brush it aside, but the feeling lingered.

Later, in the lounge, Curly tossed you a cup of coffee. "Heard you’ve been pulling double duty with the inventory and the utility. You gunning for my job or what?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Dream bigger, Curly. I’m aiming for Swansea’s."

Curly laughed, but his attention shifted behind you for a moment. You glanced over your shoulder to see Jimmy standing in the doorway again, watching. His posture was casual, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the counter.

When you turned back, Curly raised an eyebrow. "Jimmy’s been hovering a lot lately. You notice that?"

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "He’s probably just bored."

But deep down, you weren’t so sure. You sipped your coffee, forcing a laugh. "One more compliment from him? I’m charging him rent."

Curly chuckled, but his smile faded slightly as he glanced at Jimmy again. "You should tell him that. See what he says."

You smiled weakly, staring into your coffee as the unease settled in your chest.

One Month Before the Crash

Jimmy’s words echoed in your ears, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice trembling, his breath uneven. "But I can’t stop thinking about you."

You remembered the way his hands shook, how his eyes flitted between you and the walls, never meeting yours. He looked like he wanted to convince himself as much as you. But it wasn’t the shaking or his words that lingered in your mind, it was the suffocating fear, the way the air in the room thickened, pressing down on your chest until you couldn’t breathe.

You fought back, kicked, punched, scratched, used everything in your disposal, but it wasn't enough.

In that moment, the world felt unrecognizable. The Jimmy you looked up to, trusted, and even laughed with, was gone. Or maybe he had never been real.

And you felt something within you... break.

You didn’t cry. Not then. The betrayal was too sharp, cutting through your chest like shards of glass. You couldn’t feel anything but the raw, jagged edges of shock and pain. It was never-ending, it was unforgiving.

Later, when it was over and the room was silent again, you sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the dull metal wall. The memories replayed in your head, over and over, a loop you couldn’t escape.

"Why didn’t I stop him?"

"Why didn’t I fight harder?"

"Why didn’t I say something?"

The questions bit you, each one sinking its sharp fangs deeper into your guilt, into your body, mind, and soul.

Jimmy’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts. You remembered how he sat across from you, his voice low and soft, as though he were the one wounded.

"I didn’t mean for it to go like this," he’d said, his tone almost pleading. "You don’t have to hate me, you know? I care about you. I just… I just couldn’t hold it in anymore."

Each word sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. The confusion was unbearable. Was he sorry? Or was this another lie? Another betrayal? It didn’t matter. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him or yourself anymore.

And from that night on, everything you loved about your life on the ship, the crew, the stars outside your window, even your own reflection, felt like it died.

You went through the days like a ghost. Your laughter was gone, replaced by silence. Meals went untouched. The inventory, your pride and responsibility, piled up unchecked.

The crew noticed. How Swansea’s gruff teasing didn’t make you laugh anymore. How Daisuke’s bad jokes only entered your ear and exited the other. And every time Jimmy walked into the room, your body froze, your skin crawling as though his gaze alone could trap you again.

Anya, however, never pried. She saw through the silence, the robotic movements, the emptiness in your eyes.

One evening, she's nursing you. You sat on the cot, staring at the floor, your hands limp in your lap. You passed out from hunger earlier and Dasiuke had to carry you to the medbay, sweating and frantically assuring himself more than anyone through panicked mumbles.

She approached quietly, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand. "Y/N," she said softly, placing the tray beside you.

You didn’t respond.

Anya pulled up a chair and sat down across from you, her gaze steady. "You have to eat."

"I’m not hungry," you murmured, your voice flat.

She didn’t push. Instead, she reached out, her hand resting gently on your arm. Her warmth cut through the cold numbness you’d wrapped yourself in.

"You know, it’s okay to feel like this," she said quietly. Her tone wasn’t pitying, just kind. "But you don’t have to do it alone."

You didn’t react. You couldn’t. Her words were like waves breaking against a stone, unable to reach its core.

Anya stayed with you anyway. She talked softly, about nothing in particular, old stories, small jokes, telling you how Daisuke stole Swansea's snacks and having to say I'm sorry for a hundred times as punishment. She didn’t expect you to respond. She was simply there, filling the silence with her presence.

Even when you retreated deeper into yourself, Anya never gave up. She left food by your workstation, tidied your quarters when you weren’t looking, and covered for you when Curly asked too many questions.

One night, as Anya walked you back to your quarters, she stopped just outside your door. Her voice, usually gentle, held a weight you hadn’t heard before.

"Y/N," she began carefully, "I’ve been where you are."

Your steps faltered. The numbness you carried didn’t lift, but her words sent a faint ripple through the sea of numbess. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, your hand tightening on the doorknob.

"I know what Jimmy did to you," she continued softly.

The air in the hallway felt suddenly heavy. Anya hesitated, then added, "It happened to me too. Weeks ago."

The words were like a thunderclap in your mind, sharp and deafening. You turned to her, your eyes wide with disbelief.

"You knew?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, raw and cracking. Anya went through the same thing yet here she is, stronger than you, caring for you. Your stomach churned in guilt. "You—why didn’t you tell anyone? Tell me?"

Anya’s expression didn’t falter, but her shoulders tensed as though she’d been bracing for this. "I told Curly," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. "But… nothing changed."

Nothing changed.

The words hit like a sledgehammer, shattering the fragile threads of hope you’d been clinging to. Your chest tightened as anger and despair fought for control.

"You told him," you whispered, the words trembling with a pain that reached far deeper than you’d let anyone see.

Anya didn’t look away. She didn’t try to explain or justify it. "I thought it would help," she said, her tone even. "I thought it would stop."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and hollow. "And now it’s my turn, right? Cap kept quiet and hoped it wouldn’t happen again?"

"Y/N--"

"Now what, Anya?" You snapped, your voice rising despite the lump in your throat. "What was the point of telling him if it didn’t change anything? He was supposed to be the captain, he was supposed to protect his crew. And no it didn’t stop tha--"

Your words broke off as your breath hitched. The weight of it all, Jimmy’s betrayal, Curly’s silence, Anya’s quiet endurance, crashed down on you like a tidal wave.

Anya reached out, her hand brushing against your arm, but you pulled away.

"I can’t—" you choked out, shaking your head as tears blurred your vision. "Sorry Anya, can I be alone for a moment? Please, don't look for me."

The hallway felt too small, the air too thick. You stumbled back, your legs moving on instinct as you fled toward the lounge, where the empty silence swallowed you whole.

This was where it all unravelled like a predator ripping meats of its prey piece by agonizing piece.

The knife in your trembling hand, the memories replaying in your mind, the feeling of the world collapsing around you, all of it led back to this moment. To the truth you could no longer ignore.

The one person you thought could protect you knows - and he did nothing.

Two Months After the Crash

The cargo bay was dimly lit, the faint hum of the ship's remaining systems filling the silence.

Jimmy had been relentless over the past week, pestering Swansea to let him talk to you about the cargo. Why? Well unlike any other facilities of the freighter that's unlocked by codes visible through the Captain's flashlight, the cargo bay can only be unlocked by a code held by two crewmembers - the captain and inventory officer. Obviously, with Curly laying helpless in the medbay, Jimmy only had one person left to disturb. And the man grabbed the opportunity to talk to you again.

Exhausted, that’s what you were. Tired of Jimmy's persistence, of how he kept shifting from casual then cutting sharper the next. And all these bugging went straight to Swansea. As much as you didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction, you knew there was no way around it - you gave in, but not for Jimmy. You did it for the mechanic.

“Are you sure about this?” Swansea asked earlier, his voice low but heavy. The lines on his face deepened as he watched you wrestle with the decision.

You nodded, though your stomach twisted at the thought. “Jimmy’s not going to stop bugging you about it, and you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll deal with him.”

The mechanic grumbled something under his breath, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have to deal with him at all.”

“I know,” you’d said softly. “But he’s not going to stop. And… I’ll have you and Daisuke with me. It’ll be fine.”

Swansea did not looked convinced, but he eventually relented, only after you promised he could stay nearby, just in case.

Now, standing in front of the cargo bay's doors with Jimmy pacing in front of you, you were keenly aware of Swansea’s presence by the door. A silent guard, his watchful eyes never leaving the co-pilot. Daisuke was at your side, arms crossed and radiating quiet protectiveness, like a little brother who didn’t care how big a fight he might have to pick if it meant keeping you safe.

Jimmy, oblivious or indifferent to the tension, took a step forward, his movements quick but not careless. “Y/N, I know you’ve been keeping tabs on the cargo. But it’s been two months. We need to know what’s in there. It could help us—”

“It won’t,” you interrupted, your voice steady but firm. “I’ve told you before, Jimmy. It’s nothing important. We'll just waste our time."

Jimmy’s jaw tightened. “Leave that up to me to decide whether what's in there is important or not."

Swansea cursed under his breath and your lips pressed in a thin line, but the man's gaze didn’t waver.

Daisuke took a step forward. “She’s not wrong. Y/N wouldn’t hide anything if it could help. She knows what she’s doing, Jimmy.”

Jimmy scoffed. “I’m just saying—if there’s even a chance, we should check. We’re running out of options here.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Fine,” you said, exasperated. “You want to see it so badly? Go ahead. Open it. But when you'll find out I’m right, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Daisuke frowned but didn’t say anything, glancing at you like he wanted to intervene but knew better than to push. Instead, he stepped closer to your side, his quiet presence grounding you.

Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he’d won some kind of victory. “Thanks, the code?” he muttered, moving toward the cargo bay doors. Swansea was already there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked on Jimmy.

“She said yes,” Jimmy said defensively as he approached, but Swansea didn’t move.

“She shouldn’t have to,” Swansea muttered under his breath, stepping aside only when you gave him a small nod.

"4517" The pad beeped with each number you tell him. The entrance hissed open, like a dragon waking up from its deep slumber.

The cargo bay was dim, the rows of hundreds of boxes towered over all of you. You followed Jimmy inside, Daisuke sticking close to you while Swansea lingered by the door.

The co-pilot walked straight to the nearest box, his movements quick and eager. “Let’s see what’s so ‘unimportant,’” he muttered.

As the box was pried open, the sharp, clinical smell hit instantly.

Mouthwash.

Jimmy froze, staring down at the neatly packed bottles as if they might suddenly transform into something else. Daisuke peered over his shoulder, his eyebrows raising. “Huh. Well, that’s… useful,” he said.

Jimmy’s face burned as he looked back at you. “This is it? You’re telling me this is all we’ve been hauling?”

“I told you. Nothing important. But you couldn’t take my word for it, could you? You know what's funny, Jimmy?" You balled your hands on your sides, "I should be the one not trusting you, after what you've done."

Jimmy stood there, eyes narrowing and jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he was gearing up to argue. But it was all so painfully obvious, the desperation in his stance. He wanted to paint himself as the victim, again, to make excuses, again, as if he wasn’t already a pathetic excuse for a man.

You glanced at the box, the sight of the neatly labeled bottles almost comical in its absurdity, mocking the co-pilot. Then your eyes landed at him, his confidence snapping under the weight of his proud insistence.

“Satisfied now?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a knife. Without waiting for an answer, you turned your back. “This is your answer, Jimmy...”

For the first time since the crash, you felt something crack open inside you, not fear, not guilt, but anger. Controlled, righteous anger.

"We don’t survive by hunches or waiting for some fucking miracle," you spat. "We survive because people are actually out here making sure the Tulpar doesn’t fall apart."

Your eyes met Swansea's, then to the ground.

"Everyone pitches in, does what needs to be done, no matter how much of a death trap the job is. But if you’re too busy playing pretend captain while the rest of us are holding it all together, maybe it’s better that you step back and let the people who actually know how to keep this mess running do their thing."

You didn't wait for a response, not even tried to gauge his emotion. You left the cargo bay, going into the only place that gave you comfort, utility room.

Swansea appeared in the doorway. Before he could speak, before you could even gather your thoughts, you found yourself moving toward him. The words caught in your throat, but your legs carried you anyway, and in one swift motion, you collided with him in a tight hug. The kind you hadn’t realized you needed until the warmth of his body pressed against you.

“Thanks for everything," You paused, and before you could stop it, the words slipped out. "...dad."

For a moment, everything went still. The hum of the damaged Tulpar only filling the air, and for one fleeting second, you feared you said too much. That you crossed a line, said something you didn’t have the right to say.

But then, without a word, his arms wrapped around you, solid and sure, holding you like he was never going to let go. The tension in your chest slowly released and a stray tear rolled down your cheek.

“Always, kid.” His voice was low, thick with meaning, and at that moment, it held everything you needed to hear.

Hii! Can i be 🥀anon?

A req for jjk smau! Which the reader sends only "we need to talk" and gets distracted and they think we are breaking up 😭

Anyways, goodnight! <3 (its 2am here lol(

“we need to talk” ft. jjk men

synopsis: as per the request

a little bit of angst, comfort

cw: little bit of swearing in toji’s

a/n: yes of course you be 🥀anon! thank you so much for requesting <3 i had a lot of fun with this one!

May I have more of fatherhood oneshot with Odysseus please? 🥺 this man really gave me baby fever

A/n: aha 🤣 same... (I love writing dad fics for him)

The sun had barely crested the cliffs of Ithaca, and the palace was just beginning to stir—except for Odysseus, who was already spiraling into his second existential crisis of the week.

His hair? A mess.

His tunic? Mismatched and inside out.

His eyes? Bloodshot and twitching.

His sandals? Probably on the wrong feet.

And his mood?

Unhinged.

He sprinted through the halls, arms flailing slightly, looking every inch a war-hardened general turned exhausted dad of toddlers.

“THEY’RE GONE AGAIN!” he bellowed.

He burst into the dining room, startling a very calm Telemachus, who was just trying to enjoy his olives.

“What’s gone?” the prince asked, mouth full.

“The twins! They vanished!” Odysseus shouted, patting himself down, checking under furniture, lifting up rugs. “I turned around for one second—ONE!—and poof! Gone like shadows! Curse the gods!”

Telemachus blinked. "...Father.”

Odysseus was now on his knees, looking under a fruit basket.

“Maybe they crawled into the grain stores again—they love grain. Or worse! What if they’re—”

“Father.”

“—in the stables again? Oh gods, the goats! One of them bit me last time—”

“FATHER!”

Odysseus froze.

Telemachus pointed. "Look down.”

Odysseus slowly looked at himself.

And there they were.

One twin strapped snugly to his chest, babbling happily and smacking his face with a sticky palm.

The other fast asleep, head tucked under his chin, drooling on his tunic like a little sponge with limbs.

”…Oh.”

He stared at them.

Then at his son.

Then back at them.

“They were on me the whole time?”

“Yes.”

Odysseus exhaled long and slow, then groaned and flopped face-first onto the floor, the twins giggling wildly at the ride.

Your voice echoed from the hallway“If you wake me up one more time, Odysseus, I will let the toddlers braid your beard while you sleep.” It was a thinly vail threat of someone who was pregnant that did not to be bothered.

Odysseus just lay there on the floor, two babies squirming on his chest, and muttered.

“I conquered Troy for this.”

One of the twins sneezed directly into his mouth.

“…And I’d do it again.”

•Moments Later•

The late afternoon sun slanted through the nursery windows, painting golden beams across the soft rugs and carved wooden toys scattered across the floor. Gentle harp music floated from somewhere down the hall, and in the middle of it all sat Odysseus, half-slumped in a rocking chair, his eyes glazed and one hand twitching as a half-finished lullaby slipped from his lips.

His tunic was stained with something sticky (possibly honey… or ink?), and one twin had managed to wedge themselves into his arm while the other gnawed triumphantly on a leather sandal.

Odysseus hadn’t blinked in ten minutes.

Enter Telemachus, calm, composed, and carrying a cloth bundle of warm bread and honeyed figs.

He took one look at his father, one look at the chaos, and sighed with fond exasperation.

“Father.”

Odysseus blinked slowly. “…Yes?”

“You haven’t slept in… four days.”

“That’s not true. I closed one eye last night.”

“You fell asleep face-first in the soup.”

“It was a tactical nap.”

Telemachus crouched in front of him, gently prying the chewing twin away from the sandal and replacing it with a soft rattle.

“Go sleep, Father. I’ll watch them.”

Odysseus blinked again, as if processing the words in slow motion. “You… you’ll what?”

“Watch the twins. Give you and Mother a break.”

Odysseus leaned forward dramatically, placing both hands on his son’s shoulders. “You… glorious boy. You brave, noble, reckless boy.”

Telemachus smirked. “I trained with Athena and survived the suitors. I think I can handle two half-naked goblins with sticky fingers.”

“They bite.”

“So do I.”

Odysseus laughed weakly, patted him on the cheek, then swayed to his feet like a war-weary general who had finally laid down his sword.

“I will be laying down next to your beautiful mother.”

“Please try to not create anymore children.”

As Odysseus staggered toward his chambers—muttering about “soft pillows” and “blessed silence”—Telemachus scooped both giggling twins into his arms, lifting them effortlessly.

He looked down at them, one drooling on his arm, the other reaching for his braid.

“Alright, you tiny beasts. Let’s find a storybook, some juice, and see who survives until sundown.”

The twins shrieked with joy.

And behind them, down the hall, a door softly closed…

The man finding the bed, And Odysseus, King of Ithaca, finally slept the moment he was in your arms.

Raising Megumi with Toji Fushiguro

I think I might have baby fever this is the second post that has a baby mentioned..

cousin allegations .ᐣ

where you receive a text asking if they are your cousin after you post a pic of them on your story. also to set them up??

includes: gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, yuji, megumi, yuta, toge and ino