Archive of Our Own

“I can't imagine you with children.” A pause. A pause of one second. But in that single moment, Satoru can feel his whole world crumbling around him. He can feel his heart breaking, can feel his eyes burning, can feel his omega crying. Because… because that’s not true, right? It’s a joke. Because he can’t really think that— “I can’t imagine you being the parent of a pup. It seems alien to you. You aren’t meant for those things.”

N°1: Shoko.

No matter how much she tried, Shoko really wasn’t made to handle children. Especially very, very little children.

It wasn’t the first time Shoko had gone to Satoru’s kids’ school, but she also didn’t visit the institution often enough to get used to the energetic, overwhelming atmosphere of the place. Yes, kids in general are adorable, with their chubby little faces, tiny arms hugging plush toys, and cute little outfits that don’t stay clean for even a quarter of the time they’re supposed to. But once you take into account the fact that those same children are the ones who throw tantrums, become unbearably loud for absolutely no reason, and—God forbid—get sick… you get a Shoko who, from the very moment the strongest sorcerer decided to adopt not one, but two children, firmly clarified that unless one (or both) of the kids was dying or something similarly catastrophic was happening, she would not be taking care of them.

Now, the kids weren’t dying, but Satoru was late to pick them up from school. The white-haired omega had made it sound just as catastrophic as if one of the children had lost a limb.

At first, the doctor had tried to make the older one understand that both children could easily go back home on their own. After all, the Fushiguro siblings attended a prestigious school in one of the safest, curse-free areas in Tokyo, and their home was only about a twenty-minute walk away. Add to that the fact that seeing children walk home from school alone was an incredibly common sight throughout Japan, and you had Shoko listing all these arguments over the phone while simultaneously removing a collapsed lung from a deceased sorcerer’s corpse in the morgue.

However, the moment the beta noticed the faint—yet far from subtle—clicking of the other man’s teeth through the phone, along with the nearly imperceptible shift in his tone that clearly implied just a little more nonsense and he would teleport there just to hiss in her face, she found herself waiting outside the Fushiguros’ elementary school. Cigarette in hand, wondering whether she had properly sealed the bag containing the remains in the morgue, or if she’d come back to a disaster full of flies and the smell of rot.

Not that anyone could really judge her. After all, it wasn’t common for Shoko to pick the kids up from school. Or from anywhere else, honestly. Most of the time, Nanami was the one in charge of getting the children whenever Satoru was delayed. With his university being nearby and his undeniable soft spot for children, it wasn’t surprising that this was only the second time in nearly a year that Shoko had come to the school—the first being the kids’ first day of classes. And even then, not even Nanami came often, because despite his schedule being practically collapsing in on itself, Satoru still managed to pick the children up almost every single day.

But now, Satoru was fighting two special grade curses in Osaka, and Nanami was taking a final exam. Which led to a Shoko being silently judged by the parents waiting outside for their children. And the beta was fairly certain one of the mothers was about to kick her out of the area if it weren’t for the bell announcing dismissal. Not that Shoko would’ve cared.

The first ones to leave were the older students, most of them either heading home on their own or searching for younger siblings to leave with, while only a few were greeted by their parents. And Shoko only has half a second to think that, okay, maybe a pup walking home alone really isn’t the best image, before she spots Tsumiki and Megumi waving in her direction.

Or, more specifically, Tsumiki smiling brightly and waving at her while holding Megumi by the arm, the younger pup wearing the expression of someone personally betrayed by the world.

Throwing the remains of her cigarette onto the street—which earned her an offended gasp from an omega standing nearby—the brunette approached the children with a faint smile, briefly wondering if some of the morgue’s scent had clung to her clothes and would scare them. 

Apparently not. Or the pups simply didn’t care. Because Tsumiki immediately walked up to her, smile untouched, laughing when the doctor ruffled her hair. She didn’t try the same with Megumi—she knew better than that—instead simply extending her fist in greeting. The little pup bumped his fist against hers while frowning the entire time, immediately peering behind Shoko and craning his tiny neck as far as possible.

The beta was about to ask what was wrong, when Tsumiki decided to voice the issue herself. “Where’s Dad?”

And despite how often Shoko heard those words from the girl, she still wasn’t used to them. To what they meant. To the weight behind them.

Tsumiki had started calling Satoru “Dad” a few months ago. Shoko remembered that day as if it had happened only weeks earlier, the omega ugly crying and excitedly screaming during the group call he’d started solely for the occasion. Sobbing so hard both Nanami and Shoko had to repeatedly tell him to calm down and breathe. Completely useless attempts, especially considering that Yaga had been just as emotional about the whole thing, rambling about how important that milestone was for the child.

Months later, Satoru no longer cried at the word, nor did his eyes get watery anymore, but he would absolutely scoop Tsumiki into a crushing hug and cover her forehead in kisses every single time. Tsumiki laughed through it, always. And yet, Shoko still couldn’t process the words “Dad” and “Satoru” in the same sentence.

Not because the older omega was bad with children. Not because he didn’t love them or failed to care for them. None of that. Nothing could be further from reality. But simply because, for the longest time, Shoko had never been able to connect the concepts of children and Satoru within the same scenario. She couldn’t picture Satoru as a parent, no matter how hard she tried.

But he was one. A loving one, at that. Much to everyone’s surprise.

“He got delayed on a mission,” she replied, taking Tsumiki’s backpack and slinging it over her own shoulder. She tried to do the same with Megumi’s, but the pup only frowned harder at her. “He said he’d make it back for dinner, and in the meantime we should go get a treat.”

Well, that was only half true.

The part about getting a treat was true. The omega had reminded her more than once that the children needed to eat some kind of snack before dinner. Something about kids burning through a ridiculous amount of energy and needing to replenish it to stay healthy. As if Shoko wasn’t the doctor between the two of them.

But Satoru hadn’t said he’d make it back for dinner. Or even by the next day. He’d only said he would try to make it to wherever they decided to stop for food. Shoko had frowned at the phone after hearing that, rereading the mission report again just to double-check. And, indeed, there was absolutely no way Satoru could pull that off. No matter how strong he was. The timing simply didn’t match.

But Shoko wasn’t about to get the kids’ hopes up for nothing. She knew better than to upset Satoru’s children.

Tsumiki simply nodded, already moving to follow Shoko’s lead. Megumi, on the other hand, pouted at the brown-eyed woman’s words. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, but it was there. And Shoko found herself wondering just how rare it was for Satoru not to show up to pick them up from school for his absence to be that noticeable.

Very rare, apparently.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you, but… who are you?” One of the teachers approached them. Dark brown hair tied into a high ponytail, apron stained with paint and marker, arms decorated with a collection of colorful bracelets presumably made by her students. Shoko didn’t envy her in the slightest.

“Hi, no problem. I’m Satoru’s friend,” the doctor explained while pulling out her ID and the authorization form he’d signed on the children’s first day of school. The same one authorizing her, Nanami, and Yaga to pick the kids up in case of emergency. “He got held up at work today, so he asked me to come.”

“Perfect then,” the teacher replied after checking the information and handing back both the authorization and her ID.

She looked at Shoko once. Twice. And before the brunette could ask what exactly her problem was, the teacher offered her a polite smile. “I’m sorry if I’m taking up your time, but could I talk to you for a few minutes?”

Oh my God. Satoru forgot their lunches.

Shoko simply nodded, mentally running through every possible thing the older omega could have forgotten, overlooked, or—worse—said for one of the children’s teachers to pull her aside. The teacher, a mated omega, gently approached both pups and instructed them to wait near the entrance courtyard with the other children for a few minutes. Both kids nodded, Tsumiki quickly dragging her little brother along by the arm.

Once the children were under the supervision of another teacher, the omega smiled at the brunette and gestured for her to follow toward a quieter corner, greeting children along the way as they happily waved goodbye to her. Shoko obeyed, cursing Satoru the entire time. She was going to kill him. But not before using his credit card to buy an absurd amount of beer and dark chocolate. Imported directly from Switzerland.

“I know this is sudden, and I’m very sorry again for bothering you,” the omega began once they reached a more secluded area near the entrance, where two other teachers were talking with parents. Shoko needed a cigarette. Two. Simultaneously, if possible. “But given the holidays and the fact that I don’t know when I’ll see Gojo-San again, I thought it was important to mention this to you. You two are close, aren’t you?”

Shoko simply nodded, hands twitching with the need for nicotine. Make that four cigarettes.

“Since the beginning of the school year, Megumi had been struggling with family-related activities. You know, gifts or cards for parents, things like that.” No, no no… Hell no. Fuck this. Shoko was not ready to deal with that. Didn’t know how to. Especially not if the child involved was Megumi. No. She was killing Satoru. She would die trying, but she was going to kill— “But today we did one in class, and I noticed a huge improvement compared to the last time we tried one. Like, exponentially so.”

…Maybe she wasn’t killing Satoru.

Shoko blinked once. Twice. Tried to come up with any coherent response whatsoever. Failed. “Really?” she croaked, that single word being the only thing her stunned brain could provide.

“Yes! It was honestly hard to believe, which makes it even more wonderful. Normally, Megumi complains about those kinds of activities and even needs help to finish them. But today he did it voluntarily and completely on his own. And I should add that he’s seemed much calmer and happier these past few weeks.”

And as if that alone hadn’t fried the beta’s remaining brain cells, the teacher kept going. Huge proud smile and all.

“I don’t know what changes Gojo-san have made at home, and it’s not my place to know, but it would really be wonderful if you could tell him that Megumi is improving. Tremendously. I think it’ll be really good news for him, especially if he’s delayed at work today. It must be something serious for him not to be here.”

With one of her last functioning neurons, Shoko managed to ask: “He isn’t usually late?”

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite, actually. And I think that’s something really good for children, regardless of age. Kids who are picked up by their parents tend to perform better than those who aren’t—it’s a way of bonding and giving children a sense of safety. And it’s really valuable that such a young parent like Gojo keeps that in mind.”

After exchanging goodbyes with the teacher and leaving the corner where one of the parents had begun complaining to another staff member, Shoko headed back toward the small courtyard where the children were waiting. Tsumiki was chatting happily with another girl, while Megumi sat playing with a plush frog, moving its tiny arms while resting his head against the stuffed animal’s. Shoko would’ve cooed at the sight if every single one of her thoughts wasn’t focused on one simple fact.

The kids weren’t in trouble. Satoru wasn’t in trouble. Satoru was doing good. Satoru was a great parent.

And as if that alone wasn’t enough to completely throw Shoko off balance, her phone chose that exact moment to vibrate with a new message. A message from Satoru. A message where the omega casually explained that he was less than ten minutes away and that if they were still there, all of them could go get something to eat together.

Satoru—who had been in Osaka, five hundred kilometers away from Tokyo, barely an hour ago—was less than ten minutes away. Shoko tried doing the math. Stopped when the attempt only managed to finish off her remaining conscious brain cells. One single fact swallowing everything else whole.

Satoru was a good parent.

Satoru, who was consistently late to practically every meeting with higher-ups or classmates. Satoru, who wouldn’t go to a routine medical check-up even if his life depended on it unless Shoko and Yaga—and recently Nanami too—threatened to ignore him for an entire month. Satoru, who didn’t take care of his own health, his own sleep schedule, who forgot to eat more often than he should. Satoru, who could drink one coffee and eat two entire cakes and call it a day… was doing good. Was a good dad. 

But even that wasn’t what truly surprised her. No. It was that specific phrase the teacher had used.

Megumi is improving. Tremendously. I think it’ll be really good news for him.

Because then… How bad had things been before for something as simple as participating in a family activity to have such an impact? And if things had really been that bad… Why didn’t Shoko know about it? Had Satoru—twenty years old and mentally equivalent to a hyperactive ten-year-old—dealt with all of that alone? And solved it effectively? Had the older omega actually gone to the teachers like parents in movies always did? Wait… Did that mean the blue-eyed idiot had somehow managed to fit a parent-teacher meeting into his schedule? Voluntarily? Without forgetting about it or cancelling at the last minute? And most importantly of all…

What exactly had Satoru done so right to cause such a drastic change in the youngest—and most difficult—of his children?

With all of that in mind, Shoko decided to lie to the kids one more time, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of the younger sibling. And once she informed them that they would have to wait about ten minutes for one of the school cars to arrive, Shoko sat down beside Megumi, who frowned even harder at the ground. Tsumiki simply nodded with a smile and continued chatting with her friend, whose parents also seemed to be running late. But judging by the look in her eyes, Shoko knew the little girl wasn’t actually surprised by that fact.

Satoru doesn’t do that. Her brain supplied instantly, startling her in the process. Satoru is rarely ever late. Satoru takes care of his kids. Satoru is a good parent.

Trying to distract herself from that realization, and seeing how entertained Tsumiki was with her conversation, the doctor focused her attention on the youngest of the three.

On Megumi. Megumi, who had improved at school. Megumi, who had completed a family activity without complaining. Megumi, who—now that Shoko was actually paying attention—had a piece of paper pressed tightly against his chest and the plush frog. The doctor quickly assumed that was the family activity the teacher had mentioned. And her curiosity skyrocketed even further.

“How was school today? Anything interesting happen?” the doctor asked as nonchalantly as possible, her right hand instinctively reaching for her cigarette pack before quickly pulling away.

Nothing about that went unnoticed by the child, who really shouldn’t have had such a judgmental stare for someone barely six years old.

“My teacher already told you. Don’ play dumb.”

Satoru’s son. He had to be Satoru’s son.

The little menace simply kept playing with the plush frog’s arms, cheek pressed against its fur as if he hadn’t just displayed more attitude and sassiness than any other child in the entire school.

Unfortunately for him, Shoko had plenty of experience dealing with people like that. With his father, specifically.

“She only told me that you guys did a really cool activity. Like, a pretty awesome one. So… can I—”

“No.”

Shoko had to physically restrain herself from letting indignation take over her entire face. “Why not?”

The child remained silent for a few seconds, little face flushing a soft pink. And Shoko had to resist the overwhelming urge to coo at the sight. “It’s a surprise,” the green-eyed boy finally mumbled, trying to curl into himself as much as possible while hugging the plush tighter.

And the brunette genuinely had to clench her hand into a fist to stop herself from squishing one of his cheeks right then and there, especially with the tiny lisp he had whenever he pronounced the letter s.

“For Satoru?” the beta asked as gently as she could despite her curiosity.

Soft approach, she reminded herself. Don’t overwhelm him. Don’t scare him. And only seconds later did Shoko realize those weren’t her own words echoing through her head. They were Gojo’s. Words he’d said the very first time she met the children. Don’t touch them, don’t raise your voice even when talking to me, and for the love of God, don’t you dare smoke.

Well… Now that she thought about it, maybe Satoru had been a good parent from the very start. At the ripe old age of eighteen.

Megumi simply nodded, chewing on his bottom lip almost absentmindedly. Self-soothing. And Shoko knew—as surely as she knew her own name—that if the strongest sorcerer were standing there right now and saw that, he would hiss at her immediately for prying too much. For distressing his pup. And he would be right, of course.

But she needed to know.

“Well, I’m sure he’s going to love it no matter what. You don’t need to worry about that,” Shoko said, not a trace of doubt in her voice. “But… if you want to be extra sure, I could take a look and see if maybe it needs some extra detail. You know, to make it extra perfect.”

Yes. She was absolutely going to hell.

The pup stared at her for several long, endless seconds. A strange mix of disbelief and genuine consideration passing through sleepy green eyes that practically screamed for a nap. And maybe it was that exhaustion. Or the fact that Megumi truly wanted to impress the white-haired omega. Or—more likely—the fact that Megumi really wanted Shoko to stop talking to him.

Whatever the reason, the child finally handed her the paper pressed against his chest, babbling an almost inaudible “be careful” in the process.

A lot of important things happened in that single minute. Or maybe just one second. Shoko only had time to notice one of them

Maybe the first thing she should have noticed was just how absurd children’s activities were. How the most important task of the day was drawing your entire family. Focusing on how wonderful childhood and its characteristic innocence were. Focusing on how deeply she longed to go back to those years, when everything was simpler and yet somehow harder. More frightening. Because despite its simplicity, this was an activity Megumi hadn’t been able to complete successfully for months, and now he had done it willingly. So yes, it was absurd. But not for the serious little gremlin beside her, no matter how nonchalant he tried to appear.

But that wasn’t what captured all of her attention.

Neither were the two tiny dogs drawn on the paper. White and black, dogs. Wolves, Shoko knew that for certain. A discovery that was, without a doubt, important. And maybe Shoko should have focused on that first—on the fact that if the youngest of the family had drawn them, it could only mean Megumi had started seeing his shikigami in his dreams. Which could only mean that sometime within the next month, week, or maybe even the next twenty-four hours, Megumi might be capable of summoning his first—and most important—shikigami.

That absolutely should have been her main focus. It wasn’t.

But neither was how adorable and almost comical the drawing itself was. Childish in the exact way a six-year-old’s drawing should be. Maybe Shoko should have focused on how disproportionate the family portrait was. On how Megumi had clearly spent way too much time on the wolves and his family, leaving the rest of the scenery looking like little more than rough sketches and smudges. Which spoke volumes.

Or maybe she should have focused on the fact that, according to Megumi’s artistic interpretation, Satoru was essentially just a stick figure with white hair and two blue circles instead of eyes. Which, honestly, Shoko agreed with wholeheartedly. The strongest sorcerer of the modern era, reduced to an extremely tall, painfully skinny stick with blue eyes.

She should have focused on that. She didn’t. She couldn’t.

Every single one of her senses, every part of her being, was focused on one simple fact. One nearly imperceptible detail. But it was there. Overwhelming. Shining in all its glory. And Shoko couldn’t stop herself from bringing a hand to her half-open mouth.

Because written above every member of the family were their names. Tsumiki. Megumi. Kuro. Shiro. And—

Mom.

Not Gojo. Not Satoru. Not Dad. Mom.

But Shoko didn’t even have time to process that.

Because in the very next second, Megumi lifted his head from where it had been resting against the plushie, nearly giving himself whiplash with how fast he moved. And in the second after that, the paper disappeared from Shoko’s hands as both children jumped to their feet and ran in the same direction, huge smiles spreading across their tiny faces. And Shoko didn’t even have time to look up and see what—or who—had caught the children’s attention before she heard the unimaginable.

Megumi chirping.

Megumi, whom Shoko hadn’t even heard purr once in the two years she’d known him. Megumi, who would frown and hiss every single time someone tried to touch him or get too close. Megumi, who despite being only four years old when Satoru first found the siblings, had barely smelled like a pup at all. 

Megumi, who was now chirping and purring. Being lifted into the arms of a freshly showered and changed Satoru, who wasted no time purring himself and nuzzling his cheek against both children’s hair. With Tsumiki smiling so widely it looked like her face might split apart, hugging the older omega with all the strength her tiny arms could manage.

And Megumi—whose constant frown had almost completely disappeared—looked utterly, impossibly peaceful.

And when the omega stood back up with both children in his arms, effortlessly hooking Megumi’s backpack over one shoulder with the ease only someone deeply accustomed to doing so could possess, and smiled at the beta with the purest, most genuine smile she had ever seen on his face. Everything clicked into place.

Satoru was a mom.

N°2: Nanami

No matter how many times he visited the omega’s apartment, Nanami genuinely could not believe how impeccably clean the place perpetually remained despite having not one, but two children living in it.

It didn’t matter what time of day the blond entered the apartment, nor whether it was a weekend or a school day where the children had barely had enough time to make a mess. It didn’t matter if Satoru was away on long missions that sometimes lasted more than two days, or if by some miracle of scheduling he had managed to get a free day to stay in the comfort of his home. Anyone could walk into that apartment at any given moment and find the same calmness and pristine order one only saw in movies. No room for exaggeration. And Nanami wasn’t the kind of person who exaggerated.

Everything was just so… calm. Peaceful.

To the point that even before knowing that Satoru was, in fact, an omega, anyone could walk into that place and have no doubt whatsoever that the apartment belonged to one. From the way every small couch carried one or more matching blankets to the characteristic scent of the home itself. Milk, cotton, and Satoru’s own scent wrapped around everything like a neat little bow.

No room for dominating smells, for anger or distress. Just pure, unadulterated bliss and comfort.

To the point that every single time the alpha sat down on one of the sofas, he had to make a serious effort not to fall asleep surrounded by the comfort of the pillows and the older omega’s scent, which had the power to put a nineteen-year-old alpha to sleep like a baby. Even if that comfort and protection weren’t meant for him in the slightest.

So, to put it simply, Nanami liked being in the older omega’s apartment. Enjoyed it. Whether it was to watch over the children while Satoru was overseas on a mission, or simply to drop off more lunchboxes than the little family knew what to do with. He liked it.

He liked the way natural sunlight poured through the windows from early morning until well into the evening, reaching every corner of the apartment. He liked how the refrigerator was entirely covered in drawings made by the younger members of the household, which the blond didn’t even need to turn over to know Satoru had written the date and artist’s name on the back as keepsakes for the future. He liked how the apartment was never messy, with no toys or stuffed animals scattered around, and yet in designated corners there were neatly organized storage boxes waiting to be opened by their owners once they returned from school.

So yes, Nanami liked it. Loved it, even. To the point that somewhere along the way, he had silently started protecting that place as if it were his own. The peace and love so deeply ingrained into it. Growling and frowning at even the mere thought of that comfort being threatened.

So in some way, no one could really blame him for the snarl that nearly reached his lips at the sight of Megumi’s silent tears. At the sight of that sacred peace being disturbed.

Everything had started the previous night, when minutes before finishing his nightly reading, the alpha had received a message from the omega asking if he could take Tsumiki to school the next morning. Which was and wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t unusual at all for Satoru to occasionally ask him to pick up or drop off the children, especially considering how busy his schedule had become after graduating, continuing to perfect his powers, and on top of that, beginning to step into teaching with Yaga’s help. Somehow, though, the white-haired omega almost always managed to fulfill all his responsibilities, with overseas missions being the primary disruptions to his daily routine.

So despite being sudden, the fact that Nanami would need to take the children to school the next morning wasn’t strange. What was strange was the absence of another name in the message. To the point that the blond had to reread it twice to confirm that, indeed, only one of the children would be attending school the next day. And Nanami wasn’t foolish enough to think it was just a typo or a rushed mistake.

Something was wrong.

He debated for long minutes whether to contact the older omega and ask if everything was alright at home, chewing on his bottom lip and staring at his phone as though it had personally offended him.

However, he eventually gave up on the idea when he realized that if one or both children happened to be asleep and Nanami woke them with a notification sound, the alpha would have a teleporting Satoru appearing beside him in less than a second just to punch him in the face. Especially if one or both of the children were sick or distressed. And honestly, he wouldn’t blame him.

With that in mind, setting his book aside on his nightstand and preparing his alarm, the brown-eyed man decided to get some rest in preparation for the next day. And by the time the darkness of his room began to morph into the dull gray of early morning, Kento found himself calculating whether he had even managed to get five uninterrupted hours of sleep.

But if Nanami had gotten five hours, Satoru had barely gotten three.

Nanami arrived at the omega’s apartment at exactly seven-fifteen. Enough time to get Tsumiki to school without being late, and enough time to help the white-haired omega get her ready if necessary. His university bag hung from one shoulder, while two coffees and a paper bag stuffed with pastries balanced precariously in one hand.

He had debated at the café whether to buy something for the children as well—either for breakfast or to take to school—but eventually gave up on the idea when he realized there was a high possibility one of them was sick and unable to eat sweets. Which would only result in one child getting upset for not being allowed to eat it. Which in turn would make the other sibling feel guilty for not being sick. Which would inevitably lead to two upset pups and a murderous Satoru as a result.

And God, the alpha was lucky he’d decided against it.

The first thing the blond noticed after knocking and entering the apartment was that the living room curtains were closed. All of them. Only the kitchen curtains remained slightly open, and just a few lights illuminated the living room.

That alone was deeply wrong. Because unless Satoru had a migraine or the sky was actively falling apart in the middle of a storm, the apartment curtains were always open, no matter the hour. So no one could blame him for the low growl beginning to form in his chest, his alpha restless beneath his skin, clawing to seek out the little family that belonged to the apartment and figure out what was upsetting them.

That was when he found the omega. And despite the fact that they shared nothing more than friendship and a teammate relationship, Kento felt his heart painfully tighten.

Because Satoru was pacing around the living room with a sleeping Megumi in his arms, the pup’s little head curled against his shoulder. The white-haired omega walked carefully, body hunched protectively around the tiny loaf of baby in his arms, nuzzling his face against the pup’s temple while comfortably scenting him.

He was still dressed in his pajamas—an oversized baby blue long-sleeved shirt and matching loose pants that somehow made him appear smaller despite standing at a full six foot three. But all of that became secondary because the first thing that truly caught Nanami’s attention were the clicking sounds leaving the taller omega’s lips. Pure distress painted into every single one of them.

And then the alpha saw Satoru’s eyes. And he felt like dying.

Because less than a second after Nanami stepped into the apartment, the blue-eyed omega froze mid-step and looked directly at him. Piercing blue eyes locking onto the alpha standing in the doorway of his home. The clicking sounds stopped, replaced by the omega’s fangs beginning to show behind his lips, only a second away from becoming a snarl.

Satoru pulled the pup in his arms even closer to his chest, long elegant hands carefully cradling Megumi’s small head as the child instinctively burrowed further into his guardian’s embrace. Unaware of everything happening around him. Unaware of the readiness in his guardian’s eyes. Unaware of the tremor in the omega’s body. Of the fear in his overwhelmingly powerful gaze.

“Hey there, ’Toru,” the younger man said softly, setting his bag and coffees on the small table near the entrance with extreme care. Barely making a sound. Then he slowly approached the white-haired omega, palms raised and open, deliberately looking everywhere except the child in his arms. “What’s wrong, hm?”

Satoru simply stared at him for several long seconds, and Nanami could practically feel the Six Eyes scanning him up and down multiple times. He didn’t comment on it. Instead, he stopped at a respectful two-meter distance, palms still open while suppressing his pheromones to the barest minimum. Satoru blinked once. Twice.

And then, with a sniff and a pout powerful enough to disarm even the strongest alpha, he answered: “Migraine. ’Gumi has a migraine.”

Nanami frowned immediately, biting his lip to stop a curse from slipping out. That was bad.

In some way, subconsciously, all of them had been waiting for something like this to happen. After all, it had only been a few days since Megumi had started drawing his Divine Dogs on every scrap of paper he could get his hands on. Satoru had bragged about it for hours the first time it happened, sending picture after picture of the tiny drawings the pup made almost daily. So naturally, the moment of them finally emerging from the shadows was right around the corner. Just days. Maybe hours away from manifesting.

The brown-eyed alpha had noticed it too—in the way the pup sometimes became oddly absorbed by the shadows around the apartment, in the involuntary twitching of his little hands, and the way the shadows themselves seemed to twitch along with him. Mesmerizing. Mesmerizing in the way only such a powerful technique could be.

But it came with a cost. Undeniably and unfortunately so.

Kento remembered being nine years old, safely at home during a weekend. His mother cooking in the kitchen, his father keeping him company. He remembered working on a large puzzle on the living room table, the afternoon sunlight being the only illumination necessary. A beautiful afternoon. An ordinary one.

At least until the blond barely had enough time to call out to his mother that he didn’t feel well before collapsing onto the floor crying in agony. He didn’t remember much after that. Maybe because of the pain. Maybe because of how traumatic it had been, especially considering none of his family members were sorcerers. The only thing the alpha remembered clearly was the mixture of absolute panic and relief on his mother’s face once the migraine finally ended. And the enormous hug that came afterward. And Kento had been nine.

Later, he learned that both Shoko and Haibara had also been nine—almost ten—when it happened to them. By some miracle, Geto had been eleven.

And Satoru… Satoru had been born with it.

“Did you call Shoko?”

The omega simply nodded, absentmindedly biting his bottom lip in the same way he’d seen the pup in his arms do. “H-He doesn’t have a fever, though,” he murmured, pressing his face into the child’s hair and placing a soft kiss there. “He slept for a few hours, but he keeps waking up dizzy. Tsumiki has a group project, so she can’t miss school. Besides… I don’t think it’s good for her to see her brother like this.”

As if summoned by the conversation, the older sibling appeared from the hallway. School uniform already on, backpack hanging from one shoulder and hair tied into a high ponytail. One that Kento knew for a fact had been the result of her own handiwork. Not Satoru’s. Not the omega who every single school morning dedicated himself to styling the little girl’s hair with near-clinical precision.

Because Nanami had more often than not found Tsumiki wearing different hairstyles that—even with a step-by-step instruction manual in his hands—he doubted he could ever recreate. Especially that early in the morning. But Gojo did. Every day, unless a mission prevented him from being home. And he excelled at it every single time.

He didn’t know how to do that. His brain—maybe his alpha—supplied the thought abruptly, from absolutely nowhere, but with complete certainty. None of you have long hair. He doesn’t have sisters. And Geto never allowed any of you to touch his hair. He learned that. And he didn’t have to.

“Is Gumi going to be okay?” the little girl asked, pulling the alpha from his thoughts.

She stood near the omega, who had crouched down to her height while nuzzling his face into her hair, all while still holding the younger pup against his side. Naturally. Effortlessly. Like someone who had done it for years. Even though he hadn’t. Not until two years ago.

“Of course, my angel. It’s just a bad headache,” he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

And Kento knew he was soothing himself more than the child. Especially because the omega was undoubtedly going to sulk all day over the fact that he hadn’t been able to do Tsumiki’s hair.

And the moment Nanami noticed the beginnings of a pout forming on Satoru’s face, he knew he needed to intervene.

“Hey, Miki-san,” he greeted gently, finally earning a glance and a small wave from the girl. “How about I make you something for breakfast, hm? I could also prepare something for you to share at school.”

Twenty minutes later, Nanami was leaving the blue-eyed omega’s apartment with Tsumiki by his side, wondering whether Satoru was even going to touch his breakfast. And not even when he reached the school and received knowing looks from Tsumiki’s teacher did he realize the problem with that thought.

It was only when he headed to the school office to report that Megumi wouldn’t be attending due to medical reasons, and noticed that several of the children’s drawings decorating the walls had been replaced with newer ones, that Nanami realized he was occupying a place that wasn’t his.

Not because he disliked it. Not because it was a burden. Not at all. But simply because he knew that if things had unfolded differently, it would be Geto walking these hallways. 

It would be the black-haired alpha signing Megumi’s absence slip without needing to present any authorization papers the way Nanami had to in order to prove his relationship to the child. He knew that if things had been different, he probably wouldn’t even have the relationship he currently had with the pups. Because it wouldn’t be necessary. Not with another alpha taking care of everything Gojo naturally couldn’t handle on his own—which, admittedly, wasn’t even much. He knew it the same way he knew that if Haibara were still alive, he would spoil both children rotten almost as much as Satoru did. It was simply destined to happen. Logical.

But Haibara wasn’t there. And Geto had chosen not to be. And maybe that was the worst part.

Once he finished signing the necessary paperwork, the blond found himself standing outside the children’s school. Not a single person in sight, the only trace of humanity being the distant sounds of children presumably in their physical education class. And even without checking his watch, Nanami knew that only if he truly hurried would he make it to his first class on time. Twenty minutes on foot. Ten if he managed to catch the bus that passed two blocks away, to the left of the school entrance.

Nanami turned right. And twenty minutes later, he was once again standing in front of Satoru’s apartment door.

He didn’t bother knocking. He simply entered as quietly and gently as possible to avoid making any noise that might alarm the apartment’s inhabitants. And while setting his things down again on the small cabinet near the entrance, he caught the unmistakable scent of antiseptic and hospital that belonged to Shoko. And Kento couldn’t even stop the growl that slipped from his lips at the smell.

Because it didn’t belong there. Not in Satoru’s home. Not in the place the omega worked so hard to make safe. And not in the place the alpha had made an almost unconscious binding vow to protect as such.

“You’re not even going to say hi? What happened to our respectful kohai?” the beta asked from her spot in the living room while pulling different bottles of medication out of one of her bags.

And Nanami had to bite down hard on his lip to stop himself from snarling at the sight of a syringe. Gojo was going to lose his mind. Speaking of—

“Where’s Gojo?”

The brunette simply looked at him, an unreadable expression painted across her face. Nanami neither had the patience nor cared enough to dwell on it. Even if he knew he was probably being the most irresponsible underclassman alive. “In the kitchen. Tell him I’m ready to check on Megumi, by the way.”

He simply nodded. No further words were exchanged between them. There was no need. Not without Satoru there.

Their relationship after Geto’s departure had been… strange. And no matter how much he tried, Nanami genuinely couldn’t think of a better word to describe it. It was just abnormal. Unnatural. Like when someone rearranges your entire home without your knowledge and despite everything technically remaining in the same place, your instincts still scream that something is wrong. That something should be there. Or shouldn’t.

And in this case, for starters, Geto should’ve been the one here, not Kento. And without Geto, Shoko didn’t want to be there.

Maybe that was what made their relationship so difficult. Because Shoko had always been more attached to Geto, even if the bond between them had been entirely platonic. That was simply the way things were. Their conversations were different from the ones she had with Gojo. Their days off were different. Their dynamic was simply… closer. Nanami had realized that very early on after meeting his upperclassmen. Haibara had noticed it the moment they first exchanged words.

But it made sense.

After all, Satoru was the strongest—the one destined to surpass all of them and most likely forget about all of them once he graduated. He was unapproachable. A good person, undoubtedly. A childish idiot sometimes. But still beyond everyone’s reach.

But then Gojo decided to stay. And it was Geto who chose to leave. To become the unreachable one.

And Nanami hated him for it. Immensely.

Did he understand that the world of sorcery contained every possible component necessary to drive even the sanest person into madness? Yes. Obviously. Did he understand and empathize with everything the black-haired alpha had endured without any support whatsoever? Yes. Especially considering Nanami himself had been living through his own personal trauma at the same time. Did he understand Geto’s desire to leave the world of sorcery? Yes. Perhaps more than anyone.

But what he did not understand was the need to make everyone else’s lives more complicated because of those decisions. He didn’t understand the need to endanger everyone he knew by becoming a curse user. And most importantly, he didn't understand the need to leave Satoru alone in the process.

He hated him. And he was certain that if Haibara were still alive, he would hate him too—even if the word itself might’ve felt foreign to him at first.

But Shoko didn’t hate him. Not even a little. And Nanami couldn’t stand that.

Because sometimes Nanami would watch the cold, almost distant way the beta interacted with the children and wonder whether she would act the same way if she were speaking to Geto’s twins instead of the Fushiguro siblings. He wondered whether Geto would’ve been subjected to the same criticism and questioning Satoru constantly endured. He wondered whether, if they were all still together, Shoko would attend more of the pups’ school events instead of making excuses that paled in comparison to the utterly overwhelming schedule the white-haired omega somehow balanced.

Or like now, he wondered whether Shoko would perhaps be more empathetic toward Geto’s children than she was toward Satoru’s.

Nanami entered the kitchen pretending he didn’t already know the answer.

And luckily, he could feel some of the tension leaving his body. Because leaning against the kitchen counter stood Satoru, still in pajamas and still somehow looking smaller than he really was. Megumi remained asleep in his arms, head resting on his shoulder and tiny nose pressed against the source of the omega’s scent, still completely unconscious. As peaceful as his current condition allowed him to be.

And while it was the exact same image Nanami had been greeted with earlier that morning, now Satoru was drinking the coffee he had bought for him. And from the corner of his eye, the alpha noticed a half-eaten pastry sitting on one of those absurdly expensive plates Nanami still wasn’t sure how Satoru had managed to keep intact as a full set.

It wasn’t an ideal breakfast. Not even close. But it was something. And it was enough to calm his alpha.

“Didn’t you have class?”

“It got canceled,” Nanami replied naturally. And before the blue-eyed omega could ask further questions, he added, “Shoko’s ready, by the way.”

And in a single second, the world just… stopped.

Because once the adults stepped out of the kitchen, the blue-eyed omega began gently rocking the pup in his arms. Softly, but firmly enough to wake him without startling him. He also started cooing quietly, especially when the moment Megumi’s nose lost contact with the older omega’s scent gland, the child began to whimper. 

And all of that was normal. Nanami had seen sleepy and grumpy Megumi plenty of times over the years. It was endearing, yes. But nothing new. Nothing out of the ordin—

“Mom,” the pup whimpered, groggily opening his eyes once the white-haired omega managed to pull him away from his neck. Green eyes immediately turning glassy as his little arms tried to return to their previous position. Pouting the entire time.

And Kento froze mid-step.

Because he had spent the last few months hearing Tsumiki call the older omega Dad. He had been there for the group call Satoru had started when it first happened. He had been there, listening to both Shoko and Yaga speaking over one another while he focused on the almost imperceptible wobble in the older omega’s voice.

He had also witnessed the progression of both children regarding what they called him, going from a very formal “Gojo-san” during the first months under his care, to the more casual “Gojo” or “Satoru,” then “Toru,” and finally Dad. And as far as he knew, only Tsumiki had taken that final step a few weeks ago, while Megumi had remained stuck in the “Toru” phase. 

And he knew the white-haired omega was fine with that. He knew for a fact that under no circumstances would the older omega judge the youngest and most complicated of his pups for the way he addressed him. He was fine with it. But now, the black-haired pup hadn’t simply crossed that boundary. No. He had decided to spin everyone’s world off its axis with the way he did it.

“I know, my pup, I know,” the older omega cooed softly, pressing a kiss to Megumi’s temple while settling him down on one of the couches in front of Shoko. “But it’s just to make sure you’re okay, ‘kay?”

Megumi was not okay with that.

The moment the pup stopped being in Satoru’s arms and was instead seated in front of the beta, he instantly started pouting, his breathing turning erratic in the exact same way Nanami had seen countless times in children moments away from throwing a tantrum.

But this wasn’t a tantrum. Not at all. And when silent tears started rolling down the child’s cheeks the moment Shoko began examining him, Nanami found himself one second away from snarling at her and putting the pup right back into Gojo’s arms.

And with that in mind, the omega wasn’t doing well either.

Because the white-haired omega stood beside him with his arms crossed, both hands clutching the fabric of his clothes so tightly that the blond was certain a little more force would tear the material apart. At the same time, his lips trembled subtly yet dangerously, and the alpha knew it was because of the inhuman effort the strongest sorcerer was making not to snarl directly in the brunette’s face—or let those stress-induced clicking sounds escape. Or both. All of it accompanied by his cursed energy vibrating nervously around him.

Shoko paid it no mind, though.

“I know you don’t feel well, Megumi,” the doctor said while holding the thermometer near the child’s mouth and motioning for him to open it. “But crying will only make it worse. And I’m not doing anything new to you.”

Megumi hissed at her.

And neither he nor Satoru said anything about it. Not when both of them were fighting with everything inside themselves not to do exactly the same thing. And somehow, Nanami had dared think that was the worst part.

He was a fool.

A few minutes later, after the beta confirmed the child’s temperature and ruled out any more serious symptoms, she informed the rest of the room that it was, indeed, nothing more and nothing less than a migraine. A bad one, of course. Directly caused by the awakening of his technique and therefore impossible for Shoko to cure.

“He just has to sleep it off,” she explained while pulling a small bottle out of her bag. “The worst has already passed, though, if the fluctuations in his cursed energy are anything to go by. He must’ve driven you crazy,” she added, looking toward the older omega with something almost resembling pity.

And Gojo didn’t even try to stop himself from baring his teeth at that. And Nanami could feel the beginnings of a growl reverberating in the white-haired omega’s chest.

“None of that. You know it’s true,” she said, not even bothering to look at the blue-eyed omega as she took out another medicine bottle—except this time, Kento knew exactly what was inside.

“This one’s for you,” the brunette shook the bottle lightly in his direction, almost mockingly. “For your upcoming migraine. And if things get bad again, the other one’s for Megumi. One should be enough. Even if they’re for children, they’re strong. Don’t abuse your dosage, though. You might be in pain, but—”

“Shoko. Cut it.”

“But as I was saying, you shouldn’t take more than your usual dosage. Even if you feel like it. I know Megumi’s cursed energy fluctuations can make your migraines worse, but—”

Two important things happened in the span of one second. Both incredibly important. Both things Nanami couldn’t really do anything about. And he couldn’t explain how much that bothered him.

Because before the beta could even finish her sentence, the omega had already hissed directly in her face, cutting her off. And that itself was bad. Concerning. 

Because in all the years they had known each other, Gojo had never hissed at either of them. Ever. He would do it to anyone else, especially if his pups were involved, but both he and Shoko had been spared from it until now. And that should’ve been the main focus of his attention.

But it wasn’t.

Because at the exact same moment that hiss escaped the older omega’s lips, a tiny—but unmistakable—sob escaped Megumi’s mouth.

And everyone froze.

The white-haired omega turned toward the child immediately, nearly giving himself whiplash in the process. He crouched in front of him instantly, clicking sounds now fully escaping his lips. A distressed sound pulled from him by Megumi’s tears and trembling mouth. And when the smaller child’s face finally crumpled into a sob, Nanami didn’t miss the way the strongest sorcerer’s blue eyes turned glassy almost immediately.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” the pup cried. And in the blink of an eye, he was back in Satoru’s arms. Infinity activated. And the omega’s scent had turned so bitter and protective that the other adults instinctively took two steps back. “Mom. M-Mom, I’m sorry.”

And when Shoko tried once more to approach them, for the first time ever, Satoru snarled in their faces.

And when, after that, Kento noticed the almost imperceptible—but still there—pained expression crossing the older omega’s face, he knew.

Satoru had had a migraine the entire time.

Ten minutes later, and the apartment had returned to its state of perfect stillness and peace.

Well, almost.

Because as soon as Satoru had left the living room with Megumi in his arms, Nanami had been quick to usher Shoko out. Helping her pack her things while ignoring the doctor’s astonished—and slightly offended—expression. She complained, but despite being his senior, Kento knew nothing good would come from the brunette remaining anywhere within Satoru’s line of sight.

Not after distressing his pup. Not when the white-haired omega was dealing with his own migraine in the process. Not when both the omega and his child weren’t feeling well. And especially not after said pup had called Satoru mom.

However, after seeing the beta out of the apartment and while trying to clean the place of the lingering scent of sickness and distress, the only thought in his mind—the only thing consuming him—was that word.

Small. Natural. Childlike. But foreign to all of them. Especially to Satoru. And he just couldn’t understand it, couldn’t… believe it.

Because Satoru wasn’t really mature enough to have children, right? He was childish. A menace. Someone you wouldn’t associate with parenthood even as a joke. Especially not two years ago. But then, why did thinking that suddenly feel so wrong? Why did the word feel so… fitting?

His answer appeared five minutes later.

Because while maybe he hadn’t expressed it in the best way possible—especially considering the personality of the youngest member of the family—Satoru was, in fact, dealing with a migraine. No matter how much he tried to deny it. Or how much he wanted to fight through it. It was inevitable.

After all, the white-haired omega could get sick simply from an excessive amount of disorganized cursed energy in one place, or from unfamiliar cursed energy suddenly appearing and therefore being interpreted by his body as a new threat.

So considering Megumi’s cursed energy was fluctuating violently—especially given how powerful his technique was—there was no possible way Satoru could stay close to his pup without feeling like his skull was splitting in half.

But he’s still staying beside him. His alpha, once again, was quick to point out. Almost proud. None of you even realized he had a migraine. He had it under control until both of you showed up. How do you not find it fitting? How dare you?

So even after cleaning the apartment, and even after doing the only thing Satoru had actually asked of him, he still couldn’t leave. Even if he could still make it to his second class that day. Not when both of them were sick. Not when both of them were distressed.

So, after closing all the curtains and windows in the apartment to keep the noise and light to a minimum, filling a glass with water, and grabbing the medicine bottle Shoko had prescribed for the older omega, Nanami headed toward Satoru’s bedroom. Carefully. Keeping his movements as quiet as possible. And feeling grateful when he found the bedroom door already open.

And then, he found him. And every remaining doubt he might’ve had simply vanished.

Because in the center of the omega’s nest, Satoru sat propped against the headboard, surrounded by blankets and pillows. Megumi was pressed against his chest once again, lulled to sleep by Satoru’s scent. By the omega’s soft strokes against his hair and back. By Satoru grooming him.

And Nanami could feel his own eyes beginning to sting.

Because the omega was licking away his pup’s dried tears, being so unbelievably soft and gentle in the process that anyone could’ve mistaken Megumi for a newborn baby without a single care in the world. And the look in his eyes was so loving, so adoring, that Nanami knew Gojo didn’t care about the migraine.

Not at all.

He knew it the same way he knew his own name—that Satoru could be missing a limb right now and nothing would be capable of separating him from his pup. Not with how tightly he was holding him. Not with the tenderness with which he groomed him. And not with the pure love with which he looked at him. At Megumi. At his pup.

And in that moment, Nanami understood.

Yes, it´s fitting. And it couldn’t have been any other way.

N°3: Gojo

It’s not often that Gojo has bad days.

Not after everything that had happened, not after the years had given him enough maturity and experience to distinguish between his own thoughts and other people’s opinions. Between reality and the expectations and prejudices of others. Not after he died, not after the main source of his insecurity had finally passed on to a hopefully better life. No matter how much he cried over that fact, no matter how much he cried over losing the main source of his stress and misery.

But apparently, he is utterly and undeniably cursed. Because he can’t get rid of his ghost. Because otherwise, the strongest sorcerer of the modern age wouldn’t be blinking tears away on a fucking train headed toward Tokyo.

He likes to think that maybe, and most likely, it’s just stress. Exhaustion and soreness from his mission making his whole being just… fussy. Like kids. In the same way Tsumiki liked being held (not rocked, a very important distinction) and hugged against his body during the few times she had fallen victim to a flu or stomach bug. Or the same way Megumi would demand to be held, rocked, and hugged very, very tightly whenever he became overwhelmed by something a little too much for his permanently overworking big little brain. But the thing is, Satoru is not five, nor ten. Not even sixteen. He is, proudly, pushing thirty, and what used to be his main source of comfort is buried somewhere the white-haired man doubts he’ll ever have the mental strength to visit without crying in pain. Ironic in every sense of the word.

But maybe the worst part is that Satoru knows, as surely as he knows his own name, that the pressure behind his eyes, the heaviness in his body, and the shivers running through him every few seconds are not caused by his previous—and thankfully last—mission of the day. Not considering how easy, almost insulting to his person, exorcising the special grade in Shiba had been nearly two hours ago. Not considering how absent-minded he had been throughout the entire process. Not considering that perhaps the greatest feat he had accomplished during that time was managing six gift bags and a strawberry frappe in his hands. And even less considering the omega had been lucky enough to get a free seat on the perpetually crowded train he was only taking because Ijichi had caught the flu.

Naturally, Satoru hadn’t caught said flu. But he was still sniffling and his lips had trembled the entire trip back to the school. And it wasn’t physical. Not at all.

Because the pain had started at ten in the morning that very same day. And no, it wasn’t raining, nor was there that humidity that had become almost inherent to Tokyo. The kind that left practically everyone at the school with muscle aches and nearly constant headaches. Himself being included, and probably its worst victim.

And luckily, none of his students were hurt, sick, or distressed. Only Nobara was recovering from the flu she’d had a few days ago, with the illness having reduced now to the occasional sniffle and sore throat. Nothing a cup of tea and some rest couldn’t fix. And she was feeling better, especially considering that, sore throat and all, Satoru could hear her voice along with the rest of his students’ from Yaga’s office.

And the omega was doing well too. Having miraculously managed to sleep five uninterrupted hours and woken up with the reassurance and joy of knowing he had no overseas missions until next week—unless an emergency happened—Satoru was genuinely happy. It was undoubtedly a good day. So much so that even when Yaga summoned him to his office for a meeting with the Kyoto school administrators, the white-haired man didn’t even pout about it, merely nodding and leaving enough instructions for his students to train during the no-more-than-an-hour the meeting would take. Even though he knew with absolute certainty the kids would simply use that hour as free time.

So he wasn’t surprised at all when the laughter and playful shouting from both the first and second years reached the brown-haired alpha’s office. If anything, he found it endearing, making a genuine effort not to let a fond smile split his face in half.

And he knew Yaga didn’t mind either. Especially considering Panda’s voice could be heard too. As long as no one got hurt and they didn’t destroy the courtyard (for the second time that month), one free hour wouldn’t hurt anyone. Even if unsupervised. After all, their laughter was the clearest sign that everything was alright. And proudly, Gojo could tell you exactly what every kind of laugh meant. Because yes, they all had different meanings. Playful shouting and laughter usually meant Maki was effortlessly handing someone their ass back. Playful shouting and a more actively involved Nobara meant it was Itadori getting his ass handed to him by Maki. And complete silence—without murmurs or quick footsteps rushing toward wherever the commotion was—meant the nearest adult had approximately thirty seconds to prevent Yuji from ripping someone’s head off, because that silence meant Megumi was losing whatever sparring match he had gotten himself into.

But luckily for everyone, the first scenario seemed to be happening that day. So nobody really had anything to wor—

“How can you be okay with that?”

Satoru blinks once, twice, and with a frown he’s sure is visible even beneath his blindfold, turns to his left to look at Utahime. Because he didn’t understand that. Because, for once in his life, the white-haired man is actually paying attention to what the other adults are saying. Like, he always does, especially during moments when the conversation dangerously drifts toward something harmful or simply annoying for his kids, but more often than not, the strongest sorcerer finds himself thinking about other things.

About whether both his kids are alright. Wondering if Yuji has outgrown his uniform and daily clothes again but won’t mention it out of embarrassment. Wondering if Yuta is actually having a decent time in Africa or if he’s homesick. He’s always thinking, but never about things unrelated to his “job.” So if anything, Gojo is multitasking. And excelling at it, as always.

But somehow, that wasn’t what was happening that day. With the omega almost lulled into calmness by the children’s voices and laughter out in the courtyard, and with the topic of discussion revolving around possible bonding activities between both schools, Satoru could honestly say he was engrossed in the conversation. Especially when the stark contrast between the schools’ performances came up. Because while not being the greatest at math (which pained him endlessly, though he had to remain neutral), his students were undeniably at the top of the charts in everything else, far surpassing Kyoto’s performance. So yes, Satoru was practically preening the entire time. But he didn’t, because he’s pushing thirty, and he’s an adult, and he’s very mature.

However, despite already having hit and surpassed her thirties, Utahime is sulking. Like a child. But none of his kids had ever been this disrespectful, not even Megumi during his middle-school, bully of bullies phase. So for the first time in his life, he’s genuinely lost.

“W-What?”

The black-haired woman tsked, as if Satoru were the idiot there. As if the rest of the adults in the room weren’t just as clueless as him. And the blue-eyed man barely has half a second to question whether this is really happening before the older woman decides to explain the reason for her irritation. “Your students. They should be training. Not wasting time.”

“A free hour won’t kill them,” he answered slowly, like approaching a feral animal. His brain still too shocked to come up with a more teasing or childish response. “Plus—”

“Well, they still shouldn’t,” the other woman interrupted again. And Satoru can feel his lips itch with the urge to hiss in her face. “Don’t try to normalize it just because they don’t take you seriously as a teacher.”

And Gojo is left agape, because that came literally out of nowhere. He can hear Yaga trying to redirect the conversation, assuring her just as the omega had that yes, one free hour will not kill the students. And the blue-eyed man is completely sure that, truthfully, none of the adults in the room actually care what the kids are doing, as long as it doesn’t result in property damage or loss of underage labor. And he knows all of this is simply Utahime sulking in nothing more and nothing less than an immature display of anger, maybe even jealousy. Because she had always been competitive, and maybe just as immature as he himself could be. But he had never minded it before. Always found it funny. Obviously—until it involved his kids.

Because Satoru never messes with Utahime’s students. Doesn’t dare to. Not because she would beat him—she couldn’t, after all. Not even by chance. But because it’s basic respect. He wouldn’t want anyone messing with his students, so he doesn’t do it to others. And the omega had understood that even before turning twenty-five.

So he tries to let it go. Really. He focuses on the background noise, on Yuji’s laugh and Maki lovingly insulting the poor soul who had challenged her. He focuses on their cursed energy, the kind Gojo can perceive from meters away. Familiar, calm, happy, safe. All six of them are safe and sound somewhere on the vast school grounds. And Satoru, from meters away, notices it even before he hears it. An unconscious smile blooms across his face. A ripple of cursed energy. Powerful, lethal, but familiar. And he knows he isn’t mistaken when Yuji’s and Nobara’s happy squeals reach his ears.

Kuro and Shiro.

And as if they knew, he hears Shiro bark playfully. Not Kuro, because Kuro never barks. Not unless something is wrong with Megumi. And despite everything, despite being surrounded by people he normally can’t stand (except Yaga, bless him), Satoru is at peace.

But just as the world has the ability to bless him, it also curses him daily.

Because Shiro’s barking and his students’ laughter are suddenly accompanied by another laugh. But this one doesn’t come from the schoolyard. It comes from Utahime beside him. “Your own kid doesn’t even take your orders seriously.” And Gojo is one second away from losing it. “Can’t blame him though. Must be hell growing up with someone who has no sense of responsibility.”

And Satoru loses it.

He hisses at her. Loudly, clearly, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Yaga is quick to call the meeting to an end, politely inviting everyone to leave the room while mentioning the remaining details can be discussed through email. And the white-haired man wants to feel sorry for it, he truly does, especially considering he can feel his own scent turning bitter. Subtly, faintly, but there. Imperceptible to alphas most of the time, but not to omegas. Not to Utahime. And Satoru knows this will come back to bite him eventually, that he’ll probably be summoned tomorrow to discuss his inappropriate behavior toward a coworker. But he doesn’t care. Not only because he knows Yaga will defend him, especially considering that for once, he hadn’t started the conflict. But because the omega had tried to disrespect one of his kids, and how could Satoru let that slide? It’s a natural reaction.

But the thing is…

“See? How could you be trusted with children when you react like that?” Utahime, who had only just decided to stand up, said. As if she had any room to speak. As if she hadn’t already caused enough damage. “I’m just saying. You aren’t meant to have children. Everyone knows that.”

…Satoru never knows what to do when someone disrespects him.

And from that moment onward, the illusion of a good day vanished into thin air.

Because it’s at that exact moment his phone vibrates, signaling the arrival of two urgent missions. One in Omitama and the other in Shiba. And the omega just knows that with Ijichi sick and the other assistants already occupied, he’s going to spend most of the day traveling. And it’s also at that moment Yaga’s phone rings, and the alpha is already gone with his cellphone in hand, presumably speaking with the higher-ups about God knows what. And Gojo is left alone, with his thoughts, and with the sound of his students blissfully unaware of his internal turmoil out in the courtyard. And Satoru knows he should tell them something about the change in plans. To simply give them the day off. To dismiss them until tomorrow.

But he just leaves.

And it hurt him endlessly.

Satoru isn’t even one block away from the school when he can feel an extra weight settling in his chest. Pure, unfiltered guilt. Because that was a childish and immature reaction. Not even saying goodbye to his kids just because he received a bad (and unnecessary) comment was far from what a responsible adult and teacher should do. And even if it were, even if his students didn’t give two shits whether he said goodbye or not, it was simply something the omega disliked doing. Never—not even during emergencies. He doesn’t like doing things he himself hates receiving. So when he boards the first train to Omitama, nobody can really blame him for how hard he’s chewing on his bottom lip in an attempt to stop the clicking sounds trying to escape from it.

And despite nothing else out of the ordinary happening, Satoru’s day progressively gets worse. And he hates it, because it’s entirely his fault. No one else to blame. It’s his fault for letting such an immature and unnecessary opinion—from someone he doesn’t even care enough about—affect his day like this. His behavior. It’s his fault for not saying goodbye to his kids because he was afraid they’d notice how deeply affected he had been by it. Everything is his fault. And it’s his fault that he even has the audacity to be surprised by his own behavior, as if he hadn’t expected this to happen considering he isn’t meant to—

Those are not his thoughts. Those are his.

And Satoru knows this. His brain has matured enough to send him warning signs every time that familiar voice dares even peek into his thoughts. Bright red signs screaming Don’t go there, patching and stitching together his perpetually collapsing mind. He knows he has to stop. Knows that, as he read in countless parenting self-help books (yes, he reached that level of desperation), the only people who can truly determine whether you’ve been a good or bad parent are the children themselves. And even then, they can still be wrong sometimes. He also knows he shouldn’t even take his opinion into account—not after everything he had done. Not after all the innocent people he murdered. All the children. Yes, he adopted two kids, but he also tried to kill Satoru’s students out of pure spite. He is not someone who, even after death, should still hold this much power over him.

But he does. Because even before Satoru could imagine what his life would become, he had seen it. He had seen that Satoru was the strongest, capable of immeasurable things. But not everything. Not the most important thing. Not the one thing the omega wanted most.

So overall, the rest of his day consists of slipping. He’ll be alright for a while, succeed in distracting himself enough not to think about what a terrible parent he must be, before Suguru’s voice appears again. Or sometimes Shoko’s. Sometimes Utahime’s. Sometimes even Nanami’s. They come and go. Like whispers. Like ghosts. But ghosts that truly manage to convince the omega they are right. That Gojo, no matter how much time has passed, still doesn’t have what it takes to be a teacher. And consequently, doesn’t have what it takes to be a parent.

Because he was young, right? He was eighteen, freshly revived from a death that to this day still gives him phantom pain, that still leaves him nervous every time Infinity isn’t activated. That still has him nearly giving himself whiplash whenever he sees someone remotely resembling Toji and almost teleporting straight to wherever his kids are so no one can take them away from him. He was a kid. But still, nobody forced him into anything. He could have simply placed the children with an adoptive family and limited himself to being Megumi’s guardian once a week. He could have ignored Toji’s final words—the final words of his killer and torturer. But he didn’t.

Nobody forced him to do anything. Nobody forced him to take care of the kids. But people certainly tried to take them away from him. Because he wasn’t made for it. Wasn’t meant for it. No matter how much his omega instincts craved it. Because despite everything aligning in his favor for it to happen, he wasn’t destined for it.

Two stations away from Tokyo, with the sky already drained of color, his cellphone rings. And only then does the older man realize not only the bouncing of his leg from nerves, nor his cursed energy fluctuating around him, making the train car clearly uncomfortable for the other passengers—but also the knot in his throat and the sting in his eyes. He’s fully aware that his lips are trembling like he’s freezing and that he’s one small trigger away from sobbing. And he really, really wants to return to his nest. The one that’s too big now. The one Suguru always somehow rearranged. The one his children don’t sleep in anymore because it’s wrong and they’re leaving him beh—

He unlocks the phone and sighs in relief when he sees it’s Nanami.

Because the blond man had mentioned a few days earlier that he had a mission scheduled for tomorrow, one both he and the omega had decided would be a good opportunity to bring Yuji along. Because while the pink-haired boy had enormous potential, the constant missions had shown that while he excelled at close-range combat, he was definitely struggling with anything involving long-range fighting. Which wasn’t unusual, of course. Plenty of sorcerers dealt with the same issue—or the opposite—depending on their techniques.

But Satoru’s students weren’t like other sorcerers, so Yuji was supposed to work on that the following day with Nanami. But apparently, taking advantage of the kids’ free day, Nanami had decided to move the mission up to that same day. Informing the older man that, due to the hour they’d finished, the two of them would spend the night at a hotel near the site. All of that formal information accompanied by a much less formal picture of Yuji asleep on the hotel bed. Flushed cheeks, the kind of exhaustion only pure fatigue could cause, and hugging the hotel pillow like it would disappear into thin air if he let go. Endearing. Endearing enough to distract him sufficiently to reach Tokyo without crying in the process.

After quickly replying to the blond man and once again maneuvering the six gift bags in his trembling hands, Gojo stepped off the train at Tokyo Station, breathing easier when he realized that, because of the late hour, there weren’t nearly as many people around as usual. And twenty minutes later, he’s standing in the dormitory hallway. Four bags in hand. And he knows he shouldn’t. Knows he doesn’t deserve it. Knows that in some deeply unhealthy coping mechanism, he’s trying to make up for his mistake that morning. And he knows his room is on the floor above, not this one. He knows he has no reason to be there.

But he hasn’t seen his students all day. And he needs to know they’re okay.

He enters Nobara’s room first, immediately greeted by the sweet scent of what is presumably a very expensive perfume the girl definitely bought with his credit card. He smiles fondly at that, especially when he compares it to the floral perfumes Tsumiki regularly uses. Both perfectly fitting for each of them. He moves quietly, placing the pink gift bag on her nightstand and tucking the girl in better, cooing softly when the brunette snuggles deeper into the blankets at the added warmth. And after closing the window so she won’t wake up freezing in the morning, he leaves her room. And moves on to Yuji’s.

And the contrast is so obvious it’s endearing.

He knows Yuji isn’t there. Knows the alpha is in a ridiculously expensive hotel in Osaka, but he still enters out of habit. And despite being an alpha, and despite being considered a possible prime, there isn’t even a hint of a dominant scent in the room. Not even a trace. Not pup-like either, because Yuji had unfortunately already grown out of that stage. Instead, it’s calming, grounding, with notes of citrus and tangerine that feel more comforting than overwhelming. The state of his room, though—that’s pup-like. Boyish. Posters from various manga and western superhero movies decorating most of the room, alongside a stack of manga beside his desk. Add to that the scattered papers all over the desk and the hastily made bed, and despite wanting nothing more than to go collapse into his nest (and finally ugly cry), the omega finds himself placing Yuji’s red gift bag on the desk before starting to tidy the room a little.

Five minutes later, and after mentally noting to buy Yuji a few more pillows (because alphas are weird as hell, but sleeping without pillows sounds excessive), he stops in front of Megumi’s room. His child. His pup. His baby. And Satoru has to take two deep breaths to stop the trembling in his hands and the frantic pounding of his heart, because he isn’t entirely sure he could simply check on him without picking him up and rocking him back to sleep. Like when he was little. Like when he still purred and chirped every time the omega nuzzled his hair and kissed his cheek. Like when he still called him m—

He opens the door. And the strongest sorcerer of the modern age whines, because his pup isn’t there.

The world just seems to stop, everything relenting to that moment. The white-haired omega can no longer hear the soft midnight breeze outside, nor the sounds of nature that came with it. Nor the familiar creaking of the institution that became his worst nightmare every time he had a migraine. All of that simply turns into blank noise. The only thing Satoru can hear is the vibration of his own blood, and the way his heart seems to stop for an entire minute before beginning to pound with a force bordering on superhuman. And the only thing he can focus on is Megumi’s unmade and empty bed. The bed where his pup should be sleeping comfortably. Surrounded by pillows and comforters just as he had since he was little. But there’s no one there. Just Satoru, and his pups’ presents dangling from one of his hands.

But the curious thing is that Satoru doesn’t freak out.

The normal reaction would be to start searching the school from top to bottom, looking for the slightest clue as to where the younger one was. The normal reaction would be to call the raven-haired teen’s cellphone. The normal reaction would be Satoru panicking and desperately searching for his child. But he doesn’t. He simply closes the door and walks straight to his own room. To his nest. And it’s only when he’s a few meters away from the door that he realizes his inner omega had taken over most of his body, craving control ever since this morning. And it’s only when he’s holding the doorknob that he realizes this isn’t the first time Megumi had disappeared from his bed.

Because it had happened before. Both in Satoru’s presence and in his absence. It had happened ever since Megumi was six, and it only stopped when he turned twelve. And it was never really caused by one specific thing. Sometimes it would be a particularly strong storm, sometimes a movie that had overwhelmed the pup a little too much. Sometimes it would be exhaustion after a long school day. And sometimes it would just happen for no apparent reason at all. And even though it hadn’t happened in years, unconsciously, his inner omega knows it. Because how could he not? How could he not know his pup like the back of his hand?

And when he opens the door, he finds him. Along with Yuji’s missing pillow. And Satoru can’t even stop the coo that slips from his lips.

Because right in the center of his bed, of his nest, Megumi is curled into a tiny ball, in the exact same way he’s slept since he was four years old. His face is buried in one of the many pillows that make up the older omega’s safest place on earth. Sound asleep, nearly all of Satoru’s comforters draped over his small figure. And the only thing that confirms to the older man that the sight before him isn’t just a figment of his imagination, nor a memory of his pup when he was little, is the pink-haired alpha’s pillow pressed tightly against the younger one’s chest. Hugged in the same way Megumi used to cling to his plushies as a child.

And when he steps a little closer to the figure on his bed, and can hear the younger one’s happy puppy purrs, the blue-eyed sorcerer finds himself crying on his knees beside the bed.

Because Megumi wouldn’t be sleeping in his nest at sixteen years old if Satoru hadn’t done a good job, right? If he hadn’t been a good parent? Because Megumi wouldn’t find comfort in his nest now that he wasn’t a little pup anymore if Satoru had been a bad parent. Not now that the teenager was no longer biased by childish needs. Not now that the raven-haired teen was more than capable of building his own nest if he needed comfort. Not now that he was only years—maybe months—away from fully presenting. Not now that he was slowly becoming an adult. But right now, Megumi is curled up in his nest, purring loudly and contentedly. Seeking warmth, seeking comfort, seeking…

You? With kids? Most likely a nightmare considering you aren’t built to take care of—

“Mom?”

Satoru blinks, focusing his gaze on the no-longer-small pup in his nest. On his little blessing, who’s staring at him with barely open eyes, groggy with sleep. His lower lip juts out in a way the omega knows isn’t a real pout, but simply Megumi being grumpy about waking up. Instinctive. Puppy-like. And when the smaller one makes a weak, sleepy grabby hand, Satoru finds himself climbing into the nest, purring all the while.

“My baby,” the omega coos, settling himself into the softness of the nest and cuddling Megumi close against his chest. And he can’t stop the tears slipping down his cheeks when his pup nestles even deeper into the embrace. Happily sighing and purring even louder. Nuzzling his cheek against the older man’s chest. “My pup, my baby.”

“Mom,” Megumi murmurs softly, and if he didn’t know any better, Satoru could’ve sworn it was his six-year-old pup curled up against him. Satoru croons in response, pressing featherlight kisses against both his forehead and temple. And he’s just about to nuzzle his cheek against the younger one’s hair when—

“Missed you, mom.”

And Satoru is overwhelmingly relieved that the green-eyed teen falls back asleep so quickly, because he isn’t sure he could explain the happy keen that escapes his lips. Not from sadness. Not from distress. No, just pure happiness.

And Satoru starts grooming his pup. Because even though Megumi isn’t distressed or hurt, his pup missed him. Because his pup missed him in the middle of the night and came looking for him. Like when he was little. Like when he was still too small to climb into the taller omega’s bed and would make grabby hands and pout until he was cuddled into it. Because his pup chose him. And Satoru can do nothing but give his pup exactly what he needs. Warmth. Comfort. Love.

“I missed you too, my pup,” he whispers against the younger one’s hair. Rocking them both gently, crooning softly at the smaller one’s purrs and sleepy little mumbles. Pressing a kiss to his forehead at a mumble that sounded a little too much like mom. And Satoru smiles. Finally at peace. Finally at home. Finally where he was meant to be. “I missed you all day.”

N°4: ...

Megumi doesn’t know exactly why, but it’s a weird day.

It’s winter. Its final days, slowly melting into spring, but winter nonetheless. And he hates it, deeply and from the bottom of his soul. He hates that the days are much shorter, hates that he’s forced to wear layer after layer of clothing just to avoid getting sick. He also hates that the rest of his classmates get sick because their parents aren’t responsible enough to dress them properly. He hates the storms too. The never-ending ones. The kind that begin in the afternoon and somehow are still raging by the time he wakes up, painting the sky in an awful, unmotivating gray full of humidity and stress from practically the entire population.

Megumi hates winter. And apparently, his classmates hate it too.

It had all started pretty normally. Megumi and his sister had been taken to school like every other day, with Satoru scenting both of them and pressing kisses to their foreheads while telling them he’d be there in the afternoon to pick them up. Or at least to pick up Megumi, because Tsumiki had been invited to spend the afternoon with one of her classmates and would be picked up by the girl’s mother once school ended.

And everyone was okay with that, with Tsumiki happily saying goodbye to them in the morning, carrying a change of clothes in her backpack and some sweet treats Nanami had made for the occasion, all while being double-scented by the omega. And Megumi was okay too. He completed his activities without complaint and even earned a golden star for helping one of his least idiotic classmates with a math problem. It was an average, slightly good day.

But then lunch break arrived. And everything darkened, quite literally.

Not only because clouds started covering the until-then completely clear blue sky, signaling almost certain rain by nightfall. And not only because that same situation meant every surface in the school—and probably everywhere else too—was beginning to feel sticky from the growing humidity in the air. All of that was tolerable. Slightly, but tolerable. No, the main problem was that, out of nowhere, Megumi started feeling… tired. Achy. Fussy. And apparently, some of his classmates did too.

It started slowly, the first symptom being Megumi’s sudden exhaustion. His eyes blinking heavily with sleepiness, his bottom lip slowly but surely turning into a permanent pout. Then came the aching. Because suddenly, sitting in his chair wasn’t comfortable at all, but neither was standing up, nor doing any kind of activity. Megumi simply wanted to lie down. But not on the floor, like some of his classmates had done during the free period the teacher had declared because of the circumstances. Not even if he used his jacket and backpack as a pillow. And the green-eyed boy was sure that even if his teacher somehow materialized his bed right there in the classroom, he still wouldn’t be satisfied. And at the tender age of six years old (and a month), Megumi felt like he was losing his mind.

“Kindergarten rebound effect.” That was the name his teacher had given the strange phenomenon affecting the class. Caused by the loss of the typical kindergarten nap schedule, and intensified by the humidity and the gym class they’d had before lunch. So, to put it simply, it was basically a collective tantrum.

And an ironic one at that, because normally Megumi didn’t nap. Ever. The only exceptions were when he was sick. Or when he was watching a boring movie with Satoru and Tsumiki. Or when they were driving home and Megumi would simply, completely against his will, be lulled to sleep by Satoru’s scent. Or during the first few months after the white-haired omega had adopted them and the younger boy experienced the comfort of a bed without humidity for the first time. But aside from those really, really rare occasions, he didn’t nap. At all. Satoru had even been forced to attend several meetings at his old kindergarten because of the younger pup’s refusal to take the naps all his classmates looked forward to. Except Megumi, of course.

But now, the younger boy desperately wanted a nap. But somehow, inexplicably, he also really wanted Satoru involved too. He wanted him to materialize in the classroom out of nowhere and take him home. And maybe it was the fact that he knew the white-haired omega literally could do that, that had him pouting until the end of the school day.

And the moment he walked out of school, his mind simply disconnected.

Because Satoru was already there, along with the other parents of the first-years. Some of them immediately took their children home, especially the ones who weren’t affected by the collective moodiness caused by the weather. But naturally, Megumi wasn’t that lucky, because as soon as the blue-eyed omega was within reach, his teacher approached him to explain the situation. Wasting time. Wasting time from the younger boy’s future nap. Giving the older omega problems, probably stressing him out even more than he already was. And Megumi hates his teacher.

He doesn’t, actually. She’s actually pretty good. She’s always patient with him, no matter how bratty Megumi is being that day. More often than not, she lets him eat in the classroom, away from the loud voices and messiness of the other children. And she still wears one of Tsumiki’s bracelets around her wrist because she had been her teacher before him. So no, he doesn’t actually hate her. But considering she is currently the only thing standing between him and the possibility of a nap, the younger boy hates her. And he hates her even more when he notices the older omega didn’t come by car. Which can only mean one thing: twenty minutes walking home.

Megumi hates her. And before he can stop himself, a whine escapes his lips.

The conversation between the adults ends immediately, with Satoru crouching down to his level and lifting him into his arms without hesitation. And Megumi knows he looks like a baby, like a baby he isn’t, because he’s six. He’s not a pup. And he’s not Satoru’s pup. But then the omega adjusts him more securely against his chest, gently settling his suddenly-too-heavy head onto his shoulder with the same tenderness he’d use for a baby, and the younger boy can’t stop the pitiful, exhausted sob that slips from his lips, nor the few crocodile tears escaping without permission.

“Shh, I know, my blessing, I know,” the omega coos into his hair, nuzzling his cheek against his temple and scenting him. “This humidity sucks, doesn’t it?”

Megumi doesn’t answer. Instead, he presses himself deeper into the embrace. Because he can’t talk. Words feel like too much right now. He just wants warmth, even though it isn’t particularly cold outside. But he wants it, needs it. And he’s just about to whine again about it when the older omega wraps him in his own jacket, creating a tiny cocoon of warmth between his body and the fabric. Then the omega adjusts his little head so his nose presses against the older man’s scent gland, and with the little strength his exhausted body can muster, Megumi clings to him.

“My baby,” he hears the omega mumble into his hair before pressing a soft kiss there. He can feel one of the omega’s hands supporting his body and the other cradling his head against his shoulder. Like a baby. Like pups. Like m— “You can sleep, Gumi. I’m here now.”

But the thing is, Megumi never really hears that last part, falling asleep before the words can fully reach him. But he doesn’t need to hear them. Not when he already knows. Not when, without his permission and without any regard for the future consequences of thinking like this, his puppy brain had already reached a conclusion the moment the omega carried him into his arms. Megumi doesn’t hear those words because there’s only one thought, one single word, occupying his entire mind. His heart. His whole being. What had been missing, what had been needed, and the reason why none of the other nicknames had ever truly worked. Because this one was the one meant to stay, even if the rational part of Megumi doens't know it yet.

Because inside that cocoon of comfort and warmth, of pure and unchanging peace and safety, in the arms of the omega Megumi knows are the safest place in the world, the word materialized on its own. And just like it happens with babies, with very small pups, it became his entire world.

Mom.