⧽ don't panic, it's organic!
── never rely on dad!jo and yuji when it comes to girl emergencies
f!reader, dad!jo, established relationship, itadori yuji mentioned, crack, satoru is a girl dad, fluff
it’s best to say that your daughter being alone with satoru and yuji isn’t the ideal scenario when she gets her first period.
unfortunately for your daughter, that’s the current matrix she’s in, and unfortunately for you, you’re not there to contend with it.
satoru brought in the trio—yuji, nobara, and megumi—for the meantime while you’re running some errands; satoru reasoned that your daughter may want some company. though nobara and megumi had already left hours prior, leaving only yuji.
the two young ones are seated at the dining table: papers, markers, pens, and pencils are scattered everywhere—on the table and on the floor.
“i’ll get the oil pastels,” yuji nods, focused on what he’s drawing, his tongue sticking out—can you imagine a fifteen-year-old enjoying more of what he’s doing than a twelve-year-old?
“hey kiddos, i—oh. my. god.” satoru tumbles a little, “sweetheart, you’re bleeding!”
“...huh?” she searches all over her body, looking for any signs of bleeding, until she sees the stain that’s been left on the chair she was seated on.
yuji promptly looks up from what he’s doing—upon seeing a stain on your daughter’s pants, panic sets in. immediately. “oh my days, sensei! she’s… she’s dying!’ he shrieks.
everyone in the room became quiet for a few seconds—well, except for yuji, who is now crying. satoru blurts, trying to stay composed. “she’s having her period, yuji.” he paces around the kitchen.
“sweetheart, i’ll call your mom, okay? don’t panic, it’s organic!” his voice cracking, he inches toward your preteen.
meanwhile, you're strolling through the grocery store, unaware that your phone has been ringing nonstop in your bag.
“she’s not answering! what do we do?!” now two men are losing their minds in the same household. surely, having at least nobara or megumi over would make the situation more palatable, right?
“kugisaki isn’t responding too!” yuji’s hands are frantically shaking, inhaling and exhaling very quickly.
as you push the cart, you’re hearing whisper-soft ringing, making you halt in your tracks.
seventeen missed calls from satoru. he’ll never call you that much in the span of five minutes if it’s not a life-and-death situation.
okay, so it is a life-and-death situation—if what he’s saying isn’t exaggerated. “what do you mean our daughter’s dying?! satoru, where are you?!”
“baby, she got her period!” your shoulders drop, your heart starting to beat at a slow pace after satoru’s news caused you to have a small heart attack.
oh, fucking hell! you were genuinely about to skedaddle on the way to wherever they are. “baby, don’t word it like that. ever. again.” you speak, words firm.
your eyebrows furrowed as you crimp the bridge of your nose. “is nobara not there? or at least megumi—he’d probably handle that better than the two of you.” you suspire, demanding, “hand her the phone.”
yuji had already gone home, but before he vanished, he was apologizing continuously. why? you don’t know why.
knocking softly on the door, you inquire, “you okay in there, sweets?”
“mhm.” the soft-like voice echoes outside the bathroom. “ya need any help?” you ask a follow-up question.
“no need, mom.” upon hearing your daughter’s reply, you’re satisfied enough to leave. peering behind you, satoru stood, typing something on his phone. “we need to talk.”
snatching his phone, his face screams petrification. “wait–”
“what? are you hiding something?” you take a glance at his phone—he’s on google.
can you donate blood to your daughter after she gets her period?
how to deal with period as a father reddit
“she’s a grown up now,” he huffs, throwing himself onto the bed and caching his face into the pillow. “are you gonna cry?” a teasing smile spread across your face, you understand him, though.
satoru’s voice has gone soft, his voice slightly cracking.. “probably—that’s my princess we’re talking about!” he gapes up, gazing at you with teary eyes.
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