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Our Blessing ♡ Chapter 06

♡ Pairing: Toji Zenin x reader

♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.

♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop, Hidden Baby Trope

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Toji’s never been a man of many words.

Always the quiet one, sharp green eyes constantly assessing his surroundings, his mind always calculating before he ever bothers to speak.

A trait he inherited from his no good father.

But somehow today, you’ve rendered him completely mute.

Minutes slip by in tense silence, each one dragging heavier than the last. You wonder if he even heard you. Your admission that you did try to tell him about your son, but you gave up.

The two of you are still sitting on your couch, the soft lamplight pooling around you, and his head is bowed, dark hair falling forward to shield his eyes.

You see through him anyway.

His hands are rigid around your baby book, his knuckles white, the leather-bound cover bending slightly under his grip. You had his baby almost six years ago. You wanted to tell him. You tried to tell him.

But he never gave you the chance.

You gave up on him. And the bitter truth is, it was all his fault.

And yet, to your shock, you realize you’re not the only one who’s emotional.

Toji Zenin, the man who’s painted as a ruthless, cold-blooded bastard in every tabloid and headline, has tears running silently down his face.

You notice the glint of one sliding down his cheek and falling into his lap, just barely missing the photo album in his hands. He subtly shifts it out of harm’s way, and that small, almost instinctive motion nearly breaks you.

“Shit, Y/N.” His voice finally cuts through the silence, hoarse and raw. The shaky breath he exhales makes your heart clench; it sounds like something heavy is cracking inside him.

“I didn’t invite you here to make you cry,” you murmur softly, tension threading your voice.

The sight of him like this, unraveled sets off every instinct to reach for him, to touch his hand or shoulder and offer comfort. But your mind holds you back.

You’re confused.

You thought you’d be angrier than this.

And maybe you will be later. You always imagined, in your loneliest nights, that you’d feel some grim satisfaction watching him regret everything, that you’d relish the weight of guilt finally pressing on him.

But you don’t.

Instead, watching him like this, a man who’s always been untouchable, now so visibly shaken makes your throat tighten with a lump you can’t swallow down.

When he reopens the book, it surprises you.

He turns each page slowly, like he’s afraid of missing something, and his hand stills on one in particular.

It’s a photo of you and Megumi on his first birthday: a tiny cake frosted in uneven baby blue buttercream, scattered with star-shaped sprinkles and a single lit candle. You’re more dressed up than usual, a touch of makeup softening your tired features. Megumi, just a little bigger than in the earlier photos, is achingly sweet in a navy blue romper, cheeks round and flushed.

Beneath the picture, in your careful handwriting, are the words:

“It’s your first birthday, Megumi! Mommy made this cake for you. The icing isn’t perfect, but I’m sure I’ll get it right next year! I love you. You’re my biggest blessing in this life. – Mommy.”

Toji stares at that picture for what feels like forever, his expression unreadable but his silence deafening. And then, you see it. The sharp crack in his composure. The way his eyes flicker with something heavy, suffocating.

He notices what’s missing in an instant: there’s no one else there. No friends. No family. No him.

It’s just you and Megumi, alone in this tiny apartment,

Yet you still decorated the table, baked a cake he couldn’t even eat yet, and set your phone on a timer to capture these memories by yourself.

Something inside Toji caves.

Regret doesn’t come close to describing the feeling twisting violently in his gut. Is there a word for this? For the kind of pain that feels like it’s eating him alive from the inside out? Maybe it’s self-loathing. Maybe it’s worse.

Whatever it is, it makes him feel small. Pathetic.

He’s an idiot.

An egotistical, stupid, selfish, blind idiot.

And he's well aware that all of this, every second of this pain, is his own doing.

“Toji.” His name leaves your lips in a voice so soft it nearly breaks him in two.

He finally tears his gaze from the book to look at you. And in that moment, you’re taken aback. His eyes are greener when he cries, impossibly vivid, like shards of sea glass catching the light.

You force yourself to look away, lowering your head, your fingers absently picking at nonexistent lint on your sweater.

“He’s five now” you murmur, your voice soft as if the words themselves are fragile. “Turns six next week.”

Your fingers twist together in your lap, knuckles white. “He, um… has been asking about you. And like I told you, since I ran into Suguru and he gave me your number, I’d been holding back. I think I was scared. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I finally could, I don’t even know why but-”

“Y/N.”

His voice cuts through your rambling, low but firm.

Toji shuts the book with a quiet thud, the sound heavier than it should be, and leans forward, elbows on his knees. His hands drag down his face as he exhales a deep, shaky sigh, fingers momentarily hiding his expression.

“None of this… is your fault,” he says at last, voice low and rough, like gravel scraping together.

“It’s mine. Fuck, this is all on me. Don’t apologize to me. Ever.” The words are sharp, almost biting, like he’s scolding you for even daring to take on his guilt.

If the mood weren’t so heavy, you might’ve laughed.

That was always Toji, ready to fight your battles even against yourself.

Back then, he’d get mad at you whenever you’d say sorry too quickly, whenever you’d shrink back in some pointless argument or let someone walk all over you. “You’re too soft,” he used to tell you, like it was a bad thing. Maybe it was.

You nod quietly, your heart pounding, your mind a haze of disbelief. He’s sitting right next to you.

After all these years, after everything, this man who once felt like your entire world now feels like a ghost, flesh and bone but belonging to another life, dragged reluctantly into your present.

Toji’s gaze shifts, no longer fixed on you but drifting toward the far corner of your cozy living room.

His sharp green eyes land on the Christmas tree, strung with soft yellow lights and flickering rainbow ones, ornaments dangling in a chaotic but charming mix.

Some clearly old, carried over from your childhood, each placed with care. At the base, a small pile of gifts rests, wrapped in bright paper with cartoon reindeer, their cheerful design almost mocking the heaviness of the moment.

“When’s his birthday?” Toji asks suddenly, his voice flat, detached, like he’s speaking through fog. His eyes stay locked on the tree.

You blink, startled by the abrupt question. “December twenty-second” you answer softly. “Almost a Christmas baby.”

The corner of your mouth curves up in a small, watery smile. “It’s tricky around this time. I always have to separate his birthday and Christmas presents.” Your attempt at lightness falls flat; Toji doesn’t react, his expression unmoved, still staring at the tree.

Your brow furrows. Toji’s always been indifferent about Christmas, never cared much for birthdays either - his own was too close to the holiday for him to bother celebrating.

So why does he look like this now?

Your eyes follow his line of sight, scanning the tree. And then you see it.

There, catching the glow of the lights, is a single ornament that stands out from the rest: a delicate crystal heart, its surface refracting warm yellows and soft rainbows as it sways slightly on a silver string.

It’s beautiful, clearly more expensive than anything else on the tree. But that’s not why he’s staring.

It’s because he gave it to you. Years ago.

You tense, gaze snapping away from the ornament as if it burned you.

You don’t even know why you keep putting it up every Christmas. Some sentimental streak you’ve never had the courage to shake. Maybe it’s pathetic, clinging to a piece of him like that.

And now that he’s noticed, the weight of that choice sinks heavy in your chest, heat creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but damn it - you do.

You feel the need to change the subject before it could even begin.

“Toji, I have to ask” you start, voice shaking, terrified you’ll shatter whatever fragile calm lingers between you.

He looks at you then. Really looks. The weight of his gaze alone knots your stomach tighter, and your words falter.

“I still don’t… I never knew why you - you know, left. And I don’t really need to know anymore. It’s ancient history now.” You pause, swallowing hard.

“But I need to know if you want to be in Megumi’s life. I could live with you leaving me, but…” You can’t look at him, can’t bear to see whatever’s written on his face. Your eyes stay fixed on your lap.

“But please… you can’t do that to Megumi.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, soft enough that he’d have to strain to catch it.

The silence that follows feels endless, suffocating. You let out a shaky, pained breath.

“I-it’s okay if you want nothing to do with us. Please just… tell me now. You don’t even have to meet him. I can let him down gently.” You say, wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater, scared to look directly at him.

Toji stays quiet for a long time. Long enough that the silence between you becomes unbearable, stretching taut like a wire you’re afraid might snap.

You risk a glance at him, and he’s just… staring. Not at you, not really. His emerald gaze is fixed somewhere beyond you, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, a sound halfway between a sigh and a scoff.

“You really think I’d bail on my own kid?” His voice is low, rough around the edges. He leans back against the couch, dragging a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to piece together what the hell he’s supposed to say. “I get it, I ain’t exactly got the best track record. But I ain’t that much of a piece of shit.”

Your heart stutters at that. You want to respond, but your throat feels tight, the words stuck somewhere in your chest.

Toji glances at you now, and the weight of his attention makes you shrink a little. But there’s something softer in his eyes. Something you can’t quite name.

“I didn’t leave ‘cause of you. Or him. Hell, I didn’t even know about him” he says, voice quieter now, almost grudging. “You…I was just an idiot, I wish Suguru told me sooner.”

You flinch, shame pricking at your chest. “I-”

“I’m not mad,” he cuts you off, tone more even. “I just… missed a lot of time I can’t get back.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes flicking toward the ornament still hanging on the tree. “But I ain’t goin’ anywhere now. If Megumi wants me around, I’ll be there.”

There’s a heaviness to his words, not a threat but a promise. The kind of promise Toji Zenin doesn’t make lightly.

“...You sure?” you ask, voice trembling.

He huffs a laugh, low and humorless. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

When he finally looks back at you, really looks, his expression softens by just a fraction. “I fucked up” he says quietly, the words almost strangled. “I don’t know if I could ever make it right, but… I’ll try.”

Your chest tightens, a painful squeeze that leaves you breathless. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes sting, tears pooling faster than you’d like.

Toji notices immediately - of course he does.

His jaw flexes, a faint crease appearing between his brows as his hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but hesitates. “Please don’t cry,” he mutters, sounding almost panicked, like the words are dragged out of him. “I’m sorry. Shit, Y/N… how do I fix this?”

You shake your head weakly, a helpless shrug lifting your shoulders. You don’t have the answer either. “I’m just… feeling a lot right now,” you manage, voice trembling despite your best effort.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, the furrow between his brows deepening. For a long moment, he just stares at you, his hands curling into fists like he’s fighting himself.

“...Can I hold you?” The question is rough, almost whispered, like he’s afraid the wrong move will shatter you completely. “I don’t… I don’t deserve it. But-” He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just I don’t wanna see you cry like this.”

The words make your throat tighten even more, tears threatening to spill again. He looks so out of his depth, wide shoulders tense like he’s ready for rejection but hoping anyway.

You nod, barely, and that’s all it takes. He’s moving toward you carefully, cautiously, like you’re something fragile he doesn’t trust himself to handle. When his arms finally wrap around you, they’re firm but tentative, holding you close without trapping you.

The warmth of him seeps into your trembling frame, the steady beat of his heart under your cheek grounding you. His breath shudders against your hair, and you swear you feel him murmur something that sounds like, “I’m so fucking sorry,” low and raw, almost like he doesn’t want you to hear it.

But you do, and you let out a soft, shaky breath.

And God, you hate yourself for feeling your heart give into him so easily after everything.

After years of pain, betrayal, and loneliness. You should be furious. You should be keeping him at arm’s length and screaming. Yet, here you are, clinging to him, letting the familiar warmth of him dull the ache in your chest.

Your mind screams at you to be angry, to remind yourself how much he hurt you - but your heart, betraying you as it always has, doesn’t care.

You could stay here for hours in his arms.

You’ve dreamed of this moment for years, and yet -

He still left you. Heartless, cold, like you were nothing.

If it weren’t for Megumi, would he even be here? Would he be apologizing, hugging you, stroking your back like he still cared? Or would you still be standing alone in this apartment, waiting for a ghost that never returned?

Guilt and longing tangle in your chest as you tense, gently pulling away from him, and instantly regretting it as the cool air of your home brushes against your skin. He lets you, careful not to push too far, his dark brows knitting in concern.

“I, um…sorry,” you mutter lightly, brushing away what must be the last of your tears. You notice his furrowed expression, almost exasperated - and you want to laugh. But you don’t.

God, he looks like an older Megumi right now.

He’s opening his mouth, likely to scold you for apologizing, but you cut him off with a rush of resolve, awkwardly avoiding his gaze. “We shouldn’t… we’re back in each other’s lives for Megumi. It’s best we don’t revisit the past,” you say, voice tentative but firm.

He quirks a dark brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hugging you is revisiting the past?”

“Acting like you care about me is,” the words tumble out sharp and unguarded, before you can stop them. His green eyes widen, and for a heartbeat, you falter, wishing you could take them back.

“Y/N, I do care about you" Toji says, low and earnest, but you don’t want to hear it.

“That doesn’t matter now" you cut him off, panic coiling in your chest.

The conversation is heading somewhere you’re not ready to go, and your hands fidget in your lap, twisting the edge of your sweater. He seems to sense you shutting down; his gaze sharpens, serious and intense in a way that jolts you.

“Y/N, wait. We need to talk about this-”

“I don’t want to” you admit finally, forcing your eyes to meet his with as much steadiness as you can muster. Vulnerable and wide open, your heart still feels lodged in his hand from years ago, and you can’t give him another piece of it yet.

Toji exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for years. His hands twitch at his sides, unsure whether to reach for you again or remain rooted in place.

“Okay” he says finally, voice low, rough, tangled with pain and longing. “But I don’t want to barge into Megumi’s life, have him think Mom and Dad don’t get along. We have to address the past at some point.”

Your chest tightens, the lump in your throat heavier than ever.

The thought of him stepping into your son’s life after all these years coils something tight inside you, a knot of fear laced with reluctant hope. You want to protest, to tell him he doesn’t deserve it, that he has no right.

But your throat closes, words catching on the weight of everything unsaid. And at the end of the day, you’re relieved he’s here.

You hate your traitorous heart.

“I know I fucked up,” Toji murmurs, voice rough, his green eyes searching your face like he’s afraid of what he’ll find. “But I need to try. For him. For you, if you’ll let me.”

You look away, fingers twisting the hem of your sweater. “I don’t know if I can just let you,” you whisper, the words raw and trembling, carved out of longing and old hurt.

He nods slowly, like he expected nothing less. “Yeah.” His gaze drops to the floor for a beat before locking back onto you, steady and unflinching. “I’ll try anyway, I want to make this right y/n.”

Something in his tone, bare and almost pleading, cuts through you. You bite your lip hard, fighting back the tide of emotion that threatens to pull you under.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you nod. Small. Careful. “Okay. For Megumi. But what happened between us can wait.” The words are barely audible, like you’re confessing them to the quiet more than to him.

He exhales softly, relief flickering across his face for the briefest moment, so fragile you almost miss it. That softness, foreign and tender, makes your chest ache in ways you can’t name.

“When can I meet him?” he asks, voice low.

You swallow, surprised by his calm resolve. “I was hoping before his birthday party. But I know you’re probably busy.”

“I’ll clear my schedule. How’s tomorrow sound?”

You blink, stunned. “Are you sure? You can take some time to think about this.”

“Y/N,” he interrupts gently but firmly. “I’m sure. I’ll be here.”

The room settles into a quiet so fragile it feels like it might shatter with a breath. The past still looms heavy between you, a shadow neither of you can outrun. But for now, he’s here. You’re here. And maybe, for tonight, that’s enough.

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The next morning creeps in, and Toji’s schedule is wiped clean.

He doesn’t give a damn if his CFO’s skull explodes in today’s meeting, he has more important duties to attend to. Duties… as a new father.

Not that there’s a stroller or a diaper bag in sight. No, instead Toji stands at your front door with a glossy, oversized box tucked under his arm. A brand-new gaming console. His hopeful peace offering.

Six-year-olds like video games, right?

You had texted him last night after your awkward goodbye, numbers now officially exchanged, to tell him not to bring gifts. But with Megumi’s birthday and Christmas around the corner, Toji figures he has years of missed holidays to make up for.

Why not start now?

He’s outside your door at 9 AM sharp, exactly like you’d agreed. The plan: pick you and Megumi up and take you to a cozy breakfast spot tucked away in another part of the city.

The winter air bites at his skin, his breath puffing out in soft clouds. He shifts his weight, heart thudding like he’s about to face down an opposing business partner rather than his own five-year-old.

Truth is, Toji Zenin is ready to crap his pants. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Then, the door swings open.

You appear, as effortlessly beautiful as ever, hair freshly styled, dark-wash jeans hugging your frame, and a soft jumper that makes you look cozy enough to curl up with. Your eyes flick to the shiny box in his hands, and your brows pull together. “Seriously, Toji? I told you no gifts.”

“Y/N, what the hell does a six-year-old even talk about?” he blurts out, looking absurdly out of place for a man of his size and presence. “I needed a crutch.”

You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling.

Seeing the infamous, intimidating Toji Zenin practically shaking at the thought of meeting your tiny son is… priceless. Yesterday, everything had been heavy with nostalgia and grief.

Maybe this is why today feels lighter. Now, you have a chance to enjoy watching him sweat.

“Toji, it’ll be fine. How’d you even get that so fast?” you ask, nodding to the console.

“Promised my assistant a raise if he did this for me and came back from vacation early. Guy’ll do anything for cash,” he mutters darkly.

You pause, brows raised. “I don’t even want to know.”

“Probably not,” he admits.

“Alright, well, come inside. He’s watching TV,” you say, giving him a small smile as you turn to open the door wider.

Before you can step back, his large hand closes around your arm, startling you. “Y/N, wait.”

You turn, brows raised in curiosity, while his jaw tightens like he’s working up the nerve to speak.

“What’s he like?” The words come out low, almost hesitant. He releases your arm quickly, as if realizing he shouldn’t have grabbed you, his gaze flicking away for a second.

“He’s… a lot like you, actually,” you admit with a knowing smile, one that’s both fond and a little nervous.

Toji’s face falters, and he mutters a quiet, “Shit.”

You snort at the reaction, nodding. “Don’t curse around him by the way. He’ll make you put money in the swear jar.”

“You have a swear jar?!”

“He’s five, Toji. Of course we have a swear jar.” You sigh, resigned, because you’re very much a victim of that jar yourself.

He grits his teeth, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “We’re getting off track here. How do I get him to like me?”

You cross your arms, biting back a smile. “For starters? Maybe stop looking like someone’s holding you at gunpoint.”

He blinks at you, caught off guard, then huffs a laugh and glances away, cheeks flushed - and not just from the cold. “Shit, I’m nervous, okay? Feels like I’m gonna say the wrong thing and he’ll hate me forever.”

You tilt your head, unimpressed. “We’ve got bigger issues than that, Toji.”

He scoffs. “What the hell could be worse than that?”

“Hypothermia, if we keep standing out here. Then Megumi won’t have any parents. Let’s go inside.” You snort, reaching back to grab his arm and tugging him in as you open the door to your warm apartment.

Toji freezes for half a second at the casual touch, his green eyes going wide. He’s terrified of what’s coming next but stupidly thrilled by the way your hand curls around his arm, like it’s natural, easy, like it used to be.

He has no right to blush at something so small, but he does anyway.

Motherhood looks good on you. You’ve always been beautiful, one of the prettiest girls in all his classes back then, he’d always thought so. But now, there’s something new, a warmth, a glow that’s only made you more magnetic.

Or maybe he’s just got rocks for brains and is too drawn to the fact that you’re the mother of his son, despite everything between you.

“Megumi, honey,” your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, soft but steady. “Look who I brought.”

He blinks and realizes you’ve already led him further into your home, boots still on as you stop in the middle of the living room.

Toji’s gaze immediately snaps to the couch.

There he is.

A tiny figure perched among a nest of throw pillows. His mop of spiky black hair sticks out in every direction, stubborn and wild, and his wide green eyes - Toji’s green eyes - blink up at him with the kind of unimpressed stare only a child from his bloodline can manage.

Megumi’s dressed neatly in dark jeans and a crisp button-up layered under a warm sweater, his little sneakers dangling off the edge of the couch, patterned with cartoon dogs.

The scene is quite adorable, with a cartoon murmuring quietly on the TV in the background and the smell of your morning coffee drifting faintly through the air.

Toji freezes for half a second, his chest tightening. He’d seen all the pictures, you’d even sent him a dozen more last night, but it’s different seeing him in person. Seeing his son.

It feels like staring at a mirror twenty-something years younger, all sharp angles and stubbornness now miniature form in chubby cheeks and big eyes.

And just like that, Toji's heart turns to mush. No words exchanged, yet he knows with bone-deep certainty he’d kill and die for this tiny human without hesitation.

“Hi, Megumi,” Toji says at last, his voice low but steady after a quiet breath.

Those big green eyes don’t blink. They stay locked on him, steady and unyielding, as if the boy is carefully sizing him up. He doesn’t say a word, even as you slip away from Toji’s side and move toward him, your hand gently leaving the man’s arm.

“Megumi, this is Toji. Your daddy. Remember this morning I told you he’d come?” Your voice is soft as you kneel beside the couch, taking Megumi’s small hand in your own.

The boy finally stirs, nodding slightly. His little fingers curl tighter around yours, and it is clear he is deeply wary of the towering man in his home.

The only other man he had ever seen this big was probably Sukuna, Yuuji’s strange tattooed uncle. But even Sukuna didn’t feel this intimidating!

Toji swallows hard, suddenly remembering the large box tucked under his arm. You catch on, seizing the opportunity and deciding to use it as a bridge between them.

“He was happy to know you wanted to meet him, and he even brought you a gift before Christmas,” you whisper conspiratorially, loud enough for Toji to hear. The man could kiss you right now for the heavy lifting you’re doing here.

Megumi’s reaction is minimal though, just as you expected. His gaze flickers briefly to the box in Toji’s arms, avoiding his father’s face entirely.

Toji takes that as his cue and steps further into the room, crouching slightly as he shows Megumi the gift. The box is so big it looks like it could take up half of Megumi’s small frame.

You gasp, feigning excitement, really doing gods work for both of them. “Look, Megumi! Wasn’t this on your wishlist for Santa Claus?” you ask brightly, taking the box from Toji and presenting it to your son.

Megumi’s eyes linger on the box for a moment longer before he slowly nods, leaning closer to you.

His small hands clutch at your sweater as he scoots into your side, tucking his head against your shoulder like he wants to disappear.

Your smile is soft and reassuring as you rub his back, tilting your head to catch Toji’s eye. You mouth, he’s just shy, offering him a little shrug as if to say give him time.

Toji straightens, watching the two of you with a look that’s hard to place.

He expected this, he's really a stranger to this child - he knew Megumi wouldn’t come running into his arms or beam at him like in some cheesy holiday movie, but seeing his boy so small and so unsure twists something deep in his chest.

“Yeah, that’s alright,” he murmurs quietly, his voice rough but gentle now. He sets the box carefully down on the coffee table, his massive hands strangely tender with the bright ribbon all around it. “No rush, kid. You open it whenever you feel like it.”

Megumi peeks at him from over your shoulder, his green eyes narrowed but still curious.

You press a soft kiss to the top of his head and whisper, “See? Daddy’s nice. He brought you something special!” Your voice is low and soothing, almost a lullaby, and you feel the tightness in Megumi’s little body ease just slightly under your touch.

Toji keeps his distance, lowering himself onto the arm of a nearby chair. The movement is deliberate, as though he’s trying to shrink himself down, to be less overwhelming.

His gaze flicks to you, gratitude written plainly on his face, before drifting back to his son.

There’s something vulnerable in his eyes, a sharp contrast to the man’s towering frame, a man who looks like he could crush the world but is terrified of scaring his own child.

You know you’ll have to take the reins today. The two Zenin men in your life are both frozen, two halves of the same stubborn coin, and their only shared ground seems to be you.

“Well,” you murmur gently, shifting Megumi in your arms, “since we’ve all met, I think it’s time we get some breakfast. We can’t start the day on an empty tummy, can we, Megumi?” Your words are soft and coaxing, and Megumi rests his head on your shoulder, clutching your sweater in a vice grip.

Toji notices the quiet breath you take before rising to your feet, his sharp eyes catching the way you steady yourself. Carrying Megumi has become harder with every passing day, his little body growing heavier, but you shoulder the weight without complaint.

The urge to help you nearly overwhelms him. He wants nothing more than to reach out and pluck the boy from your arms like it’s nothing, to give you a moment of relief.

But he knows neither of you are ready for that comfort yet, so he stays put, hands curling against his knees as he swallows the instinct.

For now, just being in the same room will do.

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The morning is sharp and cold, your breath misting in the air as Toji holds the door open for you and Megumi.

His car gleams in the pale winter light, a sleek black machine that looks out of place parked along your quiet street. You settle in the back with Megumi, tucking him close under his little jacket, his head resting against your shoulder as he clutches his favorite plush keychain in one hand.

Toji circles around to the driver’s side, slipping into the seat with an ease that betrays his nerves.

He glances at you in the rearview mirror as he starts the engine, the low hum filling the silence. “Seatbelts on?” he mutters, his voice calm, though you notice his fingers tightening briefly around the steering wheel before he pulls out of the driveway.

You can't help but lift an amused brow at that, Toji never really having been one to care about car safety before.

The city passes by quickly, winter casting everything in muted tones. Frost clings to car windows, and holiday decorations hang in shopfronts, glowing faintly even in the daylight.

The ride is quiet but not uncomfortable; Megumi stays nestled against you, thumb brushing over the soft ears of his keychain, while Toji keeps sneaking glances at the two of you through the mirror.

There’s something soft in his expression, though he hides it quickly whenever your eyes catch his.

It’s not long before the car slows in front of a little café tucked between a bookstore and a small boutique, its sign hand-painted and its windows fogged from the warmth inside.

The place looks the same as it always has, cozy and inviting, golden light from all the strung up fairy lights spilling out onto the frosted sidewalk.

Your breath catches for a moment. You recognize it instantly.

“Toji,” you murmur, stepping out of the car as he comes around to open your door. “We’ve been here before.”

He pauses, glancing at you with a hint of surprise, though a faint smirk tugs at his mouth. “You remember that?”

You give a small nod, your gaze flicking briefly toward the café

“Yeah.” Your voice is soft, almost cautious.

The memory of the two of you in that very corner booth years ago surfaces unbidden, him leaning back in his seat with a lazy grin, you laughing at something you can’t even remember now, the smell of cinnamon and coffee lingering in the air. It all feels like a different lifetime.

You tighten your grip on Megumi’s small hand, grounding yourself in the present. “It… hasn’t changed much.”

Toji just shrugs like it’s nothing, though you catch a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes as he steps closer, his large hand hovering near your back without quite touching.

Inside, the café is warm and alive with quiet morning chatter. The air smells of coffee and sugar, the clinking of plates and soft music from an old speaker creating a comfortable buzz.

Wooden tables are lined with potted plants, and a fireplace crackles near the back wall, adding a faint smoky scent to the air. You guide Megumi inside, his small hand tucked in yours, while Toji takes a step ahead to request a booth, his deep voice catching the attention of a few servers who greet him with familiarity.

It feels like stepping into a memory, though now there’s a child’s small fingers curled tightly around yours and a man across from you who feels both achingly familiar and entirely changed from the one who first brought you here.

Before you know it, the three of you are seated in a corner booth. You and Toji sit opposite one another, Megumi sandwiched in the middle, though he’s made a point of pressing himself firmly against your side, practically glued to you.

You catch Toji’s eye and offer a small, sheepish smile.

The comforting scent of cinnamon and fresh bread drifts through the café as a waitress approaches with warm professionalism, handing out menus. Megumi gets a colorful, ocean-themed one along with a small box of crayons, which he immediately begins to fiddle with, twisting them between his little fingers.

The silence between you all lingers for a few beats, broken only by the soft clinking of dishes and the low hum of conversation from other tables. Finally, Toji clears his throat, his deep voice awkward but trying. “So, Megumi… see anything on the menu you like?”

Megumi glances up, cheeks puffed, his expression serious as he narrows his green eyes at his father. “I’m reading.”

You bite back a laugh, glancing at Toji and leaning closer to explain. “He’s in kindergarten, so he’s just learning. He insists he doesn’t need my help.”

Megumi turns his sharp little gaze on you, pouting. “I can read, Mommy. Better than the other kids in my class.”

You raise your brows at his indignation, fighting a smile at the way he’s judging you both so harshly.

Toji leans back in the booth, watching his son with an amused glint in his eyes. “Yeah? You’re the best reader in your class, huh?”

Megumi gives him a short, decisive nod, lips pressed into a little line.

“Well, that’s good. Means you’re smart. Got that from me,” Toji says with a small smirk, sitting back like he’s just dropped some great truth.

Megumi’s green eyes narrow, his small hands gripping the edge of the menu. “Mommy’s smarter.”

You press your lips together, fighting a laugh as Toji’s smirk falters.

“Is she now?” Toji leans forward, feigning offense. “I don’t know, kid. I was at the top of my class back in the day, even better than your mom.” You can't help but roll your eyes at that one. He'd just barely gotten a better grade than you in one class, and has clearly never let it go.

Megumi gives him a long, unimpressed stare. “You cheated.”

You actually snort at that one, covering your mouth with your hand as Toji’s jaw drops in mock outrage.

“Hey, I did not cheat,” he says, defending himself with mock sternness. “I was just that good.”

Megumi crosses his arms, skeptical as ever. “You look like you cheat.”

Your composure is broken, a borderline evil smile on your face as Toji leans back in his seat, defeated. The tension at the table lightens just a fraction despite megumi’s mean side eye, he returns to his kiddie menu a moment later, narrowed eyes slowly going over each word as if to prove his own point.

Megumi glances at Toji one more time, like he’s still not sure he believes him, before scooting closer to you and tugging lightly at your sleeve. He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you.

“I want the chocolate waffles.”

You glance down at him, his serious little pout tugging at your heart, but you school your features into something calm. “That’s a lot of sugar for breakfast, baby,” you murmur gently.

His lips press together in a thin line, his brows furrowing. He pulls back just enough to pout at you, then flicks his gaze toward Toji, as if silently signaling for backup.

Toji, catching the look, quirks a brow. “What?”

Megumi tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with a mix of frustration and determination.

“She says I can’t have the chocolate waffles.”

Toji’s brows lift, and for a split second, he looks like he’s calculating the stakes of this moment: his first real parenting decision. He can either undermine you and be The Fun Dad, giving his kid a mountain of sugar at 9:30 a.m., or agree with you and hope to stay on your good side.

You’re watching him closely, and the weight of that stare makes his decision for him.

“Mm.” Toji leans an elbow on the table, glancing between the two of you, his expression softening. “Well,” he says slowly, “if your mom says no, you gotta listen to her.”

Megumi’s jaw drops, scandalized. “Aren’t dads supposed to be helpful? Yuuji lied.”

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh. Toji’s jaw, on the other hand, drops in offense. “Yuuji?! Sukuna’s nephew? What else is that little brat telling you?”

Megumi squints at him like he’s the disappointment of the year, then turns dramatically to bury his face in your side, a little huff escaping him.

“Yuuji is my friend!” he announces from your lap. “And he said if you came, you’d be cool. Hmph.”

You blink, wide-eyed, glancing at Toji. You and Jin are absolutely going to have to start regulating what Yuuji and Megumi discuss at school.

Toji, though, looks far more rattled by the revelation than by his own five-year-old’s judgment. “What are the odds of that…” he mutters, shaking his head.

You can see the gears turning in his head - Sukuna had probably mentioned school events for Yuuji a dozen times, and now Toji’s realizing his best friend met his son before he did. You lean forward quickly, wanting to get ahead of that thought spiral.

“Sukuna met Megumi on accident too,” you explain gently. “I had a playdate planned with Yuuji and his dad, but Sukuna had to come instead.”

Toji’s jaw tightens, sharp eyes narrowing, his expression hardening in that quiet way that makes your stomach twist. Sukuna, his closest friend, had known about Megumi and said nothing?

He could understand Geto, at least. Geto had given you Toji’s number, encouraged you to reach out. But Sukuna?

“I see,” Toji says flatly, voice low, his gaze flicking back to his son like he’s grounding himself.

You chew the inside of your cheek, your pulse picking up. You can practically see him replaying every moment Ryomen had lied to his face, covering for you.

You weren’t exactly fond of your ex-friends anymore, but you didn’t want them to get in trouble with Toji because they were keeping your secret.

“I also asked Sukuna to… y’know, give me time,” you murmur carefully, voice soft, vague enough for Megumi’s sharp little ears.

Megumi stirs in your lap at your tone, his big green eyes darting between the two of you curiously, and you instinctively press a kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to soothe him before he can sense the tension crackling between the adults.

Toji glances back at you, something unreadable in his eyes, then exhales slowly. “Don’t worry about it, Y/N.” His voice is rough but calm, a deliberate choice, and he rakes a hand through his inky black hair like he’s trying to shake off the tension instead of letting it show.

The weight of Toji’s stare lingers, the air at the table tight and heavy. He looks like he’s biting back a hundred thoughts, and you’re about to speak again when a small voice cuts through it.

“Who cares about Yuuji's uncle?” Megumi mutters, his little brow furrowed as he tugs at your sleeve. “I just want my waffles.”

You blink at him, startled, before a soft laugh slips past your lips despite yourself. Toji lets out a low snort, his broad shoulders loosening as he leans back into the booth, the sharpness in his expression finally softening.

“Fair enough, kid,” Toji rumbles, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You press a kiss to Megumi’s dark hair, smiling as you shake your head. “Priorities, huh?”

Megumi gives a firm little nod, attention swinging back to the ocean-themed kiddie menu like nothing in the world mattered more than breakfast.

And just like that, the storm in Toji’s eyes fades, replaced by something softer as he watches his son, his gaze steady but warm.

“Maybe we can share those waffles,” you say gently, threading your fingers through Megumi’s soft hair. “You and me. But only if you eat some fruit too.”

Megumi perks up, clearly considering this compromise, though he still sneaks a side-eye at Toji, as if silently holding him accountable for not siding with him earlier.

“Yes please, Mommy,” he murmurs, squishing his cheek against your shoulder and settling there, perfectly content in what he considers the comfiest place in the world. You smooth a hand over his back, offering Toji a hesitant smile.

“I’m hoping you can play the stern parent moving forward. It’s kind of hard to win against him,” you say softly, jokingly.

Toji snorts, leaning an elbow on the table, his lips quirking. “I don’t know, Y/N. We’re fucked then.”

Megumi whips around so fast it’s like he’s been struck by lightning, leaping off your lap to glare at his father with wide, scandalized eyes.

“That’s an ugly word!” Megumi declares, his small voice full of righteous fury. “You gotta pay up when we go home!”

Toji freezes for a moment, eyebrows raised - not because of the scolding, but because of something else entirely. That soft warmth he thought he’d buried long ago flickers to life in his chest at those two simple words.

Megumi doesn’t realize what he just said, and you probably don’t either. But Toji does.

Because the idea sounds almost too good to be true.

Going home. With you. With him.

And in that quiet moment, as Megumi huffs and leans back into your side, Toji makes himself a silent promise.

He’s going to make this right.

#mamagumi

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