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Megumi leaned against the counter, head in his hands with the phone pressed to his ear while his son ran rampant through their home. "Yuuji, I don't know if I can do this." He nearly cried into the receiver. "It's like over night he suddenly gained all this extra energy, I can't keep up."
Being a young parent has always been hard—being a young, single parent is even harder.
Being a young, single parent to an overactive six year old? Yeah, Megumi was in the trenches.
He watched with weary eyes as Tamaki zipped past the living room, wooden spoon in one hand, sock half-off his foot, and a smear of something suspiciously sticky across his cheek. Megumi sighed. “He glued his storybook to the wall this morning.”
There’s a crackle of static through the phone before Yuuji answers, cheerful as always. “Okay, okay—first of all, deep breaths. Second, have you thought about putting him in a sport?”
Megumi groaned, already anticipating a disaster. “Yuuji, he’s six.”
“Exactly! I was like that as a kid too! Gramps signed me up for soccer and it really helped! Tamaki just needs an outlet.”
An outlet. Megumi mulled over the word as he cleaned jelly off the floorboards later that evening. An outlet sounded a lot like a miracle.
That night, after Tamaki had finally crashed in a blanket fort made of couch cushions and laundry, Megumi curled up on the couch with his laptop. He scrolled through local youth sports programs, eyes bleary, and clicked without much thought.
Youth Baseball League – Ages 5-8
Coach: Ryoumen Sukuna
Megumi hovered, tilted his head curiously, and clicked Register.
Three days later, after breaking the news to Tamaki about joining a baseball team, Megumi found himself being dragged across the grass of the community field by an excited six-year-old.
"Am I going to be just like Gojo-ojisan?" Tamaki beamed up at him, clutching a too-big glove in one hand.
Megumi hesitated - unsure how to tell his kid that no one was like Gojo Satoru, Japan's number one pitcher. “Uh… maybe not exactly like Gojo-ojisan. But you’ll be awesome in your own way.”
Tamaki was too thrilled to catch the diplomatic dodge and pulled his dad closer to the spot where the team would be meeting for the first time. They reached the edge of the baseball field and Megumi could only stand there awkwardly, clutching Tamaki’s tiny glove and water bottle while his son bounced in excitement beside him.
Before Tamaki could run ahead, Megumi’s gaze snagged on the man standing near the dugout.
Coach Ryoumen Sukuna.
Megumi's breath caught. He hadn’t been expecting—well, that. Tall, lean muscle wrapped in sun-warmed skin, tattoos creeping from beneath the sleeves of a fitted black dri-fit tee, his hair - a light shade of pink - was hidden beneath a baseball cap like he hadn’t tried but somehow still looked effortlessly good. He moved confidently, gesturing to another parent with a relaxed smile, tossing a ball into the air and catching it one-handed.
Megumi had seen attractive people before. Hell, his son’s uncle was a pro athlete with model good looks—but this? This was different. This was the kind of attractiveness that made Megumi forget his own name.
He nearly jumped when Sukuna turned toward him and started walking over, a cocky grin already pulling at his mouth.
"Hey there little man." He greeted Tamaki with a fist bump. "Welcome to the team. I'm Coach Ryoumen. What's your name?"
Tamaki puffed up with pride. “Fushiguro Tamaki! I'm six and a half!”
Sukuna chuckled, crouching to the kid’s level. “That half makes all the difference, huh? You look like you’ve got a strong arm.”
Tamaki beamed, holding up his glove. “I practiced with my dad last night! I threw the ball really far—he said it almost hit the neighbor's window!”
Megumi winced. “That... did happen.”
Sukuna rose to his full height and turned his attention to Megumi—and that was somehow worse. His eyes, sharp and warm all at once, scanned him quickly, lingering just a moment too long. “You must be Dad. Coach Ryoumen Sukuna,” he said, offering his hand. His grip was firm and annoyingly confident. God his hands were so big. “You planning on sticking around for practice?”
“Uh, yeah. Just to watch.” Megumi’s voice cracked at the end and he silently cursed himself. He focused on anything other than Sukuna’s smirk, which looked suspiciously like he knew exactly what effect he had.
“Good,” Sukuna said, casually tossing the ball from hand to hand. “Always helps the kids when their folks are around. Besides—" his grin turned teasing, “makes my job more fun when there’s someone cute on the sidelines.”
Megumi's lips parted in surprise. “Excuse me?”
But Sukuna was already jogging off, calling for the kids to line up. “Alright, team! Let’s get warmed up!”
Megumi stood frozen for a beat too long. Cute? Was that a joke? Was that flirting? Was he supposed to respond to that?
As the kids scattered across the field, Megumi sat in the bleachers, heart still thudding stupidly in his chest.
He should be watching Tamaki. He really should.
But his eyes kept straying to Sukuna—watching the way he high-fived every kid, how he crouched to their level to correct their grip on the bat, how he ruffled their hair and laughed like he belonged there. It was… endearing. And confusing.
Megumi told himself he was just tired. Distracted. Hormonal, maybe. Definitely not into the flirty, tatted-up baseball coach with really pretty eyes and the most unfairly perfect arms he'd ever seen.
He was definitely not daydreaming.
Practice ended in a blur of tiny cleats kicking up dust and the excited chatter of children filing off the field, sweaty and beaming. Megumi stood just outside the dugout, still a little dazed from watching Coach Ryoumen all afternoon.
He’d been good with them—too good. The kind of guy who knew exactly when to encourage, when to correct, when to kneel down and tie someone’s cleat without making a big deal out of it. The kind of man who made single parents like Megumi stand there with their heart in their throat, watching someone else be effortless.
Tamaki ran up first, flushed and out of breath, his cap askew and his glove barely hanging onto his hand. “Dad! Did you see me? Coach said I threw like a cannon!”
Megumi smiled, ruffling his son’s sweaty hair. “I saw. You were amazing out there.”
Before he could say more, Sukuna’s voice cut in from behind them. “He’s a natural.”
Megumi turned, and there he was again—grinning, towel slung around his neck, arms crossed over his broad chest like he hadn’t just spent an hour corralling chaos in the form of six-year-olds. “Kid’s got potential,” Sukuna added, then looked at Megumi. “You might have a pro on your hands one day.”
His throat went dry and Megumi did his best to muster up a smile. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”
The older man shrugged one shoulder, casual. “So, you’ll be back for next practice?”
“We’ll be here,” Megumi said, a little too quickly. Tamaki was still glowing beside him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “He loved it.”
“Good.” Sukuna’s gaze lingered for a second longer than necessary. “See you then.”
And just as he turned to walk away, Megumi noticed it. That pale strip of skin on Sukuna’s left ring finger.
A tan line. The ghost of a ring.
Oh…
Of course he was married.
Figures.
Megumi’s heart sank before he could stop it, stupid and instinctual. He hadn’t even been planning to like the guy. He hadn’t been trying to be that parent with a crush on the coach. He hadn’t imagined anything real—hadn’t let himself go there in years.
Still, the disappointment pricked sharper than it should have.
He plastered on a smile, pretending it didn’t matter. “Come on, Tamaki. Let’s get you something cold to drink.”
As they walked toward the parking lot, Megumi didn’t look back. But he did think about that smile, that voice, that endearing charm—and the way Sukuna had only said goodbye to them.
He pretended it didn’t mean anything.
Yuuji was laughing so hard he nearly snorted his water out of his nose as they sat at the ramen shop the next day, and Megumi put a hand to his head in embarrassment. “Only you would have the hots for your kid’s married baseball coach.”
Megumi groaned, slumping lower in the booth as if the faux leather cushions could swallow him whole. He stirred his ramen aimlessly, face burning hotter than the miso broth.
“I don’t have the hots for him,” he muttered.
“Sure you don’t,” Nobara drawled, lifting a dumpling to her mouth. “You just spent ten full minutes describing his biceps and how he crouches to tie kids’ shoes like some kind of Sports Illustrated Dad of the Year.”
“I didn’t say that,” Megumi grumbled, refusing to meet their eyes.
Yuuji, practically doubled over across from him, was still laughing, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “This is so good. You’re already in too deep, Megs. This is like textbook single-parent crush. I swear I've watched a rom com with this exact plot.”
“Okay, first of all,” Megumi said, stabbing his chopsticks into a fishcake with alarming force, “I’m not into married men. Secondly, even if I was, it’s not like I’d make a move. He's Tamaki’s coach. It’d be weird.”
Nobara rolled her eyes but grabbed her phone, licking a bit of chili oil from her thumb. “Wait—didn’t you say this guy used to be a pro ballplayer? What was his name again?”
Megumi shrugged helplessly. “Ryoumen Sukuna. That’s what he introduced himself as.”
Nobara tapped away at her phone screen. “Ryoumen… Sukuna…” A pause. Then a sharp inhale. “Holy shit.”
Megumi looked up warily. “What?”
“Holy shit,” she repeated, eyes wide. She turned the phone to show them. On the screen was a photo of the same man who’d helped Tamaki adjust his glove, only here he was in a crisp white baseball uniform, jaw set, eyes fierce under his cap. The article headline read:
“Japan’s Golden Arm: Ryoumen Sukuna—From Record-Breaking Contracts to Unexpected Retirement.”
“He was the guy,” Nobara said, voice a little awed. “Even bigger than Gojo. Highest-paid player in Japan. Four-time MVP, league leader in strikeouts for, like, five years. Jesus, Megumi. You crushed on a legend.”
Megumi stared, stunned. He scrolled down slowly on her phone, mouth dry.
There was a photo of Sukuna in a suit at an award ceremony—arm in a sling, shoulder taped up. The caption read:
“Career-ending injury at age 28: Ryoumen Sukuna retires after devastating rotator cuff tear.”
And below that—another image. Sukuna in a tuxedo, standing next to a woman with elegant cheekbones and a designer dress that clung to her like a second skin.
Ryoumen Yorozu, the caption said. Fashion designer. Spouse.
Megumi handed the phone back, face pale. “Well. That’s that.”
“Oh my god,” Yuuji snorted, barely able to breathe. “You fell for a retired baseball legend married to a supermodel.”
“She’s not a supermodel,” Megumi corrected, stabbing his ramen again. “She’s a fashion designer.”
“Right,” Nobara said, grinning. “Because that’s the important part here.”
Megumi groaned into his hands, already dreading the next practice.
Three weeks went by and that's all the Megumi decided to give himself to oogle and drool over his son's coach.
But that's it.
Megumi made a vow to himself before Tamaki's next baseball practice - he would remain strictly professional with Coach Ryoumen which meant no staring at beautiful biceps, no daydreaming about that incredibly strong body on top of his, and no longer conversations than necessary.
He would not be a homewrecker.
Except the moment they made it to the field - Coach Ryoumen looked positively thrilled to see them. As if he doesn't see them twice a week.
One glance at the exposed muscled arms and thick thighs had Megumi reconsidering his previous statement.
Maybe he could….
Wait.
No.
Bad idea. Very, very bad idea.
Megumi tried to clear his mind of those awful, morally gray thoughts and focused on remaining professional.
It really doesn't help that the older man's gaze swept across Megumi's exposed legs and cropped top appreciatively. It was a warm day, okay?
Megumi pretended not to notice.
He gripped Tamaki’s hand a little tighter and focused on leading him to the dugout, ignoring the heat crawling up the back of his neck under Sukuna’s gaze.
“Hey, 'Maki,” Sukuna greeted Tamaki, crouching easily and ruffling the boy’s hair with a familiar ease that made something tender ache in Megumi’s chest.
“Hi Coach!” Tamaki chirped, wiggling with excitement before running off toward the rest of the team.
Megumi kept his eyes fixed on his son and not on the way Sukuna stood up beside him, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of tanned, tattooed skin above his waistband.
“Hot one today,” Sukuna said, voice low and warm as honey, with the audacity to glance down at Megumi’s bare thighs before flashing a smile. “Good thing you dressed for the heat.”
Megumi forced out a dry laugh and shuffled back a step, adjusting the hem of his cropped tee as subtly as possible. “Yeah. Summer and all.”
He didn't know how to respond to that smile—that look—and maybe it’s just his imagination, but he swears Sukuna’s gaze lingers just a second too long before turning to jog toward the kids.
Megumi climbed halfway up the bleachers and plopped down heavily, groaning quietly to himself as he sank into the warm metal seat.
This was torture. Pure, unfiltered torture.
Sukuna was everywhere—laughing with the kids, correcting their form with confident hands, swinging a bat with his non-dominant arm like it’s second nature even after an injury that ended his career. His voice carried across the field, rough and encouraging. A few parents around Megumi murmur in appreciation.
Megumi tried to focus on Tamaki, who’s chasing after a ground ball with a determined frown. But the second Sukuna jogged over to adjust Tamaki’s stance—hand resting gently on his son’s back, crouched low beside him—Megumi was gone.
Absolutely doomed.
He dug his nails into his thighs. Professional. Respectable. Not a homewrecker.
Except Sukuna looked back toward the bleachers as he stood, sweat-damp shirt clinging to his torso—and winked.
Megumi nearly slid off the bench.
Practice was almost over when it happened.
Tamaki had been running bases, his little legs pumping with everything he had, eyes set on the third base with single-minded determination—and not a single thought spared for the kid right in his path.
Megumi didn’t even have time to shout before the collision.
There was a tangle of limbs, a short cry, and then Tamaki was on the ground, holding his elbow and blinking fast against the tears.
Megumi was already off the bleachers and halfway across the field before he even realized he was moving.
“Tamaki!” he called, panic tightening his chest.
But Coach Ryoumen was there first.
He knelt beside the boy, already checking him over. “Hey, hey—little man, breathe for me. You’re okay. Let’s see that arm.”
Tamaki hiccupped, lip wobbling as he let Sukuna inspect the reddening scrape. “It burns,” he sniffled.
“I bet it does,” Sukuna said softly. “But no break, see? Wiggle your fingers for me.”
Tamaki did.
Megumi arrived just in time to see Sukuna grab a small cold pack from the dugout cooler and press it gently to Tamaki’s elbow. “You’re gonna have a wicked bruise,” Sukuna told him. “But that just means you played hard.”
Megumi exhaled, knees weak as he crouched beside them. “Is he okay?”
Sukuna looked up, eyes meeting his with a calm Megumi didn’t feel. “He’s fine. Scraped and rattled.” His voice softened. “I know it’s scary, though. First fall always is.”
Megumi stared at him, momentarily stunned by the warmth in his tone.
Sukuna wasn’t just good with kids—he was comforting. Gentle in a way that contradicted his sharp tattoos and cocky smirks. It did something awful and fluttery to Megumi’s chest.
Tamaki sniffled one last time and then, to Megumi’s horror, threw himself at Sukuna.
“Thank you for helping my ouchie!”
Sukuna caught him easily, huffing a surprised laugh. “Anytime, kid.”
“Can you come get dinner with us?” Tamaki added brightly, grinning through the last of his tears. “Dad promised milkshakes!”
Megumi’s brain stalled. “T-Tamaki—!”
Sukuna raised an eyebrow, looking more amused than anything. “Dinner, huh?”
“I—he didn’t—we’re not—” Megumi stumbled through his words, already flushing hard. “He’s just—he’s six, he invites strangers to dinner all the time, don’t feel obligated—”
“Sure,” Sukuna said easily.
Megumi nearly fell over. “Wait, what?”
Sukuna ruffled Tamaki’s hair. “I like milkshakes.”
Tamaki cheered.
Megumi stared at the older man, completely thrown, heart hammering behind his ribs like he’d just run the bases himself.
As they pulled into the small diner’s parking lot, Megumi’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He watched in the rearview mirror as Sukuna stepped out of his own car a few spaces down, slinging his jacket over one shoulder like he hadn’t just nonchalantly accepted an invitation that now had Megumi spiraling.
Tamaki unbuckled and bounced out of the backseat, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m gonna get the strawberry milkshake! Coach Ryoumen, you ever had that one?”
Sukuna, now walking over to meet them, smirked. “Can’t say I have. I’ve never been a fan of strawberry. You recommending it?”
“It’s the best one,” Tamaki said with absolute certainty, falling into step between the two adults as they headed toward the diner entrance.
Megumi stayed quiet, eyes forward, doing everything in his power not to obsess over every little detail—how close Sukuna was walking beside him, how their shoulders nearly brushed, how casually this man was slipping into the edges of his life.
“Gojo-ojisan told me I need to be really fast to be a good pitcher! And really strong too!” Tamaki declared, glancing up at Sukuna. “Are you strong, Coach Ryoumen?”
Sukuna chuckled, the sound easy and rich. “I’m strong enough. But I wasn’t always like this—it takes hard work. And maybe a few bruises.”
Tamaki grinned. “I like bruises! They make me tough like you!”
Megumi let out a breath that was almost a laugh, even as his stomach coiled tighter. He snuck a glance at Sukuna, only to catch the man already looking at him with that unreadable glint in his eye.
“Yeah, well,” Sukuna said, voice lighter now, “bruises can slow you down too. So don’t go chasing them just to show off. No one’s invincible.”
“Not even Gojo-ojisan?” Tamaki asked, wide-eyed.
“Definitely not,” Megumi muttered before Sukuna could answer, earning a soft snort from the man beside him.
The sound had Megumi’s stomach twisting uncomfortably. Everything about what was happening felt so domestic — so damn natural. He hadn’t planned this. It was meant to be a casual, “thank you” gesture, not... whatever this was.
He'd never felt so stressed getting milkshakes before.
The doorbell to the western style diner chimed as they walked in, and immediately, the usual buzz of diner chatter hit them. Tamaki was already bouncing toward a booth, dragging Sukuna along behind him, while Megumi hesitated, suddenly feeling much too young, much too inexperienced, to be navigating this whole meal with the kids’ coach thing.
He followed them, sliding into the booth across from Sukuna, who effortlessly made himself at home. The man was so composed, so relaxed, while Megumi couldn't even get his menu to sit properly in his hands.
Tamaki immediately started talking again, his voice loud enough to catch the attention of the neighboring table, "Dad, guess what? Coach Ryoumen said he used to play baseball for real! Like a real pro!"
Sukuna gave a mock-serious nod. “For a while. Got my fair share of glory... and injuries.”
Tamaki leaned forward, looking between them with bright eyes. “What about you, Dad? Were you good at baseball too?”
Megumi shook his head. "Nope. I played a game or two with Yuuji-ojisan in my first year of highschool but nothing past that. We'd occasionally play with Gojo when he wasn't travelling." He didn't mention that the next year he ended up pregnant with Tamaki, not quite sure to broach that topic with his son's coach present.
Sukuna chuckled, taking a sip of his water. “You’re lucky to have Gojo on your side, then. He was a real pain in the ass back when I was in the pros.”
Megumi looked up from his menu, raising a brow. “I guess it’s not a surprise you know Gojo. Did you both run in the same circles?”
Sukuna leaned back against the booth, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Unfortunately. We were rivals. Same league, same position. Every time I thought I had a good game, that bastard would try to outshine me with something ridiculous. Flashy plays, loud celebrations, always pushing my buttons.”
Tamaki’s eyes went wide. “You fought Gojo-ojisan?”
“Not with fists,” Sukuna said, laughing. “Though I definitely thought about it.”
Megumi smirked despite himself, shaking his head. “Yeah... that sounds about right.”
Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “So how do you know him?”
Megumi hesitated. This was the kind of thing he didn’t usually explain, not to strangers. But Sukuna wasn’t a stranger now, was he? Not after today. Not after seeing the way he’d knelt on the ground and checked Tamaki’s knee like it was the most important thing in the world.
“He sort of took care of me when I was a kid,” Megumi said slowly. “Not full-on guardianship, but...he kept me afloat when things were rough. Bought groceries. Got me into school. Helped out with Tamaki when I had no idea what I was doing.”
Sukuna’s expression softened. “So he really came through.”
Megumi nodded, a little sheepish. “Yeah. He’s obnoxious and dramatic, but... he’s always been there.”
Tamaki, completely unaware of the quiet intimacy creeping between them, slurped his milkshake loudly and declared, “Gojo-ojisan says Dad used to cry when I was a baby.”
Megumi groaned and covered his face. “Tamaki, please.”
Sukuna laughed, deep and genuine, and it made Megumi’s stomach twist in the weirdest way.
“I mean, I would’ve cried too,” Sukuna said with a grin. “Babies are terrifying.”
Megumi peeked between his fingers, meeting Sukuna’s gaze—and when Megumi hesitantly smiled back something passed between them. A flicker of shared understanding. A little warmth. A slow burn.
Dinner went on like that—easy, a little chaotic, full of Tamaki’s giggles and endless chatter, and under it all, things were blooming between Megumi and Sukuna.
They talked about old haunts in the city, about high school teachers they somehow both knew (some fondly, some not), about Tamaki’s obsession with dinosaurs and how he still couldn’t quite tie his shoes right.
Sukuna never brought up his own family. And Megumi didn’t ask.
By the time the check came, Tamaki was dozing against Megumi’s side, content and full and half-asleep. He was halfway through figuring out how to carry him without waking him up when Sukuna slid the check toward himself and pulled out his wallet.
“I’ve got it,” he said, tone final.
Megumi blinked. “Wait, no—you don’t have to—”
Sukuna cut him off with a raised eyebrow and the smallest smile. “I want to.”
Megumi hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Thanks... for dinner. And for earlier. With Tamaki.”
Sukuna looked at him for a beat too long. “He’s a great kid. You’re doing a good job.”
It shouldn’t have meant so much. But it did. Megumi swallowed, heart doing something complicated in his chest.
As they stepped out into the cool evening air, Sukuna lingered by the car while Megumi buckled Tamaki in, the boy already drifting off.
Just as Megumi turned around, ready to say goodbye, Sukuna cleared his throat.
“You mind if I get your number?”
Megumi froze. “What?”
Sukuna’s mouth quirked upward. “For Tamaki updates. Practice stuff. Maybe... a little more than that.”
Megumi stared at him, brain short-circuiting.
“Oh,” he said faintly. “Um. Yeah. Sure.”
He rattled off his number, still a little dazed, and Sukuna typed it in, flashing Megumi a last look that left him warm and confused and entirely unprepared.
“Night, Megumi,” Sukuna said, quiet and smooth.
And then he was gone—walking back to his own car, leaving Megumi standing there, heart thudding in his chest like he’d just survived a boss fight.
Except it hadn’t been a fight.
It had been... easy.
And that was the part that scared him the most.
Megumi closed the door to the apartment quietly, careful not to jostle Tamaki, who had fallen asleep on the ride home with his cheek smushed against the car window. Carrying him inside was second nature by now—arms automatically adjusting, keys slipped into the lock without a sound, lights kept dim.
He got Tamaki into bed, tucked the blanket up under his chin, and smoothed down his messy hair with a sigh. The boy had barely stirred.
Megumi lingered there for a second too long. The quiet always came after the chaos. After the syrupy milkshakes, the sugar high, the chattering. It was just... still now. Still and dark and heavy with whatever had passed between him and Sukuna tonight.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.
It had felt good, hadn't it?
And that was a problem.
He walked back to the kitchen, turned on the kettle more for the distraction than the tea, and tried to shove the memory of Sukuna’s voice out of his head. Tender. Amused. Kind. He shouldn't have been that kind. Not to Megumi. Not to Tamaki. Not when—
His phone buzzed on the counter.
Megumi stared at it.
[Unknown Number]
Let me know when you’re home safe.
His stomach did a slow, traitorous flip. Sukuna.
He hesitated. Typing. Deleting. Then typing again.
[Me]
Home. Tamaki’s asleep.
It didn’t take long for another response to come through.
[Sukuna]
I gotta know
How fast did the kid conk out?
Megumi huffed quietly through his nose, against his better judgment.
[Me]
I hadn't left the parking lot before he was completely out.
[Sukuna]
He’s great. I meant what I said earlier. You’re doing a hell of a job.
Megumi sat down slowly at the kitchen table, one hand hovering over the screen. This felt dangerous. Familiar. Affectionate. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had said something like that to him and actually meant it. Gojo didn't count. Gojo was contractually obligated to gas him up forever.
Sukuna wasn't.
And that? That made it worse.
Megumi stared down at the glow of the screen. It lit up again.
[Me]
Thanks. That means a lot.
There was a pause. Then:
[Sukuna]
I had fun tonight. Hope it wasn’t too weird.
Weird? It had been warm. It had been comfortable. It had been—God, nice. Terrifying.
Megumi hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. So many questions he wasn’t ready to ask.
[Me]
It was good. Tamaki had the best night of his week.
He didn’t mention that he might’ve had a good night too. That was too much. Too real.
[Sukuna]
Tell him he can have a rematch in rock-paper-scissors next time. I won’t go easy.
Next time. The words lingered in his mind.
Megumi didn’t ask if “next time” meant another milkshake outing or something more. He wanted to. The question was there, heavy and waiting.
But so was another one:
Aren’t you married?
It sat on the tip of his tongue, burning. He couldn’t ask it. Couldn’t shatter this strange little bubble they’d slipped into. As long as he didn’t ask, he didn’t have to face the answer.
In the month of practices, Megumi never saw Sukuna wear his ring or mention a wife. There was a little hope inside of him because of that but still—
Maybe Sukuna was married. Maybe happily. Maybe not. None of it should matter, but it did, and Megumi hated himself for the little flutter that came every time his phone lit up.
He stared at the last message, thumb brushing the edge of the screen.
He didn’t know what this was. But it was dangerous.
And it felt good.
Too good.
Sometime later, after several more texts, Megumi lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the room bathed in shadows. The glow from his phone had faded long ago, but the image of Sukuna’s last message lingered behind his eyes.
Next time.
The words had looped in his brain for over an hour, spinning in circles that tightened like a noose. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Sukuna smiling across the booth, saw the way his fingers wrapped around a milkshake glass, the casual lean of his body when he listened—really listened—to Tamaki talking about superheros and dinosaurs.
And then, always, the next thought followed like a ghost in a mirror:
He’s married.
He had to be. A guy like that—good with kids, easy on the eyes, confident without being arrogant—of course someone had already claimed him. Someone who slept beside him at night. Someone who wore a ring. Someone who had every right to the gentle parts Megumi was starting to crave.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
What the hell are you doing?
He wasn’t the type to chase people. Especially not unavailable ones. And yet here he was, lying awake like some pathetic high schooler over a man who might—might—just be flirting to be friendly.
Maybe Sukuna was just being kind.
Maybe that was just how he was.
But Megumi wasn’t stupid. He knew when someone looked at him a little too long. He knew when hands lingered at the small of his back just a second more than necessary. He’d felt the buzz under his skin when Sukuna touched his elbow as they exited the diner, like it meant something.
And God, the way he made Megumi feel—seen, steady, a little less alone in the impossible task of parenting.
It was almost unfair that Sukuna was, probably, most likely married. The facts were all laid out for him.
He turned over, yanked the blankets up, then shoved them down again. His chest was tight. His thoughts refused to settle.
He couldn’t go on like this—flirting with danger, flirting with Sukuna.
If he was married, this needed to end. Now.
Megumi exhaled hard, stared at the ceiling one more time, and made a decision:
The next practice—he’d ask.
He’d find out the truth.
Because he couldn’t take another day of wondering. Couldn’t keep letting himself hope for something he was never meant to have.
Not again.
Megumi was ready.
He’d spent days rehearsing what he’d say—how he’d ask. How he’d make Sukuna tell him the truth. About Yorozu. About the ring. About everything.
He was going to confront him at the next practice.
But the next practice never came.
Tamaki woke up pale and clammy, curled into himself and whimpering that his stomach hurt. Megumi barely had time to blink before the vomiting started. The rest of the day was a blur of cool washcloths, fever checks, bathroom trips, and whispered comforts.
By the time Tamaki finally drifted off in a nest of pillows and ginger ale-stained blankets, Megumi was wrecked.
He collapsed onto his own bed fully clothed, just for a moment. Just to breathe.
That’s when he noticed the messages.
[Sukuna, 5:12 PM]
Hey, everything okay?
[Sukuna, 6:44 PM]
You guys aren’t at practice. Is Tamaki alright?
[Sukuna, 8:10 PM]
Megumi?
Megumi stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply. Before he could type a word, his phone buzzed in his hand. A call.
Sukuna.
He hesitated, then answered.
“…Hey.”
“God, finally.” Sukuna exhaled. “You alright?”
Megumi sank further into the mattress. “Tamaki’s sick. Some kind of stomach bug. We’ve been in survival mode all day.”
“Oh shit. Poor kid.” A pause. “And you?”
Megumi let out a tired laugh. “Exhausted. I think I’ve been puked on three times.”
“I wish I could’ve helped,” Sukuna murmured, genuine. “I was worried.”
“I saw your texts,” Megumi said. “Didn’t mean to ignore them. Just didn’t have a second to breathe.”
“You don’t have to explain, Megumi. I just—I’m glad you’re okay.”
The silence that followed was soft and comfortable. And then, somehow, they started talking. About nothing and everything. The quiet of the night made it easy.
Sukuna mentioned his shoulder—the injury that ended his career at twenty-eight. How it still ached when the weather changed.
“I hated stepping away from the game,” he admitted. “But I had to be smart. Coaching lets me stay close without wrecking my body. I had to pick an age where I didn’t have to do too much but still got to do what I loved.”
Megumi was quiet for a long moment, then said, “I was sixteen when I got pregnant.”
Sukuna didn’t respond—whether out of shock or respect, he didn't know.
But Megumi kept going. “It wasn’t planned. My boyfriend—he was older. I thought he loved me. When I told him… he disappeared. Said Tamaki couldn’t be his, said I made it all up. I was just a dumb kid in love with someone who wasn’t worth a damn.”
Silence stretched again, but Megumi didn’t fill it.
Then—
“You didn’t deserve that,” Sukuna said, low and sincere.
“I know.” Megumi’s voice cracked a little as he bit back traitorous tears. “But I don’t regret Tamaki. We’re better off without someone like that. He didn’t need a man like him as a role model.”
Sukuna’s reply was quiet. Careful. “You did it all on your own?”
“Most of it, yeah — I couldn't bother my friends and Gojo with raising a kid when we were all still kids ourselves, not when they had their own lives.”
“I wish I’d known you then,” Sukuna said, after a moment. “I would’ve stayed.”
Megumi’s heart thudded in his chest.
He couldn’t do this. Not with the picture of a ringless finger still haunting his memory.
Still, it didn't keep him from replying, "I wish I knew you then, too."
Megumi didn’t mean to be cold.
He really didn’t.
But when Sukuna greeted him with that same, easy smile at practice—like nothing had changed, like he hadn't been texting and calling Megumi every night since their dinner with little jokes and warm check-ins—Megumi only nodded and murmured a flat, “Hey.”
Then he climbed up the bleachers like his feet were made of bricks, sat stiff-backed in the third row, and kept his eyes glued on Tamaki’s scrappy little form even though he could feel Sukuna watching him with a hint of confusion.
He just couldn’t fake it today.
Not when his stomach was in knots. Not when guilt buzzed under his skin like something rotten.
And especially not when, twenty minutes into practice, she showed up.
Megumi noticed her right away—how could he not?
The woman standing just beyond the dugout was dressed head-to-toe in sleek athleisure that had designer stitched into every detail. Her sunglasses were enormous and mirrored, hiding half her face, but her smirk was unmistakable. Arrogant.
Familiar.
Megumi blinked, brows drawing together. He'd seen her before. Magazine covers, maybe. A headline about fashion or celebrity marriages. And then it clicked like a punch to the ribs.
Yorozu.
His wife.
Sukuna’s wife.
Megumi’s heart plummeted.
Yorozu scanned the field like it bored her—until her eyes locked onto him.
She smiled. It was thin, razor-edged.
And then, she started walking.
Megumi’s hands curled into fists before she even reached the bleachers. He tried to look away, tried to pretend she wasn’t headed straight for him, but when she stopped in front of him and pulled off her sunglasses, there was no escaping it.
“You must be Megumi,” she said sweetly.
He feigned confusion. “Sorry?”
She tilted her head. “Don’t be modest. My husband talks about you. Well—texted about you. He’s not great at subtlety.” She smiled like it was a private joke. “You and your adorable little boy.”
Megumi’s mouth went dry. “I… I think you have the wrong—”
“Come on,” she cooed, stepping closer. “He coaches your kid, right? You’ve had dinner, haven’t you? Don’t worry. I get it. Single parents, charm, a little trauma bonding…” She made a gesture with her hand. “It’s intoxicating.”
Megumi couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
“I just thought it was fair to introduce myself. I am the one who gets to take him home, after all.” She gave a pitying shrug. “And I’m a big believer in knowing what’s going on around my marriage.”
His vision tunneled.
Yorozu continued, seemingly not caring that she was practically tearing into Megumi with gentle words and a sweet smile on her face.
She leaned in closer, bringing her voice into a quiet whisper that hardened at the edges. "Just a little word of advice—don’t get too comfortable playing house with someone who already has one. People like you don't get men like him."
Megumi could only gape and feel mortification wash over him as the sound of other parents around him whispered to one another.
Yorozu straightened and slipped her sunglasses back on, satisfied. “Enjoy practice. It was so nice to finally meet you.”
She turned and strutted back to the dugout, leaving Megumi sitting frozen on the bleachers, nauseous and burning with shame.
The rest of practice was a blur.
When the whistle blew and the kids scattered, Megumi was already moving. He intercepted Tamaki before he could even wave goodbye and held his hand tight.
“Dad?” Tamaki looked up at him with confusion. “Did something happen?”
“Let’s go,” Megumi said tightly, not trusting his voice with anything more.
They were halfway across the parking lot when he heard Sukuna’s voice explode behind them—harsh, furious.
“What the hell did you say to him, Yorozu?”
Megumi didn’t stop.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t want to hear any more.
Because it didn’t matter what she said. What he said.
Megumi already knew exactly what he was.
A fool.
Megumi didn’t say a word the whole drive home.
Tamaki chattered in the backseat, too young to understand the tension in the car, too sweet to stop trying to fill the silence. Megumi smiled where he needed to, responded just enough to keep the boy content, but his mind was blank. Or maybe just too full—like the pressure of holding it all in was crowding out every other thought.
Dinner was quiet. Bath time even quieter.
It wasn’t until Tamaki was curled up in bed, cheeks flushed with sleep, one small hand curled around the hem of Megumi’s shirt as he kissed him goodnight, that it hit him all over again.
People like you don't get men like him.
The words had felt like poison. They still did.
By the time Yuuji and Nobara arrived—both responding to his single, uncharacteristic “can you come over?” text—Megumi was already curled on the couch with his hands in his hair and a sick feeling growing in his gut.
Yuuji sat down first, eyes scanning him with concern. “Hey… you okay?”
Megumi didn’t answer right away. He just exhaled shakily, then muttered, “I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not,” Yuuji said instantly, brows pulling together.
Megumi scoffed, half-laughing, half-choking. “I am. I knew there had to be something. No guy like him is just… single and perfect and interested in me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I thought maybe—God, I thought maybe it was okay to just talk to him. But he’s married. Married, Yuuji.”
Nobara didn’t sit. She paced like a caged animal, radiating more and more fury with every word Megumi got out.
“I met her today,” Megumi went on bitterly. “She came to practice. She—she knew about me. She said that Sukuna told her. Told her about Tamaki. She talked to me like I was trying to come between them—”
Yuuji looked like he was going to be sick.
And Nobara—
“Oh, hell no.” She spun around, stabbing a finger at the air like it was Yorozu’s face. “I should kick that bitch’s ass.”
Megumi blinked at her. “Nobara—”
“No, no! You may not be able to hit a woman, Megumi, but I can!” she snarled. “She came to your kid’s practice and ambushed you? What kind of insecure, pathetic psycho—!”
Yuuji reached out and grabbed her wrist as she looked ready to storm out the door. “Not yet. Let Megumi talk.”
Nobara huffed but stayed put, fuming like a lit stove.
Megumi swallowed. “I just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t want Tamaki to get caught up in this. Sukuna’s his coach. He likes him. And I let myself get—fuck, I was flirting with him.”
“You didn’t know,” Yuuji said gently.
“I should’ve asked. I should’ve pushed. I knew there was something off.” Megumi let out a shaky breath and finally let the tears welling in his eyes fall. “I just wanted someone to make me feel like I wasn’t doing everything alone. And he did. And now I feel like—like I ruined something. Or maybe I was just being used.”
He covered his face with his hands. “I feel so fucking stupid.”
Yuuji leaned over and pulled him into a hug without hesitation. “You’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest, strongest people I know. And you’re a great dad. None of this changes that.”
Megumi let himself lean into the comfort, just for a second. Just long enough to not feel like he was falling apart.
“Do you want us to talk to him?” Yuuji asked softly.
“No,” Megumi whispered. “I don’t even want to see him.”
Nobara crossed her arms and nodded. “Okay. But just say the word. I have heels that are perfect for stomping rich bitches.”
Yuuji chuckled softly, trying not to jostle Megumi. “She really does.”
Megumi huffed out a laugh, watery and real.
He didn’t know what came next—but at least for now, he wasn’t alone.
The first two weeks were harder than Megumi expected.
Tamaki was confused at first, asking why Daddy wasn’t coming to practice anymore. Why Yuuji or Nobara took turns dropping him off. Megumi offered vague answers—“Daddy’s just busy,” “Auntie Nobara wanted to see you play”—all while praying his son wouldn’t ask more.
Sukuna never called. Never texted. But Yuuji would come home from Tamaki's practice and linger by the door, trying to find the right words.
“I don’t know, Megumi,” he said one night, twisting a bottle cap in his hands. “The guy looks a little worse for wear. He brightens up when he sees Tamaki, but when he realizes you aren’t there…”
Megumi shook his head immediately. “Please. Don’t.”
Yuuji frowned but didn’t push. “Okay.”
By the fourth week, the ache had settled into something numb. He still caught himself checking his phone sometimes. Still thought about the way Sukuna’s voice had softened when he talked to Tamaki, or how he always held eye contact just a moment longer than necessary.
He hated how much he missed it.
Dinner was quiet that night—just pasta and steamed veggies, Tamaki humming while swinging his legs under the table. Megumi was replying back to Nobora's latest text between bites, pushing thoughts of Sukuna to the farthest corner of his mind, when a knock echoed from the front door.
The unexpected sound had him jumping slightly . No one was supposed to be coming by tonight.
“Stay here,” he told Tamaki gently, setting his phone down and moving toward the door.
When he opened it, he froze.
Standing on the other side, perfectly coiffed and entirely too tall for the hallway, was Gojo Satoru.
Megumi froze at the sight of his former benefactor — it's been months since he's seen Gojo in person. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Gojo pushed his sunglasses up, revealing his blue eyes, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Long time no see, kiddo. Mind if I come in?”
Megumi’s stomach sank.
If Gojo was here… this wasn’t going to be good.
Gojo didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside like he owned the place, toeing off his shoes and tossing his jacket over the back of the couch with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before.
Tamaki’s squeal of delight from the dining table shattered the tension.
“Gojo-ojisan!”
Gojo grinned, crouching just in time for Tamaki to barrel into him. “There’s my favorite little nephew,” he said, ruffling Tamaki’s hair and scooping him up like he weighed nothing. “You've gotten taller since last time I saw you?”
“Yup! Dad says I’m gonna be six feet just like him,” Tamaki bragged, throwing a look over Gojo’s shoulder.
Megumi snorted softly. “I said no such thing.”
Gojo carried Tamaki back to the table and plopped into the empty seat across from him, accepting a slice of garlic bread like he hadn’t just barged in unannounced. “Man, I’ve missed this. It’s been way too long.”
“You could’ve called,” Megumi muttered, folding his arms but not entirely managing to sound cold. “Texted. Something.” anything but show up unexpectedly.
“True. But showing up unannounced gets you all flustered. And I love when you’re flustered.”
Megumi gave him a flat look.
Gojo winked, then turned back to Tamaki, helping him spear a carrot with exaggerated seriousness. “Anyway. Things’ve been… interesting on my end.”
“Yeah?” Megumi asked warily, pulling up a chair. “What kind of interesting?”
Gojo smiled, a rare softness edging into it. “I recently reconnected with someone I never thought I’d see again.”
That made Megumi pause. He raised an eyebrow.
“I think I’m gonna marry him, ‘Gumi.”
Megumi blinked, startled. “Wait—what?”
“I know, I know. Gojo Satoru, settling down. I can hardly believe it myself,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “But… he’s good. He’s better than good. And I don’t want to lose him again.”
Megumi watched him carefully. Gojo didn’t say things like that lightly.
Then, Gojo leaned back, stretching his long arms over the back of the chair. “Funny timing, too. Because right after that, I got an interesting call from a former rival of mine.”
Megumi stiffened.
“Baseball rival,” Gojo clarified, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Real hotshot. Terrible attitude. Amazing pitch.”
“I know who you’re talking about,” Megumi said tightly, glancing toward Tamaki, who was too busy trying to stack carrot sticks to notice the tension.
Gojo sobered up. “He asked me for help.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t know what else to do,” Gojo said, his voice dropping just enough to become sincere. “Because he messed up, Megumi. And because he’s trying to figure out how to fix it.”
Megumi swallowed hard and looked away, jaw clenched. “He didn’t even try to explain. He let her talk to me. He let her—”
“I don’t think he let Yorozu do anything,” Gojo said gently. “You’ve seen the type of person she is. And Sukuna… well, he’s not used to feeling vulnerable. That woman nearly ruined him. But he’s not married anymore, Megumi. Hasn’t been for months and was separated even longer.”
That pulled Megumi’s gaze back. “He never said–”
“He was scared,” Gojo said simply. “And yeah, maybe that’s a pathetic excuse—but I’ve heard him on the phone. He sounded like hell. All because he’s trying to respect your space when everything in him is screaming to fix it. I think…it’s time you heard him out.”
Tamaki finally looked up, blinking. “Are we talking about Coach Ryoumen?”
Gojo grinned. “Yeah, buddy. We are.”
Megumi’s hands curled into the hem of his hoodie. The words stuck in his throat.
For once, Gojo didn’t push more than that. He just offered another soft smile. “Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
After showing Gojo to the guest room and exchanging a soft “goodnight,” Megumi lingered in the hallway, hand gripping the doorframe like it could ground him. His thoughts were a hurricane—Gojo’s words echoing louder with every step he took toward his room.
"He messed up. He’s trying to fix it."
"He’s not married anymore."
Megumi scrubbed a hand down his face as he pushed into his bedroom, only to find Tamaki already curled up under the covers, surrounded by plush toys and waiting like he knew exactly where Megumi would go once his composure started unraveling.
“You’re in my bed,” Megumi said quietly.
Tamaki looked up, blinking sleepily. “You looked sad.”
That undid him a little more. Megumi sighed and climbed into bed beside his son, lying on his side and wrapping an arm around him, tucking the boy close. Tamaki burrowed in instantly.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, the silence soothing. Until Megumi whispered, “Hey, Tama…”
“Hm?”
“What do you think about Coach Ryoumen?”
“He’s cool,” Tamaki mumbled. “He taught me how to slide better. And he said I’m fast like a little fox.”
Megumi smiled faintly, lips against Tamaki’s hair. “That’s true.”
Tamaki was quiet for a beat before he asked, “Are you mad at him?”
Megumi stiffened, just slightly. “…Why would you ask that?”
“Because you stopped coming to practice. And you look kinda like when you’re mad at Yuuji.” Tamaki paused, then added, “But sadder.”
Megumi shut his eyes. “It’s… complicated.”
Tamaki wiggled until he could look at his dad, green eyes wide. “Did he do something mean?”
“No,” Megumi admitted. “Not… not exactly. He just didn’t tell me something important, and it hurt my feelings. And then someone else was kind of mean, and I thought it was his fault.”
Tamaki mulled that over. “Is it fixed now?”
“I don’t know,” Megumi said honestly. “I’m scared to talk to him again. Scared he’ll hurt me again. Or I’ll say something wrong. Or I’ll find out I was stupid to hope for anything.”
Tamaki blinked at him, then nestled back against his chest. “I think Coach Ryoumen really likes you, Dad.”
Megumi’s breath hitched. “…Oh yeah? How do you know?”
“I can just tell.” Tamaki’s voice was small, but confident. “He always looks happy when he sees you. And when he didn’t, he looked kinda like you do when I’m sick.
Megumi swallowed thickly.
“And you like him too,” Tamaki added, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Megumi exhaled a laugh that was more broken than amused, pressing a kiss to Tamaki’s forehead. “You’re too smart for your own good.”
“It's because I’m six and a half,” Tamaki said proudly.
Megumi chuckled again, a real sound this time and hugged the boy closer. “Love you, Tama.”
Megumi didn’t sleep much.
Even with Tamaki curled up warm beside him, his mind turned restlessly through every look, every word, every silence left in Sukuna’s wake. Gojo’s voice echoed again and again—“He’s trying to fix it.” And then Tamaki’s—“You like him too.”
By the time dawn stretched pale fingers across the ceiling, Megumi’s decision had crystallized.
He was done hiding.
Done running.
He didn’t know what Sukuna would say. He didn’t even know what he would say. But he’d never figure it out if he kept avoiding him.
When Gojo stumbled into the kitchen mid-morning, wearing one of Megumi’s too-small hoodies and drinking coffee like it owed him money, he took one look at Megumi—freshly showered, dressed, eyes grim with purpose—and smirked behind his mug.
“Well, well, look who’s got their big boy pants on.”
“Shut up,” Megumi muttered, grabbing Tamaki’s cleats from the floor.
Gojo leaned against the counter, clearly not planning to shut up. “You’re going to see him today, right?”
Megumi didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
Gojo grinned, pushing off the counter. “Great. I’ll come.”
Megumi scowled at the white haired man. “Why?”
“Emotional support,” Gojo said, offended. “And maybe because I want to see the infamous Coach Ryoumen for myself. I mean, if this guy is good enough to make you act like a drowning Victorian heroine, I gotta meet him again.”
“You’ve already met him,” Megumi muttered, shoving cleats into Tamaki’s duffle.
“Yeah, but that was pre-drama. This time, I want front row seats.” Gojo clapped his hands. “Who knows, maybe you’ll need a babysitter after the kid’s practice.”
Megumi looked at him flatly. “Why would I—”
Gojo winked. “Just sayin’. I’ll even use my headphones tonight.”
Megumi groaned. “You’re the worst.”
“Correction,” Gojo said brightly, grabbing his sunglasses and heading for the door. “I’m the best wingman you never asked for.”
The baseball field looked the same as always.
Dust swirled in the morning light. Kids were already lining up at home plate, chattering as they waited for their turn to warm up. Parents dotted the bleachers, some sipping coffee, others scrolling on their phones. Ordinary.
But Megumi felt like the ground shifted beneath his feet the moment he stepped out of the car.
Gojo whistled low, surveying the field with sunglasses perched on his head. “So this is where it all went down, huh?” He elbowed Megumi. “Scandalous.”
“Please shut up,” Megumi muttered, hand tightening on Tamaki’s bag as he watched his son bolt toward the dugout.
Tamaki’s joyful shout—“Coach Ryoumen!”—cut through the noise, and Megumi’s eyes flicked toward the figure emerging from the far end of the field.
Sukuna.
He looked rough around the edges, in a way only Megumi could really notice. The lines of his face were drawn, and his usual sharp confidence dulled. He crouched down to greet Tamaki, ruffling his hair, smiling even as his eyes flicked up—searching.
And when they found Megumi across the field?
He froze.
Megumi stiffened too.
For a second, no one moved. Sukuna’s lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something even across the distance. But then a whistle blew, a glove was thrown, and chaos resumed around them. The moment passed.
Megumi turned on his heel and headed for the bleachers.
Gojo followed, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. “Geez… Ryoumen looks even worse than I thought.”
Megumi didn’t reply. His chest hurt.
The hour crawled by.
Megumi sat stiffly on the bleachers, arms crossed, eyes trained on the field, but never on Sukuna. Gojo, to his credit, didn’t push. He just sat beside him, occasionally throwing out observations like, “Tamaki’s got a good arm,” or, “That mom’s giving Yorozu a run for her money in the passive-aggressive department.”
Megumi didn’t laugh. Not even once.
He couldn’t. Not with Sukuna just yards away—walking the field, calling instructions, glancing his way when he thought Megumi wasn’t looking. That dull ache in his chest only worsened each time their eyes nearly met.
Why does it still feel like this?
Why does he still make me feel like this?
He should’ve walked away. Left Gojo to babysit. But he didn’t.
He stayed.
Because he needed answers. Because he deserved them. Because… if he left now, he’d never be able to look at himself again.
When the whistle blew to signal the end of practice, Tamaki jogged toward the bleachers, his face flushed with excitement. “Dad! I hit the ball so far today! Did you see?”
“I saw,” Megumi said, kneeling to help him with his gear, heart pounding in his throat. “You did great, baby.”
Tamaki beamed, throwing his arms around Megumi’s neck. “Is Gojo-oijisan coming over again?”
“Maybe,” Megumi murmured, distracted—because over Tamaki’s shoulder, he saw Sukuna approaching, wiping his hands on a towel, eyes fixed on him with a determined, almost cautious look.
Gojo stood, stretching. “Well,” he said, smiling faintly, “my work here is done.”
“What?” Megumi hissed.
“Tag, you’re it.” Gojo winked. “I’ll take the gremlin for ice cream. You…” He jerked his chin toward Sukuna. “Do whatever it is you need to do.”
Megumi’s stomach dropped. “Gojo—”
But Tamaki was already taking Gojo’s hand, babbling about sprinkles and double scoops, and Megumi was already standing, frozen, as Sukuna stopped a few feet in front of him.
There were a thousand words in the space between them.
And not nearly enough air to say them.
The field emptied slowly.
Kids scattered toward waiting parents. Assistant coaches packed up gear. The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the grass. And still, Megumi stood there with the weight of the last few weeks crushing his chest.
Sukuna didn’t move until the last car pulled out of the lot. When the silence finally settled over the field, he took a step closer.
“Megumi,” Sukuna said softly.
That voice—that goddamn voice—made Megumi flinch. It still made his name sound beautiful, even now.
He turned to face him fully, jaw tight, eyes hard. “You have five minutes.”
Sukuna looked like he had more to say than five minutes could possibly hold. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“You should’ve said something,” Megumi snapped, his voice shaking. “The entire time we were talking—texting—do you have any idea how stupid I feel?”
Sukuna’s brows pinched. “I didn’t lie to you.”
Megumi let out a humorless laugh. “You didn’t tell me you were married either. That’s the same thing.”
“I’m not married,” Sukuna bit out. “Yorozu and I—”
“I don’t care what you and Yorozu are,” Megumi cut in, taking a step back. “I don’t care if it’s a divorce, a separation, an arrangement—whatever it is, it doesn’t change the fact that you let me spiral into thinking I was the villain in someone else’s story.”
Sukuna flinched.
“You should’ve shut it down,” Megumi continued, voice low and bitter now. “You should’ve told me to stop texting. You should’ve told me it was complicated, that there was someone else, that it wasn’t safe. But you didn’t. You let me fall headfirst into this—and I hate that I liked it. I hate that I felt so good talking to you.”
“Megumi—”
“And you let her talk to me,” Megumi whispered, tears burning his eyes now. “You let her talk to me like I was something cheap. Like I didn’t matter.”
Sukuna’s face twisted with fury. “I didn’t know what she said until after. I would’ve stopped her—”
“But you didn’t,” Megumi cut him off, voice cracking. “You didn’t stop any of this.”
A beat of silence passed. Just the wind in the grass and the thud of Megumi’s heart.
“I was going to tell you,” Sukuna said, voice quieter now. “I was trying to find the right moment. I didn’t want to scare you off. I didn’t want to lose the only good thing I’ve felt in years.”
Megumi inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. “Then maybe you should’ve started by being honest.”
Sukuna looked like he’d been punched in the gut.
But Megumi was already turning, already walking away.
Because if he stayed a second longer, he’d shatter completely—and he couldn’t fall apart in front of Sukuna..
“Megumi—wait!”
The sound of hurried footsteps behind him only made Megumi walk faster, eyes blurry, throat tight. But Sukuna didn’t stop. His hand caught Megumi’s wrist just as they reached the parking lot, gentle but firm.
“Please—just give me a second,” he said, breathless, eyes searching Megumi’s face like he was trying to memorize it.
“You already had weeks of seconds,” Megumi said, yanking his hand free.
“I know,” Sukuna agreed, softly. “I know. But I didn’t expect any of this, Megumi. I didn’t expect to find you.”
Megumi froze.
“I signed the divorce papers a week before we met,” Sukuna continued, chest rising and falling quickly. “It wasn’t messy—it was already over long before it was official. We hadn’t been… anything for years. She didn’t want a marriage—she wanted an image. And I stayed in it because I thought maybe that’s what I deserved.”
He stepped closer, carefully, like Megumi might bolt.
“But then you walked onto that field with Tamaki,” Sukuna said, his voice catching. “And I saw this quiet, beautiful, strong man who was doing everything for his kid. And I—fuck, Megumi, I didn’t expect to fall for someone like that. Someone like you.”
Megumi’s eyes widened, lips parting in disbelief.
“I stayed cautious,” Sukuna said. “I was scared. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to get hurt either. I didn’t know how to say anything without risking what we had. And I was so fucking selfish for waiting too long. But I couldn’t stay away. Not from you. Not from Tamaki.”
Sukuna stepped even closer now, voice trembling with urgency.
“You two—” he breathed. “I’ve never adored anyone more in my life.”
Megumi swallowed hard, tears stinging again for a very different reason.
“I would’ve never let Yorozu near you if I knew,” Sukuna said, anguish in every word. “I can’t stand what she said to you. The thought of you feeling worthless because of her—it makes me sick. I care about you so damn much, Megs. It drives me crazy.”
The nickname—soft, familiar, laced with everything he’d been aching for—broke something loose in Megumi.
He stood frozen, torn between the ache of being hurt and the warmth of being seen. Really seen. And not just as Tamaki’s dad. Not just a passing crush.
But as himself.
“…You should’ve told me sooner.” He said with a frown.
“I know,” Sukuna said, his own eyes wet with unshed tears. “But I’m telling you now. And I’ll keep telling you every day if you’ll let me.”
Megumi stared at him, throat tight, hands balled at his sides. All the guilt, the confusion, the nights spent spiraling in silence and self-blame—he could still feel it all thrumming in his chest like a bruise that hadn’t yet faded.
But underneath it was something else. Something just as strong, if not stronger.
Hope.
Longing.
“I hated missing you,” Megumi finally spoke after a tense moment of silence. “I hated wondering if I’d imagined it all—if I was just some idiot with a stupid crush who let himself believe in something impossible.”
Sukuna stepped even closer, close enough that Megumi could feel the heat of him, the way his breath caught at those words.
“You weren’t imagining it,” Sukuna said, firmly. “Not for a second.”
Megumi looked up at him, eyes glassy.
“I like you, Sukuna. So much. I don’t know when it started—it could have been that first day we met, or when we first had dinner together, fuck—maybe even the day you made yourself worried sick when we didn't show up for practice one day.”
A broken laugh escaped Sukuna’s lips.
“I fell in love with you somewhere in between all those things,” Megumi added softly. “And it scared the hell out of me.”
Sukuna’s eyes were shining, jaw tight with restraint. “Say that again,” he whispered.
Megumi took a shaky breath.
“I love you.”
The words had barely left his mouth before Sukuna surged forward, cupping Megumi’s face with both hands and kissing him—deep, desperate, relieved. Megumi melted into it, arms winding around Sukuna’s waist, clinging like he’d waited a thousand years for this exact moment.
It wasn’t gentle—it was everything they’d held back, all the tension and hunger and aching poured into one breathtaking kiss.
When they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, Megumi let out a shaky laugh.
“I guess Gojo’s watching Tamaki for the rest of the night.”
Sukuna grinned. “Guess so.”
Sukuna's hand never left his as they walked toward Megumi's car. The silence between them was different now—no longer heavy with confusion or unspoken things. It was warm. Charged.
Once they were both seated inside—doors shut, the cabin wrapped in darkness—neither made a move… until their gazes locked once more.
And then they broke.
Sukuna surged across the console from the passenger seat, hand sliding behind Megumi’s neck to drag him into another kiss, this one rougher—teeth, tongue, a bruising hunger. Megumi whimpered against his mouth, fingers curling into Sukuna’s shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.
Sukuna growled low in his throat, deep and dangerous. “You have no idea what you just did to me,” he rasped, already unbuckling Megumi’s seatbelt with one hand. “Saying that shit like you don’t expect me to lose my fucking mind.”
Megumi shivered, breath catching as Sukuna’s hand trailed down, slipping under the hem of his shirt to palm his waist. “Then lose it,” he whispered. “I don’t care. I don’t want you to hold back. Please.”
That was all it took.
Sukuna hauled him into his lap, the center console digging into Megumi’s left thigh as he straddled him, knees braced on either side. Sukuna’s hands gripped his hips, dragging him down onto the thick bulge straining against his jeans. The friction made them both moan—deep, ragged, barely human.
Megumi rocked against him instinctively, already soaking through his panties.
“You drive me fucking insane,” Sukuna muttered into his throat, biting down just enough to make Megumi gasp. “I’ve been holding back for so long—keeping myself from kissing you, touching you, doing this.”
“Don’t stop,” Megumi gasped, hips rolling again. “Please—don’t stop now.”
Sukuna’s hands dropped to Megumi’s ass, squeezing hard as he rutted up against him. “Get these off,” he growled, tugging at Megumi’s jeans. “Now.”
Fumbling, Megumi shimmied out of them, underwear quickly following. Sukuna leaned the seat back just enough to give them room, then shoved his own jeans down just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking.
Megumi stared for a second, pupils blown wide, lips parted.
“Turn around,” Sukuna said roughly. “Hands on the dashboard.”
Megumi obeyed without hesitation, climbing off him and twisting around, bracing himself against the dash, knees on the passenger seat, ass raised high. It was filthy—obscene in the cramped car—but the thrill of it only made his pussy leak even more.
Sukuna spat in his hand and slicked himself quickly, then dragged his palm down the curve of Megumi’s ass, spreading him open. “You wet enough for me?” he muttered, teasing the tip along his entrance.
Megumi shuddered. “I—fuck, I don’t care—just do it—”
“Yeah?” Sukuna grinned, dark and hungry. “You want me to ruin you in the fucking car?”
“Yes. Please.”
Sukuna shoved in with a single, hard thrust, forcing a choked cry from Megumi’s throat. The stretch burned—deep, thick, brutal—and Megumi’s fingers clawed at the dashboard as Sukuna bottomed out inside him.
“God—Sukuna—”
“Fuck, you’re tight,” Sukuna hissed, panting against the back of Megumi’s neck. “This pussy’s been waiting for me, hasn’t it?”
Megumi nodded desperately, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent moan as Sukuna started to move. Slow at first, just enough to let him adjust, and then—once Megumi arched back against him, whimpering—harder.
Rougher.
The car rocked with each thrust, the leather creaking under them, windows fogging up. Megumi’s knuckles went white against the dash, his thighs shaking from the force of it. He was a mess already—sweaty, flushed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the sheer intensity.
Sukuna grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back so their mouths could meet again—sloppy, panting, teeth clashing.
“You love me?” Sukuna demanded, voice ragged.
“Yes—yes, I love you—fuck—”
Sukuna growled, slamming into him deeper. “Say it again.”
“I love you—Sukuna, I love you—please—”
He reached around and circled Megumi’s clit, touching him in time with his thrusts, unforgiving and perfect. It didn’t take long for him to fall over the edge.
Megumi came with a sharp cry, body locking up, cunt clamping onto Sukuna’s cock and soaking the seat below them. Sukuna didn’t stop—just kept driving into him until he followed with a low, broken groan, spilling deep inside, hips stuttering through the aftershocks.
For a long moment, the car was filled with only the sound of panting and the distant chirp of crickets.
Megumi finally collapsed forward, forehead against the dash, body trembling. Sukuna leaned over him, wrapping both arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade.
“I’m not letting you go,” he said hoarsely. “Not after this.”
Megumi let out a weak, blissed-out laugh. “Good. I was getting really tired of running.”
Sukuna smiled against his skin, trailing another soft kiss over Megumi’s shoulder, then up the nape of his neck. “You always taste this good when you're telling me the truth?”
Megumi huffed a laugh, still catching his breath. “That was awful–you're awful.”
“Awful and in love with you.” Sukuna nipped at his ear, voice thick with teasing. “And, might I add, criminally deprived. Do you know how many times I thought about you this past month? How many times I wanted to call, to show up at your door, throw rocks at your window like some lovesick idiot?”
Megumi lifted his head just enough to glance back at him. “You’d throw rocks at my second-floor window?”
“I’d climb the fucking drainpipe if it meant seeing you.” Sukuna grinned, utterly unrepentant.
“You’re ridiculous,” Megumi murmured, but his voice was soft—fond. He moved around to grab his clothing, nudging Sukuna back so he could settle into the driver's seat. “We should get going.”
Sukuna made a wounded noise as he followed, reluctantly finding his underwear and pants, zipping up. “What, no second round? You’re breaking my heart here, sweetheart.”
“As much as I really want to go again,” Megumi said with amusement, “my son is still in the apartment.”
Sukuna paused, blinking. “...Right. Tamaki.”
“And I don’t trust Gojo that much to keep him overnight.”
They both laughed, the tension easing into something soft and golden between them.
Megumi shifted in his seat and looked over, cheeks flushed but eyes sincere. “But if you want to stay over… once Tamaki’s asleep again…”
Sukuna didn’t even let him finish. “Yes.”
Megumi raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Don’t care. Yes.”
Megumi laughed again, quieter this time, and reached for his hand. “Then let’s go home.”
The drive back to Megumi’s apartment was quiet, but not without tension that somehow began to build all over again. He thought that their fun in the car would qualm all of that – but judging by the way his cunt pulsed with the memory of Sukuna ruthlessly fucking him…
They were far from finished.
Sukuna's thumb traced slow, grounding circles over Megumi's knuckles. Megumi felt like his skin was too tight, his heartbeat too loud, and his thoughts hopelessly tangled between relief and desire. God this drive felt like hours rather than minutes.
By the time they stepped through the door, Gojo greeted them with a smirk and a single raised brow seeing their clearly disheveled state. Tamaki was already passed out on the couch, tucked under a blanket with a half-eaten bowl of popcorn in his lap.
Gojo looked from one of them to the other. “Took you long enough,” he sighed, dramatically. “Your son’s dead to the world. I’ll crash in the guest room again.”
Megumi murmured a thank you, but Sukuna barely acknowledged him, eyes fixed on Megumi like gravity itself had realigned.
They slipped into Megumi’s room, and the moment the door clicked shut behind them, Sukuna was on him.
Their mouths collided, urgent and searching, hands pulling and sliding—Megumi’s shirt yanked over his head, Sukuna’s jeans hitting the floor. Fingers tangled in hair, gripped at hips, traced reverent lines over skin like they were memorizing the moment.
“Sukuna,” Megumi breathed between kisses, cupping Sukuna's face in his hands.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Sukuna rasped, voice low and filled with adoration. “I thought about this—about you—every goddamn night.”
Megumi’s breath caught. His fingers flexed where they rested on Sukuna’s face, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath them. “Then take your time,” he whispered, pausing the other man’s rapid movements. “You don’t have to rush. We did that part in the car, right?”
Something in Sukuna's expression shifted at his words—softened. Reminding him that there wasn’t some invisible clock counting down the minutes they had left together. The hunger was still there, simmering hot and undeniable, but it was tempered by tenderness. A bit worshipful. He leaned in, brushing their noses together before kissing him again, slower this time, coaxing rather than claiming.
They undressed each other piece by piece, Sukuna’s hands never straying far from Megumi’s body, always touching, always grounding. His fingers trailed over Megumi’s stomach, dipped reverently over the curve of his hips, thumbs brushing delicate skin with a kind of awe.
Megumi lay back against the sheets, naked and flushed, his breath coming in soft, uneven pants as Sukuna knelt between his legs. He didn’t look away—not even once. Not when he traced careful fingers along the soft folds between Megumi’s thighs, not when Megumi whimpered and arched into his touch.
“You’re perfect,” Sukuna murmured, voice thick. “So wet for me already, baby.”
Megumi bit his lip and nodded, one hand sliding up to cradle Sukuna’s nape, urging him closer. “I want you,” he breathed. “Please—Sukuna.”
Sukuna pressed a kiss to the inside of Megumi’s thigh before slowly leaning in, tongue parting him with an agonizing tenderness. Megumi’s back arched, a gasp catching in his throat as Sukuna licked into him—slow, deep, purposeful. He moaned, legs trembling where they rested over Sukuna’s broad shoulders, hips rocking in a quiet, needy rhythm.
He came once like that—soft and shaking, clutching Sukuna’s hair as Sukuna lapped him through it, murmuring sweet, hoarse praises against his cunt.
And Sukuna didn’t stop. He kissed his way up Megumi’s stomach, over the soft rise of his chest, mouthing gently at each nipple until Megumi was gasping again, too sensitive and already aching for more.
“Need you inside,” Megumi whispered, pulling him in. “Please, I want to feel you again—”
Sukuna groaned low and deep, reaching to guide himself against Megumi’s entrance, fingers still slick. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said. “You say the word, I stop.”
“I know,” Megumi whispered, eyes shining. “But I want all of you.”
And Sukuna gave it to him slowly—inch by inch, stretching him open with care, his grip firm on Megumi’s hips as he eased inside. They both gasped when he bottomed out, and for a long moment, they just breathed—foreheads touching, fingers tangled.
“You feel like home,” Sukuna rasped. “Fuck, Megumi…”
He moved with restraint at first—deep, slow thrusts, his mouth never far from Megumi’s. Megumi clung to him, body arching into every roll of Sukuna’s hips, matching his rhythm with eager, breathy moans.
But it built between them, undeniable and desperate. Sukuna lost his rhythm, thrusts turning erratic as Megumi writhed beneath him, legs locked around his waist, urging him deeper. They chased the edge together—grinding, gasping, losing themselves in each other.
Megumi cried out when he came again, body clenching tight, pulling Sukuna over the edge with him. Sukuna buried himself deep, groaning his release against Megumi’s throat as they both trembled through it.
They stayed tangled together in the aftermath, skin slick with sweat, breath mingling in the dark.
“I love you,” Megumi whispered again, softer this time, like a secret.
Sukuna kissed him—slow and reverent. “I’m yours,” he answered, just as quietly.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, casting a hazy glow across the room. Megumi stirred first, blinking slowly as he felt the warmth of a body pressed close behind him, an arm heavy across his waist, fingers idly tracing small circles against his stomach.
He didn’t startle. Instead, he let himself relax into the familiar touch, the steady rise and fall of Sukuna’s chest behind him, the soft exhale against the nape of his neck.
“You’re awake,” Sukuna murmured, voice gravelly with sleep.
Megumi hummed, smiling faintly. “Barely.”
Sukuna shifted closer, nuzzling the back of his neck before pressing a kiss just below his ear. “We don’t have to move yet,” he whispered, and Megumi could feel the smile on his lips. “Let me hold you like this a little longer.”
“Fine. You win,” Megumi conceded, his fingers reaching to thread through Sukuna’s where they rested on his stomach. " I could get used to this anyway."
“Yeah?” Sukuna’s voice was soft. “Then I’m never leaving.”
They lay there in that perfect stillness—no weight of the world, no past mistakes, just the comfort of the present. Sukuna kissed the curve of Megumi’s shoulder, then his jaw, then rolled him gently onto his back to kiss him full on the mouth.
It was slow, languid, tasting of morning breath and something sweeter.
And then—
“COACH SUKUNA, YOU’RE HERE!”
The bedroom door slammed open with the energy only a six-year-old could bring. Tamaki stood in his pajamas, beaming, cheeks flushed with excitement and eyes wide as saucers.
Megumi sat up, startled, the sheet clutched to his chest. “Tamaki!”
Sukuna groaned but chuckled, dragging a pillow over his face. “Busted.”
Tamaki ran across the room and launched himself onto the bed, crawling over Megumi and flopping dramatically between them.
“Does this mean you’re staying for breakfast?”
Before either of them could answer, a familiar white-haired menace poked his head into the room, sunglasses perched on his nose and a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Time for you to tap back in, ‘Gumi,” Gojo grinned. “And hey, lovebirds—let’s have dinner soon, yeah?”
Then he winked and disappeared down the hall before Megumi could throw a pillow at him.
Sukuna laughed quietly and looked at Megumi with something warm and unshakable in his eyes. “Are all of your mornings like this?"
Megumi sighed and leaned back against the pillows, Tamaki giggling between them.
“Yeah but maybe with a little less Gojo,” he sighed out before peeking over at him cautiously. "Is that okay?"
Sukuna brushed his fingers through Megumi’s hair and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “More than. And don't act so huffy, I know you love it."
“I do,” Megumi admitted, then turning his body to face him. “Just like I love you.”
Sukuna leaned in to kiss him again. "I love you too. So damn much.”
And even with Tamaki bouncing on the mattress, Gojo singing in the kitchen, and chaos beginning to stir—the peace between them held strong.