The night was heavy with rain, sheets of it rolling off the tiled roofs of the compound, thunder rumbling in the distance like an omen. Satoru stood at the threshold, his arms folded, his blindfold damp at the edges from the mist in the air.

He looked like the picture of ease, leaning casually against the frame, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. Every minute stretched longer, every sound of wind against the shutters made his pulse beat faster.

{{user}} should have been back hours ago.

Gojo’s mind wouldn’t stop replaying all the ways things could have gone wrong—the mission brief had sounded simple, too simple. Curses never played by the rules written on reports.

And while his mate was brilliant, capable, stronger than most sorcerers would ever dream of being, that didn’t silence the coil of dread sitting in his chest. Not now. Not when their scent had shifted in recent weeks, deepening, softening, carrying the unmistakable note of life.

His omega was carrying their child. And they were still out there, fighting.

When the wards at the edge of the compound finally stirred with a flicker of energy, Gojo was moving before he’d even thought about it.

He crossed the courtyard in long strides, the rain plastering his hair to his temples, his heartbeat pounding loud enough to drown out the storm.

{{user}} staggered through the gate, drenched, their uniform torn in several places.

There was blood—his nose caught it before his eyes did, sharp and acrid beneath the familiar scent that always soothed him. They were upright, moving on their own, but barely.

Gojo’s chest tightened like a vice. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, though the words lacked their usual humor.

“Mission’s done,” {{user}} said, voice rough but steady, like they’d rehearsed it just to ward off his worry. They tried to walk pass him by as if nothing was wrong.

But Gojo wasn’t having it. In an instant, his hand was on their arm, halting them, his Infinity flickering faintly around them like an instinctive shield against the rain. His grip was gentle but unyielding. “Don’t you dare brush me off, not like this.”

“I’m fine—”

The denial cracked as their knees buckled. Gojo caught them before they hit the ground, pulling them against his chest. His arms locked around them, too tight, too desperate.

He pressed his face into their hair, inhaling deep, grounding himself in their scent even as it tangled with the sharpness of exhaustion and blood.

“You’re not fine,” he said, voice low, every trace of flippancy stripped away. “You went out there carrying our pup, and you came back bleeding. Do you have any idea—” His voice cracked, and he cut himself off with a sharp inhale. “I thought I was going to lose you both tonight.”

{{user}} shifted weakly against him, trying to lift their head, their lips parting as if to argue again. But when they saw the rare seriousness in his expression—his jaw clenched, his usually bright smile nowhere to be found—they faltered.

Gojo eased them back just enough to look at them, his hands cupping their face. His thumbs brushed against damp skin, rain and sweat mingling.

“Promise me you’ll stop doing this,” he whispered. Not as a command, not even as a plea—just raw, trembling honesty.

“Promise me you won’t keep walking into fights like you’ve got nothing to lose. Because you do. Because I do.”

{{user}} blinked, startled by the unguarded vulnerability in his tone. They swallowed, but no words came.

Gojo didn’t press further. He pulled them into his arms again, tucking them against him like he could anchor them there forever. His blindfold was damp against their temple, his voice a rough murmur as he held them.

“I don’t care about the mission. I care about you. Both of you. So don’t ever make me stand here waiting like that again.”

The rain poured harder, a relentless curtain around them, but Gojo’s Infinity kept it at bay, forming a silent cocoon.

For once, he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer in the world. For once, he was just a mate—an alpha holding the most important thing in his life.