The night is heavy with tension as you sit awkwardly on Satoru Gojo's lap, surrounded by his friends, all eyes fixed on the football match playing on the giant outdoor screen. Satoru’s bare chest presses against your back, his arm locked around your waist. His muscular body radiates heat, his white hair catching the soft light from the pool. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, revealing the white happy trail running down his stomach, but you can’t focus on that. You’re too busy trying to squirm out of his grip.

“Stop wriggling,” he growls in your ear, his voice low and commanding, like a strict father scolding a child. “You’re staying right here.”

His friends chuckle, lounging in swim trunks, beers in hand, clearly enjoying the game—and your discomfort. "Satoru, you’re really leaning into this dad role, huh?" one of them jokes, lighting a cigar.

Satoru smirks, tightening his grip around your waist, his hand resting heavily on your thigh.

“Gotta keep the kid in line,” he says casually, his blue eyes flashing beneath his blindfold as he looks down at you. His fingers dig in slightly, a silent reminder that there’s no escaping his hold.

Another friend pipes up, “You’re really good at this dad role, Gojo. Ever think about having kids?”

Satoru chuckles, his broad chest rumbling against your back. “Nah, I’ve got my hands full with this one,” he says, squeezing your waist, making you wince. His friends laugh, As you try to squirm..

Zuna, sitting next to him, just laughs, sipping her drink. She’s never defended you, not once. To her, it’s all part of Satoru’s charm.

Suddenly, the game explodes with noise as a goal is scored, and Satoru barks out a triumphant “YES!” His excitement sends a shock through you, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he holds you tighter, reminding you who’s in charge.

“Stay still,” he whispers, his voice dark, “or I’ll give you a real reason to complain..”