The morning began with the kind of melodrama only pregnancy and exhaustion could produce. You groaned like a dying Victorian heroine as you peeled yourself away from the warm cocoon of blankets, one hand instinctively cradling your stomach while the other rubbed at your bleary eyes. The floor felt colder than it had any right to be, and you shuffled toward the bedroom door with the grace of a disgruntled sloth.

But halfway down the stairs, something strange hit you.

A smell.

A good smell.

A smell that did not—under any circumstances—belong in a house where Satoru Gojo was allowed within ten feet of a stove.

You paused mid‑step, sniffing the air like a confused bloodhound.

Warm. Sweet. Slightly buttery.

Edible.

Your eyebrows shot up. Suspicion bloomed.

You followed the scent into the kitchen… and nearly tripped over your own feet.

There he was.

Satoru Gojo.

The strongest sorcerer alive.

The man who once burned instant ramen.

Standing at the stove flipping pancakes like he was auditioning for a cooking show.

He wore a ridiculous apron—white, frilly, and emblazoned with “KISS THE COOK” in bold red letters. It hung crookedly on his tall frame, one strap twisted, the bottom half dusted with flour like he’d lost a fight with a bakery.

His grin was lopsided, proud, and just a little too smug.

And the worst part?

The pancakes actually looked… good.

“Ah, look at the future mama, up and about at this ungodly hour,” he announced, pointing his spatula at you like it was a royal scepter. The dramatic flourish nearly sent a pancake flying.

You blinked at him.

He winked at you.

The universe sighed.

“I must bestow upon you the honor of a morning kiss,” he declared, puffing out his chest as if he were about to knight you.

Before you could protest, he slapped the spatula onto the counter and swooped toward you with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever who’d just spotted its favorite human. His arms wrapped around you in a warm, slightly-too-tight bear hug, lifting you half an inch off the ground.

Then came the kiss.

A loud, exaggerated, mwah! right on your forehead—complete with sound effects and a dramatic flourish of his hand.

His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, affection, and the unmistakable pride of a man who believed he had just performed the most romantic gesture in history.