❆ ₊ ⊹ 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀’𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐒 — 𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 ⊹₊ ❆
you were starting to get anxious now.
another tick of the clock, another glance at your watch only served to remind you of how late gojo was and how much blood you were going to drain out of his body once you caught the twerp.
christmas was supposed to be fun, filled with decorating your lovely home, baking treats that you knew your family was going to steal for themselves and excitement buzzing around the house over wrapping and gifting presents.
but all that had gone out the window after last night when an idiotic declaration was made from your husband about how ‘santa isn’t real’, and your girls, grief stricken, had kicked their sperm donor out of the house.
of course, it didn’t help that your family had inherited the traits of shakespeare’s characters.
gojo hadn’t returned home from that night, very boldly ignoring your calls and messages to think of ways to grovel.
a loud boom of “ho, ho, ho!” from the living room breaks your thoughts.
your girls pause, turning to stare at each other wide eyed.
“is that—”
“it has to be!”
their spoons clatter onto the plates as they dash out of the kitchen, leaving you trailing after them wearily.
“santa!” they squeal upon spotting the red figure, tackling him to the ground.
you have to admit you’re impressed with the effort gojo put in for his role. he dons the iconic red costume with a white beard, adding his own special touch with his sunglasses and looking every bit like the clown he is.
“calm down, girls. we can’t be attacking old men like that.”
satoru stumbles up, shoving fluff (which, you assumed he had gotten from disembowelling your daughters’ stuffed animals that he stole) back into his inflated tummy, “your mother’s right. i may still be hot but that doesn’t mean my joints aren’t cracking.”
your daughters ignore him, “santa, i thought you were going to come down the chimney.”
“yeah, no offence, but it was very anti-climatic.”
“anti-climactic,” you correct, smiling at satoru’s offended expression. he puffs his chest out, “my hippopotamuses wouldn’t fit through the chimney.”
“hippopotamus? do you mean your reindeers?”
reindeers? they sure as hell looked like hippopotamuses based on your younger daughter’s drawing.
she climbs onto gojo’s shoulder, grinning at him with a chipped tooth, “y’know, my daddy said that you aren’t real but he’s wrong! you are real!”
“oh yeah?” gojo mirrors her grin, pinching her cheek. “he sounds like a prick. let me fight him.”
“he isn’t here. mommy says we disowned him.” she shrugs, oblivious to satoru’s horror as she jumps down and joins her sister in looting santa’s sack.
“there’s nothing in here! just fluff!” yumi exclaims, half her body shoved into the bag.
“i think what santa is trying to say is that the real present is you meeting him.” you quip in, smiling.
the two stare at him, aghast.
before they could start pointing fingers and calling him a narcissist, gojo stutters, “of course, i have a gift for you adorable girls. how could i not?” he clears his throat, ruffling through his pockets and pulling out a piece of paper. “um, what do you call santa claus when he stops moving?”
your daughters share a look before shrugging, “what?”
“santa pause.”
they stare at him unimpressed. you don’t blame them.
“wait, wait! i have a good one. what kind of money do elves use?”
silence greets him.
“jingle bills.” he snickers. “can’t believe i wrote these.”
“can we just get the presents?” yumi deadpans.
gojo pouts, eyes straying to you. you shrug, as if to say these are your kids. satoru sighs heavily, “fine. let me go get your present.”
you briefly wonder if he plans on giving them his credit card when he goes to your bedroom. shuffling sounds through the closed door before satoru calls out, “come in!”
you follow your daughters into the bedroom, immediately spotting the giant gift box sitting in the middle of the room. there’s no doubt in your mind about what’s in it, if the messy wrapping was anything to go by.
“rock, paper, scissors on who opens it.” yumi whispers.
“i don’t wanna open it! santa seems weird.” your younger daughter hisses back.
they both turn to stare at you.
you sigh, pulling the large bow on it. as expected, the box topples over and satoru (now somewhat out of his costume) falls out, a demonic screech leaving his throat.
“surprise!” he yells, rubbing his sore back. you think he deserves it for giving such a lame gift (and unrecoverable second-hand embarrassment) for christmas.
your daughters don’t seem to, however, as they rush to their father, “papa! we met santa!”
he accepts them into his arms with a big grin, “did you now?”
while your girls ramble on about santa and his sheer audacity at not bringing them presents, you take a seat next to satoru.
“where’d the beard come from?” you ask, stroking his very real beard.
“santa’s gift. it’s a trend right now, haven’t you heard?”
“oh, really?” you can’t help how your lips curl upward, how they always do in satoru’s presence “speaking of, santa hasn’t brought me a gift this year. its very unfair.”
“maybe he’s saving something special for you in your bedroom,” he winks at you.
you slap his arm but he knows that sitting here, as his ears bleed from his girls’ blabbers and his shoulder is comforted with the weight of your head, there is no greater gift that santa or anybody else can give him and you.
“ow, ow, ow, careful! a jaw this handsome doesn’t come as often as six eyes.”
“what did you even use to stick it?” you grunt, ignoring gojo’s yelps as you pull at the fake beard.
he pauses, “the one on the top shelf. i think it was the orange one with the macho gorilla.”
your eyes widen, “you used gorilla glue?”
“satoru, i hope you said your goodbyes to flawless skin because you will not be seeing it again till the next lifetime.”
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