it's in his DNA to be a menace, so can Gojo really be mad that his toddler inherited that from him? II Gojo Satoru x fem!reader
Gojo Satoru is fatally, insanely, completely head over heels for you.
To this day, he maintains that. He’ll tell everybody he knows of the joys of knowing you — and no, he’s not being sarcastic when he says that.
Though, if there was one thing he could almost cry about, it would be this.
See, if there’s one thing Gojo Satoru loves to do, it’s to tease his two girls. And that’s exactly what he’s doing to the tinier one, the mini you x him, this morning.
“Here comes the choo choo train.” Satoru guides the sweet potato closer, and her cute little babbles fill the air. It seems like his little munchkin inherited his sweet tooth. And just as the delightful dollop reaches his sweet girl, he pulls the spoon back with a grin.
“Dada!” She crosses her chubby arms (and briefly, he thinks she looks like the Michelin man, and his grin grows bigger), eye twitching and face in a pout that screams ‘i’ll remember this betrayal’.
“Satoru,” you chide, and he turns to face you. You’re leaning on the kitchen counter, arms crossed just like your daughter. Sunlight streams in through the adjacent open window, lighting the edges of your hair with that ethereal glow that makes his head explode and his heart ache. “That choo choo train is going to derail.”
“I’m an excellent driver, thank you,” he replies, readjusting his grip on the spoon like it’ll prove his point, and if you ask him, it does. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, here…” Satoru glides the spoon through the air again, and just like that, your daughter is giggling and clapping her hands again. So sweet, so trusting, that Satoru almost regrets his next move.
At the last second, he yanks the spoon away again, and this time, he’s dodging tiny fists like his life depends on it. He can’t help it, he only laughs louder – loud, belly-aching, cheek-pulling, laughter that infects you too, as you giggle behind your hand. When he takes a peek at your darling daughter once again, it’s like rage is bubbling through her – well, all the rage someone of her size can muster.
“Satoru.”
But his name didn’t come from you. It’s grumbled out by the tiny cherub in front of him, and the colour drains from his face as Satoru’s heart falls to the floor.
His laughter cuts off – replaced by frantic attempts to placate his rascal, arms held up like in surrender – but yours only grows. And it seems like your approval, and his dismay, fuels the little gremlin, because she opens her mouth again – no doubt to spout that horrific name again.
“No, no,” he coos, desperate now. “Sweetheart, I’m dada. Dad. Papa. Father.” He wrinkles his nose at the last one. “Actually angel, don’t say father. It’s too serious.”
Your baby girl turns her nose up at him, clearly not amused, and Satoru busies himself with scooping a heapful on the spoon — his apology. “Here, for real this time, eat up..” She turns her cheek again – because fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice… – and the mashed sweet potato smears all over her cheek like an accidental streak of paint.
And for the second time this morning, Satoru has to stifle his laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth as laughter threatens to escape. But your daughter, oh your sweet daughter, she’s glaring at him with an anger strong enough to buckle his knees.
“Gojo.” It’s like the last name comes out in slow motion – choppy, lower, said with defiance and with the intention to reprimand her dad so badly he will never try her again.
And worse yet, she’s not just angry, she’s disappointed. Those big blue eyes (and for the thousandth time this week, Satoru understands how others feel when he looks at them), shining with gleeful revenge.
“Oh, Gojo.” She shakes her head side to side with a pout that could bring nations crumbling down with the sheer of disapproval.
Gojo?
“You’re Gojo too!” And now he’s the one pouting, caught up in a fight with a toddler that both she and he know that she’ll win. Satoru whips his head in your direction – you’re in hysterics now – accusation in his stare, and a silent plea for help. And you know him, you know him, so he knows that you’re ignoring his cries for assistance in favour of holding yourself up by the bench.
Betrayed by his two favourite people in one day.
Satoru lets out a dramatic sigh, slumping in his chair at being struck by this final blow. Your daughter huffs, victorious, her tiny fists pumping into the air in her high chair, like a tiny general who’s just conquered an empire. And Satoru doesn’t even have time to claim the triumph that she picked up that emote from him.
And suddenly, you swoop in like an angel from the sidelines, finally having caught your breath on the sidelines. Stepping forward, you take the spoon from his limp hand and gently scoop up the sweet potato.
“Here, sweetheart,” you coo, smelling something sweet that he can’t name (maybe it’s just you), that he wants to eat up all the same. Your dear daughter accepts the spoonful without hesitation, though, she makes a point to side eye her defeated dad when she does. And then, her little pout melts into a satisfied smile, as she munches happily.
Satoru watches her eat, deflated but completely smitten, and when he turns to you again, he finds you already looking at him – soft hair framing your face like the beautiful art he knows you are – with that knowing, star-filled gaze that always undoes him.
“You’ll pay for this,” he warns weakly, pointing at you with an exaggerated menace.
You just laugh again, and lean down to press a small, soft kiss to his forehead — and just like that, he’s forgiven you. “Good luck, Gojo.”
“You’re Gojo too,” he groans, though, his arms wrap about your waist, pulling you closer despite his wounded pride.
And in that warm kitchen, sunlight pooling around all three of you, he realises he wouldn’t trade this – the chaos, the tiny betrayals, the teasing that only comes from unconditional love – for anything in the world.
Not now. Not ever.
