I Could NEVER Being The Same Room As Gojo, I Be Getting A Little Too Hungry Sometimes. I'll Have To Be

You look up from your book to see your husband standing over the bassinet with his arms crossed, his brow raising as he looks down inside of it with a tiny scowl. He stays like that for about a minute. You sit up in your shared bed, then call out to him. “Ryo.” 

“Hm.” He doesn’t look up. 

“May I ask what you are doing?” 

“The little brat is staring,” Sukuna says matter-of-factly. “I am simply staring at her in return.” 

Inside of the bassinet, your baby daughter coos. Her scarlet eyes—exactly like her father’s—glitter with interest. You hear her giggle, and you scoff lightly and return your gaze to your book. “She thinks you’re playing a game.” 

“I am doing no such thing.” 

You flip a page. “Put a hand over your face for a few seconds.” He doesn’t respond, but you know he listens. “M’kay, now lift.” There’s silence for a few seconds, then your daughter bursts into a fit of giggles. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “I do not understand what is so entertaining about that.” When you look up again, you see that he’s covering his face again, then revealing himself to get the same reaction from the baby.

“It’s called peek-a-boo. It’s a game most babies love to play.” 

The little princess babbles as she lifts her arms up, and Sukuna tilts his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

You snicker. “One: You’ll figure out what she’s saying the more you talk with her. Two: She wants you to pick her up.” 

He sighs dramatically, then reaches into the bassinet to pick up the small girl. Though she has her father’s eyes, she has your hair, the shape of your nose, and your ears. She also has your fearlessness, because she smiles directly in the face of the king of curses. Now at his eye level, she reaches her arms towards him excitedly. “What is it now, you brat? I’m already carrying you.” 

He looks over at you in question, and your smile grows. “She wants to touch your face,” you say. 

“Why?” 

“Because she’s a baby, and she’s curious.” 

Sukuna pulls her closer, and once in range, his daughter lays her tiny hands against his marked face. She giggles more, and you can see his eyes soften. “Hmph. You have your mother’s smile.” 

— — — —

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen where you hear Sukuna speaking with someone. When he turns to the side, you see your daughter nestled in the crook of one of his muscular arms, staring up at him as he concluded whatever story he was telling her. 

“...At the end of the battle, only I remained. Victory was mine.” 

The baby babbles excitedly, and Sukuna scoffs. “Ha, you will do no such thing. How do you expect to join me in battle when you aren’t even a year old, brat?” 

Her face scrunches in what looks like annoyance, and she repeats to him what he taught her the night before. “Hmph.” 

You burst into laughter, and Sukuna raises a brow at the little girl in his arms. “Great. Your mother’s smile, and her attitude.”

hc that gojo satoru is a TERRIBLE cook but when it comes to baking?? bro could open a dessert shop.

"Satoru, what the fuck did you do now?" You mumble, trudging into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you're rudely awoken by the smell of something burning.

"I dont know, babe, I was trynna make scrambled eggs and then the eggs just didnt.... scramble," he whines, a pout on his lips as he turns around to face you, spatula in hand. Or what was left of the spatula... because this man had somehow managed to melt it.

"Toru. Is the spatula melted."

"....No?" he trails off, as you both stare at the clearly misshapen plastic horror that he's holding.

You just sigh, throwing your head back in exasperation. "How the fuck did you even manage that?"

"Girl, I dont know! I followed the tutorial step by step, I SWEAR!" He exclaims, eyes wide as he points frantically to his phone, currently propped up on the kettle, open to a Youtube video on how to make scrambled eggs.

"I'm crying - THERE'S NO WAY you needed a tutorial for scrambled eggs. And you still managed to fuck it up. Oh my god, this is too good." Your laughter is nothing short of diabolical, while he just stands there with the biggest pout on his face.

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT?? The eggs just stopped egging, I'm telling you."

You just stare at him, deadpan. "I'm banning you from cooking. Officially. For the rest of our lives. I'm declaring this a Satoru Gojo-free kitchen,"

"HUH?? But babeeeee, what if I wanna make you breakfast in bedddd." Sigh. What a whiny bitch.

"You can order it. I don't trust your culinary skills."

Before he could protest, the sound of a timer rings out, and Satoru visibly perks up, rushing towards the oven. "Yesss, they're ready. Fucking finallyyy!!" He all but shouts in victory.

Your mouth drops open in absolute shock when he pulls out a tray of the most perfect, golden-brown croissants you've ever seen, flaky layers stacked with precision. You stare at him like he just grew a second head. "B-but you... eggs - not scrambled. Plastic melted... What the fuck." You splutter head darting back and forth between the disaster on the stove and the miracle in Satoru's hands.

"How do you suck at cooking the most basic thing, but you can bake like a fucking Parisian pattisier?"

Your menace of a boyfriend just shrugs, placing a croissant on a plate and handing it to you like he didn't just give you whiplash. "Croissant?"

(You devoured more than half of the tray.)

── .✦ main masterlist || jjk masterlist

ミ★ notes from star: comments and reblogs always appreciated!

I close my eyes, hoping that I don't come off contentious

I'm yelling, "Father, did I finally get it right? Everything I did was selfless. I spoke freely when the people needed me, I helped them. I didn't gloat, even told 'em, 'No', when the vultures came. Took control of my fleshly body when the money changed."

Son, you do well, but your heart is closed. I can tell residue that linger from your past creates itself. "Father, I'm not perfect, I got urges, but I hold 'em down." But your pride has to die. "Okay, Father, Show me how."

Tell me every deed that you done and what you do it for. "I kept one hundred institutions paid," Okay, tell me more. "I put one hundred hoods on one stage," Okay, tell me more. "I'm tryna push peace in L.A." But you love war. "No, I don't," Oh, yes, you do "Okay, then tell me the truth."

Every individual is only a version of you, How can they forgive when there's no forgiveness in your heart? "I could tell you where I'm going"

I could tell you who you are. You fell out of Heaven 'cause you was anxious- Didn't like authority, only searched to be heinous. Isaiah 14 was the only thing that was prevalent.

-Kendrick Lamar ; reincarnated

If anyone thinks that gojo is a god complex character pls block me.

Me when y/n is acting like a little fucking child for male validation

if i’m ever brutally murdered and everyone feels like they need to do something productive in my memory, all i want is for you to pass legislation banning LED headlights in my name. regardless of how irrelevant it is to my murder. it’s relevant to my heart.

“oh but _____ isn’t real”

to YOU, that maybe. i, however, am delusional.

satoru finds him curled up on the couch.

it’s late—later than he meant for it to be. the mission dragged on for longer than expected, and by the time he slipped through the door, the clock on the microwave was blinking an accusing 12:47 a.m.

you’re already asleep, probably having given up hours ago and trusted that he’d come back to you in one piece. but megumi…

megumi is in the living room, half-covered with the blanket you keep folded over the back of the couch. his head is tipped to the side in that awkward, cricked-neck position kids always end up in when they fall asleep somewhere they didn’t mean to.

there’s a book on his lap, one of those thick ones satoru keeps pretending to understand when megumi talks to you and him about it. his thumb is still tucked inside it, like he meant to keep reading, and just didn’t make it.

on the coffee table is a note.

it’s written in megumi’s handwriting, stiff and slanting and way too neat.

we kept dinner in the fridge. i saved you the last roll.

underneath it, scrawled smaller: you said you’d be back before midnight. i waited.

satoru stands there for a moment, and stares at it. then he slowly walks over, crouching beside the couch and brushing a hand over megumi’s hair. it’s longer now. softer than it used to be when he was smaller.

the little boy doesn’t wake. he just sighs quietly and shifts, like he can feel satoru’s hand even in his sleep. 

“hey,” satoru murmurs, barely more than a whisper. “sorry, kid. i tried.”

no answer, of course.

so satoru leans forward and presses a kiss to megumi’s temple, then another to the top of his head. it’s the kind of affection that used to feel foreign but now fits him like second nature. he tucks the blanket around him better, careful not to wake him.

he’ll carry him to bed in a minute. for now, he lets himself sit beside megumi on the floor, back against the couch, eyes closed and heart warm.

⇢ a/n: no one look at me i’m in my dadjo feels. expect more domestic family fluff from me.

Childhood trio Pt. Groupchat

[6:35PM] Caleb: :(

[6:35PM] Caleb: :((

[6:37PM] MC: Caleb? What's wrong? Are you okay?

[6:37PM] Caleb: Promise me you won't be mad. :(

[6:38PM] Zayne: HE JUST HIT ME WITH HIS CAR.

Best friend!Gojo proposed to you at precisely age six and held up the honor of your marriage all throughout. He was loyal, devoted, celebrated your anniversaries without you realizing the pattern. 

Even a good couple decades later when you two are finally together and settled when he tells you this- you’d be like “Satoru, what do you mean you always acted married to me- I dated other people in high school??” 

Only for your boyfriend (longtime husband?) to answer serenely, “I merely forgave you for you infidelity, my wife.”