EVERYBODY LOVES SOMEBODY.|| gojo satoru

oh, how can one be so beautiful?gojo satoru asks himself.

his blue eyes are illuminated by the sun rays as he stands there admiring you, though he does not stand further than seven feet away from you. his lips are churned upwards with his fingers holding the bouquet of flowers tight, heart beating faster by the second as he simply watches with joy, adoration, and fascination in his gaze.

he cannot stop himself from admiring the sigh before his ocean eyes.

not once in his twenty-seven years of living did he ever think he would find someone reading a book so intriguing, yet here he is: doing just as he thought he never would.

you look so beautiful to him. figure beneath the trees as the wind compliments the way your hair flows with it, feet laid out with your back pressed against the wooden body of the tree. such a simple sight, yet so breathtaking in his eyes.

as he stands there underneath the spring sun, you finally look up from your book and spot the white haired man who admires you from not-so afar. a smile cannot help but etch on your face as he walks over with his hand running through his hair.

“hello amore,” his voice is like honey, sweet and smooth as he hands you the bouquet of pink roses. “for you.” it cannot be helped that there is a slight blush is on his cheeks as he watches you take the flowers and bring it up to your nose to smell the batch, to him you just look so beautiful even as you do the most mundane action.

“thank you, darling.” you say your thanks before you settle it to your lap and usher him to kneel before you, and he does as asked. when he is there on his knees before you, you lean forward and press a sweet kiss against his lips.

sure, gojo satoru may be the strongest man to ever walk this planet, but when he is with your presence: he is nothing but a man who yearns for your love.

so when he feels your lips against his, it‘s just natural for him to fall at ease and press further as his hand moves to hold your cheek. blue eyes fluttering close as when feels your fingers on his nape. all the butterflies in his stomach erupt as his heart beats erratically for you.

sometime, everybody will love someone, and something in your kiss told gojo satoru, his sometime is now.

Studying @ Gojo’s

A/N: Hey besties!! I made a jjk studying series for all of you who are studying for exams rn! Let’s start with Gojo! <33

• Gojo’s luxury apartment was a nice place to study, lofi hip hop playing softly from the speakers, a big table next to the window wall that let the sunlight deep through, shining down on your revision notes.
• “My little nerd still studying?” You hear a teasing voice from behind.
• “Mhm” you reply, eyes still glued to the notes in front of you.
• You hear a sigh this time but you can tell he’s come closer, then suddenly you find two long arms wrapping around your shoulders, and his chin plopped on to your head.
• “What if I just… paid the exam board to make you pass?”
• You laugh at Gojo’s suggestion, the worse thing is you knew he was probably being serious.
• “I’m serious” he says, confirming your thoughts as he pokes your cheek.
• “Too pretty to be studying” he mutters against your cheek as he pressed kisses to it, making you giggle.
• But as you reached to the side to grab your pen, Gojo quickly snatched it first.
• “Huh?”
• “Nuh uh! No more work unless you eat some kikufuku with me” he said, leaving no more for argument as you struggle to grab the pen from his hand, he grins widely as you jump to match his tall figure but fail.
• And as you jump up to grab it one more time, his long arms finds it’s way to your waist, tugging you into his embrace with a chuckle. “Ah! Gojo!-“
• “C’mon bubs, time for some mochi” he says casually but his smug grin is present. He carries you like a baby as he grabs the mochi from the kitchen and return to the living area, sitting down in your seat and placing you on his lap.
• You smile gratefully at Gojo before giving him a kiss, as he lets you return to studying while he feeds you the mochi, taking a bite out of it every now and then too. Occasionally, playfully biting your cheek but you didn’t mind.
• Eventually the tall white haired man got a call, you feel his muscular arms tighten around your waist as he muttered a ‘be right back love’ in your ear. You kiss his jaw before he leaves to answer the call.
• Now you don’t know how long you sat there studying for, but once you took a deep breath and shifted your eyes away from notes momentarily, you notice a post it note and one more kikufuku next to you.
• ‘So proud of you bby :)’ was written, with a small dick drawing next to it.
• You giggle to yourself as you munched on the mochi. Studying doesn’t feel so bad when it’s with Gojo <3

Ex husband Gojo: unpleasant surprises

A/N: Happy Saturday besties! EX HUSBAND GOJO WON THE VOTE!! Don’t worry though, I got bodyguard Megumi coming soon

• Ever since the incident between you and Gojo regarding the third child, things had been eerily quiet from his side. No 3am calls, no surprise visits, nothing.
• Perhaps that’s why you felt on edge when it was Gojo’s turn to have the kids for the weekend, and he still hadn’t arrived, your hands slightly shaking as you tied your son’s shoelaces.
• “You’re overthinking it y/n” said a deep voice from your phone. “Maybe he’s just running a little late”
• You sigh before nodding your head. Nanami was always your voice of reason. Sometimes you wonder if he could give good advice about your abusive relationship with Gojo, but you always kept that a secret from Nanami, not wanting to burden him with your own issues.
• You’re suddenly pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of a knock on the door. You take a deep breath as you turn to open the door, feeling slightly confident, knowing Gojo won’t pull anything with his mutual friend Nanami on call.
• But the view in front of you wasn’t what you were expecting.
• “Geto?”
• The black haired man smiled at you sweetly as you greeted eachother. “What are you doing here?” You ask confusedly.
• “Gojo was sent on a last minute session, so looks like the kids got me for the weekend!” He said, but he sounded uneasy.
• “Oh? Okay.” You say, slightly taken aback that Gojo didn’t tell you beforehand. You hear your kids squeal from behind as they spot their uncle Geto, quickly rushing to the tall buff man, clinging onto his legs. “Hello lil monsters!!” He coos making them giggle.
• You smile fondly at your loving children, before returning your attention to Geto, “well we’re off to my mom’s house for the weekend, but don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything Geto” you say, kissing your children goodbye.
• Geto looks up at you confused and slightly tense. “We?”
• You nod “Nanami is coming with me for the weekend, I feel too tired to drive so he offered to take me there and keep me company!”
• You silently observe Geto’s uneasiness at the mention of Nanami, he knew you two were close, so why was he so stiff?
• Geto blinks twice before awkwardly laughing “aww haha how sweet of him, anyways we should probably head out now, c’mon kids!” He calls them.
• You place a hand on Geto’s broad shoulder, gaining the raven haired man’s attention. “Are you okay Geto? You seem uneasy, if taking care of the kids isn’t ideal for you this weekend, I can always take them with me” you assure him but the man shake his head quickly and reassures you it’s fine with a pat on your hand, before awkwardly exiting with the kids.
• You stand in front of your door for a second confused. Why did he seem so uneasy? After all the years you’ve known Geto, he’s never been so anxious.
• Only when he lies.
• You shrug your shoulders and carry on getting ready. After all, Geto was a trustworthy friend of yours and Gojo’s for years, you’re sure he’d tell you if there was a problem.
• You’re pulled out of your thoughts once again as a car beeps from outside. You smile as you spot Nanami’s sleek car waiting, you quickly skip out the house, joining your friend.

——

• Nanami stands beside you, finally the door opens and you’re greeted with your mom.
• “Hi mom” you say, entering the house before she can greet you and Nanami properly.
• You sigh dramatically as you place your bags on your floor and stretch your aching legs. You smile as you hear chatter from the garden, deciding to follow the sound.
• “Err! Y/n! How about you let Nanami relax in the living room for a bit first?” You mom asks. You pull a funny face at your mom’s weird suggestion, but allow her nonetheless, continuing your path to the garden
• “Ahh this is such a nice breeze, I miss thi-“ your sentence was cut off as you paused in your movements.
• There sat Gojo in the hammock chair, long legs man spreading as he turn towards you with a menacing grin. “Oh? Hello y/n”
• You furrow your eyebrows at your annoying ex husband, internally beating yourself up for believing Geto’s pathetic lie.
• “What are you doing here?” You ask, and he ignores your question momentarily to pat his lap, “c’mere baby!” He says so sweetly but only you knew the twisted lust behind it, “and what kind of question is that? We’re family! Even if we’re divorced, I always saw your family as my own!” He charms the table, your cousins cooing at his sickly sweet words.
• You move forward to question him further, but his large hands grab your hips firmly, pulling you forward, making you stumble into his embrace.
• “Oh? Don’t fall for me now” he says smartly as he grabs you securely, cradling you into his muscular arms. Your family once again laughed at his jokes, as if it’s the funniest thing they ever heard.
• Spoiler alert, it’s not, but Gojo was too good at faking the charm of a perfect man.
• You gritted your teeth as Gojo stroked your hair absentmindedly with you in his lap, as he laughed along with your family. Humiliating was the only word to describe it, but you stayed silent, knowing if you fought against him, everyone would think you’re the crazy problematic one. Oh lord, they wonder how Gojo ‘puts up with you’
• After all, women are always the hysterical ones right?
• “Babe try this mojito, it’s so good” he says with a grin, pressing the glass to your lips but before you could protest against it, a voice came through the garden.
• “Y/n? Oh there you are. Hello Gojo” says the nonchalant man.
• Gojo turned towards the voice, smile dropping as he stares at Nanami, who casually strolled into the garden.
• Your cousins subtly swoon as they rush to introduce themselves.
• You smile at Nanami’s effortless charm, your smile widening evilly as you realise why Geto felt uneasy at the mention of Nanami.
• You can feel Gojo’s unnerving, intense stare on your face. He stares silently between you and Nanami, swishing his drink around. His face is unreadable. “And here I was ready to mend things” he mutters but you hear it. You hiss as his fingers dig into your hips.
• “Why is he here?” His whispers in your ear and you can hear the envy in every word.
• You ignore the pain shooting through your hips and grin from ear to ear as you tilt your head teasingly to meet his your ex husband’s glare.
• Brushing your nose against his in mocking affection, you reply “why not babe?”

a blast from the past!

I Was There Too visual for high school nadia: shoulder length, layered hair with uneven side bangs.

it was the 00s; side bangs were the shit. just ask nanami about it

her freckles aren’t showing but they are still there! i tried editing in the jujutsu high’s uniform to make it look like she’s wearing it, but i couldn’t, so i gave up ‍♀️

anyway, gojo definitely has a type… people with weird bangs.

i also edited the pic above. the art belongs to _kioshirei on twt & ig

now this is our nadia at age 29 from chapter 1!

this is how i imagined her to look like when she turned around to see where gojo was. and another thing, what is she doing in san francisco???

*sigh* she really did grow up into a tall, beautiful woman. just like her mother.

nadia definitely has grown up during those 20 years. though i do wonder what happened within that time period…

one thing is for certain… she isn’t that same girl from the prologue.

i got this picture off the internet (i edited it). i believe this belongs to a manga/anime named prison school.

for anyone who is wondering, i wrote nadia to be 5’10” and her mother to be 6’0”

meet nadia uchida, my oc for my gojo fanfic—I Was There Too.

this is how i envisioned her to look like for the prologue—short, unkept, red velvet hair, dark brown eyes, and her oh-so adorable freckles.

9-year-old nadia looks so innocent and sweet… and… clueless.

what will become of her in the future?

i edited the original photo to give an accurate description on how i see her. but, the art credits belong to SonOfAtom101 on deviantart

I Was There Too

Satoru Gojo x OC

Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own

after weeks and weeks of organizing, i can finally upload my gojo fanfic: I Was There Too

i am finally done drafting all the chapters for my gojo ff. now it’s time to actually write HA… ha… ‍

૮ᏊWEATHERING WITH YOU— GOJO SATORU

a/n: to the anon who asked for this, if you’re still here, the emoji is all yours. first fic of the year and it’s angst..it’s kinda rusty but i reallyliked this concept. this took me forever to finish. i am so sorry. the ugliness of my writing does not reflect the beauty of this man.

tags: angst, soulmate au (red string of fate), not proofread, flirty gojo, male reader, manga spoilers, past satosugu.

wc: 2.2k

He has been, and always will be, an extension of his own wickedness. Despite the many lives he lives— at home, he is Satoru. At work, in public, he is Gojo. To his students, he is their Sensei. Eventually, the lines begin to blur into an alarming shade of red. Burning, scarlet and untouchable, invisible strands of thread travel through the alleyways of Kawasaki City.

At home, he is Satoru. The notorious heartbreaker, the ‘soulmate’ to many— he has the red strings to prove it. He stares into his reflection, pulling at the pale skin encasing his soul. It feels forlorn, his body is not his own. The distorted image of himself stares back at him, cerulean eyes wide and sunken, completely unblinking. He tries to put on a smile, figurative chains pulling at his cheeks and leaving indents that mock him endlessly.

At home, he is Satoru. With gangly limbs and unruly hair. His blindfold, tussled between white bundles, remains over his eyes as he brushes his teeth. The bristles swipe over his gums, across each tooth, and metallic blood finds itself enamored with his toothpaste. He spares a second glance at his reflection.

He’s never felt so tired in his life.

In public, he is Gojo. He steps into the crisp, winter air with festive bags draped over his strong arms. Railings are decorated with a frozen chrysalis, and Gojo catches sight of himself. His pale skin is flushed, a blotchy shade of pink that clashes with the rest of his face. Even then, he smiles through his black, cloth mask before picking up a phone call. He is respected— respectable, as a man, because of his ability to masquerade, he supposes.

In public, he is Gojo. No one bats an eye as he flirts, slinging his winter coat over his shoulder as he opens a door for the prettiest person he can see within a five mile radius. He responds to flushed “thank you”s with a cunning smile and a gentle wink, later sliding passed with his hand ghosting over soft waists.

He’s never felt so tired in his life.

To his students, he is their Sensei. Idealized, omniscient, indomitable. His abilities are uncanny, the weight of Six Eyes diminished and underestimated— because Gojo, Satoru, a mentor at Tokyo Jujitsu High, a special grade sorcerer, is the perfect fit. His Six Eyes tell him he’s unbounded, but his soul knows otherwise. Tinted red strings tie themselves to each of his fingers, each tighter than the rest— but only one burns brightest.

Invisible strands of thread travel through the alleyways of Kawasaki City, tying Satoru down to an unreachable, desolate, cliff. Undisclosed loneliness gnaws at his abdomen, and chips away at his liver until it grows back the following morning. He wonders who feeds on his very being, who tugs at the strings tied down to his long, cadaverous fingers.

Snow falls onto wet concrete, January air nipping at your fingertips. It’s a fruitless effort, huffing into your palms as your brisk stride carries you through a damp alleyway. Despite the many lives you live— you’ve always been honest. Some part of you, you suppose, will always be left upon your sleeve. whether you spend sleepless nights trying to mend that or not. The day flies past you in a blur, stuck on autopilot, until you realize you’ve smacked your hand against the register.

Before you could succumb to the rabid evil of your mind, a new customer drops a nauseatingly sweet treat onto the worn conveyor belt. The arrangement of sweets seem to be leftovers from the store’s bakery, wrapped delicately with bows and intricate wrapping paper. Your arms ache with fatigue, though you’re still grateful for the distraction.

The cash register mocks you with your very own reflection, and as the sweet is pulled forward, you catch yourself frowning at the dull depiction of you. The distorted image of yourself stares back at you, tired eyes sunken in and exhausted. You try to put on a smile, eyes flickering up to meet the tall man with an insatiable sweet tooth.

You’ve never felt more tired in your life.

A mosaic of effervescent, electrifying, hues of blue cluster in your vision, indescribable shades blurring together. Hauntingly— painstakingly, beautiful.

Then, almost immediately, you’re overwhelmingly warm and gaping in unfiltered awe. His grin is just as bright as his eyes, your heart buffering before you can register your facial expression. Looking up to the stranger in front of you, you exhale breathlessly and shove the sweets into the recyclable bag.

He’s beautiful. Unapologetically, unconventionally, irrevocably, beautiful.

His eyes are blue; sunset lit and sparkling with shades that remain nameless to this day. His hair is the cleanest tinge of white you’ve ever seen, brighter than the snow blanketing the rooftops and streetlights. His glossy, rosy, lips curl into a cunning grin.

You’re quick to ring him up, clenching your jaw as your fingers struggle to separate each end of the plastic bag. With the man hovering directly parallel to you, an anxious tremor racks your body. At this angle, shadows meet to frame him perfectly. The curve of his face, the slope of his Adam’s apple, his silhouette blanketed by a ray of sunlight that peeks through desolate clouds.

“Is that— Will that be all for today?” You clear your throat, leaning against the register stand with fabricated confidence. You watch him readjust his sunglasses, his plump lips jutting out as he thinks over his purchases. Despite the coy display, his long fingers slide out of his pocket with one languid motion. He pulls out a card, shiny and gleaming with wealth you could never begin to comprehend. Not while you work 9-5, anyway.

“Well, when you put it like that it’s kind of embarrassing!” He huffs dramatically, waving the card between two manicured fingers. He taps it against his bottom lip once, then twice, and leans over the register— seemingly taller by the second. With zero comprehension of personal space, he tilts his gaze down from your lips to the cash register pin-pad. His breath smells of mint and chocolate chips, but it’s the smell of his expensive cologne that curves your judgement. For a moment, you consider what it’d be like— being wrapped up in his honey-smooth scent. His voice lowers to a whisper as he tilts his head, “Don’tcha think?”

“Uhm,” You mumble, hushed. There’s an impenetrable force compelling you to step forward, bask yourself in his congenial warmth, despite only having seen him a handful of times here and there. You’re breathless, completely discarding the question all together as you watch him fix his posture. Somehow, he seems even taller, as if his legs have no end. “Excuse me?”

His omniscient grin wavers, only slightly, and if you weren’t studying his expression with intense care you’re not sure you would’ve noticed it. His eyes, blanketed by dark shades, trail down to his hand, across your bicep, and back to your ring finger. His smile tightens, but he clears his throat to speak nonetheless.

“[Name], is it?” His saccharine smile twinkles as he changes the subject, blue eyes rereading your name tag. “You hit your hand awfully hard just a second ago. I don’t usually flirt with boys, but…”

His hand travels to meet yours, gentle and soft despite rugged scars that litter his palm. With Six Eyes he can see it all much too clear— a blazing red string that ties himself down to you. But this has to be some sort of dream—it’s all too sudden, all too real. His fingers cascade across the tendons of your hand, where you’ll be sure to bruise later. He inhales sharply, intense crimson spreading throughout his warm fingertips, with heavy cotton in his head. Selfishly enough, he hopes the forming bruise will be the only thing connecting his soul to yours.

Oh..” You respond, swiping his card with trembling hands. “It’s nothing, really.”

You take in the sight of Gojo (you’d learned his name a few nights ago) under streetlights, his glossy irises bouncing yellow hues off it’s surface. He holds onto your hands like he’s known you forever, leading you down the cold streets of Kawasaki City. Lilliputian sheets of black ice blanket the open street— which remains unusually quiet for the late evening. His stride never wavers, despite stepping on ice several times. His gaze is shielded, but his shoulders remain dropped and weary, and you can’t help but wonder about his story. You hope to have the chance to discover who he really is, behind those glasses, but your thoughts collide before you can sort yourself out.

His reciprocated gaze is full of fascination, uncharacteristically speechless and— wounded. Almost like he’s watching himself in the reflection of your eyes, his lips split into a bittersweet grin. There with you physically, his mind seems to have drifted off elsewhere. The whirlwind of emotions welling up in his head jostles him with whiplash..the image through his eyes seems hypnagogic, almost like he’s looking right through you.

“Satoru?” You ask, expelling his name much too warm for his liking.

Hearing his name repeated so sweetly, like it had been so long ago, makes a heavy lump of bile form in his throat. This moment he’s sharing with you— it belongs to someone else. Tears form at the corner of his eyes, and Satoru blinks rapidly behind his disguise. Holding hands under the pale moonlight, keeping the other warm with residual body heat… This moment belongs to happiness. Happiness, found in long, dark hair and eggplant eyes. Found in smug remarks and tangled hair bands. In Suguru.

And you..you are not Suguru.

“Hm?” He inhales sharply through his nose, an even sharper crack exuding from his lips. Your gaze follows his movement, frantic and confused as he pulls himself free from whatever internal conflict just flickered across his face. He traces something you can’t quite comprehend, moving alongside it as if there’s an invisible line that’s caught in knots and tangled past reconstruction connected to your fingertips. He shakes his head, a rancorous snigger escaping past his shiny lips. “Oh, nothing! I was just thinking…”

“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” Is what you thought you’d hear— somehow, somewhere, beneath a vast kaleidoscope of blue hues.. you found yourself selfish enough to hope for more. It was fate that brought him to you, a diverging path of the unknown haunting your loneliest nightmares. And you’re delighted, delighted to have met Satoru. With striking eyes and unruly hair— large palms and a contagious laugh. To you, despite only knowing him for a short amount of time, that was happiness.

Knowing it’s not reciprocated, even in the quietest part of your mind…

“…Anyway,” Satoru carries on with the insatiable need to satisfy his use of phrases. You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man’s desire to fill silence is almost deafening, as if the moment he stops speaking he’ll burn from the inside out. Like a short fuse, ready to burst at any moment. “It’s getting pretty late.”

There’s a collective pause between the two of you, a silent orchestra of contemplation as the night grows colder.

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask, and his demeanor shifts, much colder than before, as he stuffs his hands into his coat pocket. The lingering idea of being an afterthought, a rebound, threatens to tear you apart from the inside out. You laugh, bitter and distorted enough to sound like a strangled cry.

And, ironically enough, misfortune held your hand through it all. Gracing you with this man; a sorcerer, a mentor, a respected name, it breaks your heart. You didn’t know him like the back of your hand, but no matter where you went, he was there. To pick up the pieces, to apply the bandaids over your scraped knees when you pushed yourself too hard.

Believe it or not, when you were with him, you felt whole.

“What? Of course not!” He promised himself he’d be better. He’d love despite the strings tying him down to countless others. Despite the string pulling him toward an empty, nevertheless marked, grave. Alongside his best friend he’d bury his doubts, his soul crushing anxiety that came with yielding Six Eyes. “I was just thinking about where we should eat!”

Being the strongest man in the world can be so, so lonely.

He promised himself he’d be better. The first few times the desk seated next to him was empty, he told himself it was nothing. Because of this, his own selfishness, he lost what could have been. And for that reason, and that reason alone, Satoru will always be the weakest man in the world.

He promised himself he’d be better. The first few times he ran into you at the grocery store, he told himself it was nothing. The red strings connecting him to high school sweethearts and some of his closer acquaintances were nothing. The matted and tangled strings that seemed to never stop growing…were nothing.

And the universe’s divine hands must be incomparably cruel, because from nothing comes everything.

His shoulder bumps against yours as he smiles at you, January air jostling you about, but somehow missing the teacher completely. Lingering tension evaporates into the air as you nod in acknowledgment before hooking your arm around Gojo’s.

At home, he is Satoru. The notorious heartbreaker, the ‘soulmate’ to many— he has the red strings to prove it. He stares into his reflection, pulling at the pale skin encasing his soul. It feels forlorn, his body is not his own. The distorted image of himself stares back at him, cerulean eyes wide and sunken, completely unblinking. He tries to put on a smile, figurative chains pulling at his cheeks and leaving indents that mock him endlessly.

But with you, he is a fraud.

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No one would have guessed how bad Gojo despises the titles put to his name since he embodies them well. He makes each one his own. He works hard for it, to truly own it and confidently claim it just as he was deemed by others. 

Six Eyes heir

Limitless Cursed Technique wielder.

The Strongest.

A mentor.

He plays it off like it’s nothing to him, that he’s just some smug bastard. But the reality of it all is that he despises it. Because with these titles, come the responsibilities that go along with them. And with each role he takes on, the greater the weight he feels on his shoulders. 

Yet as the nurse acknowledges his presence when he walks into the room, somehow, he feels stripped of his previous titles as he takes in this new one. Gojo stood frozen at first, not really knowing what to do with himself, a clusterfuck of emotions brewing in him. 

Fear, joy, distress, relief, excitement.. but mostly anxiousness.

Shit, he feels like he’s going to puke. What had he just gotten himself into? He thinks idly, palms getting clammy. But as soon as he got a glimpse of his little girl, he felt struck. There is a wave of calm in him and suddenly she is all he sees. And he is reaching for his blindfold, tugging it down as he approaches, yearning to see this tiny human with his extraordinary perception. 

A sigh of relief escapes him as he detects no trace of cursed energy. He just sees perfection, although he might be a little biased. 

Strong arms honed to fight and defend opens with a slight tremor on them as he was handed over his child. He holds his breath, afraid he’ll wake the little angel or worse, cause pain or distress. But the kid nestles comfortably in his arms, chubby cheek squishing against the swaddle blanket with every attempt to wag.

“Hey, kiddo.” He greets, his voice has never sounded this soft in his entire life. Gojo exhales shakily, grinning wide as the baby coos as if in response. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He cradles her face in awe. “Just as pretty as your momma, aren’t you?” Gojo could not help but lean in to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead, leaning back again before he could fully pull away to plant another one on her nose. And her cheek. And then the other cheek. And her chin. 

He then holds the newborn’s tiny hand, marveling at how it looked significantly puny next to his own. Soft, fragile, trusting. A total opposite of his. 

“Nice to meet'cha.” he murmurs, chuckling softly as he shakes her hand. The little angel grabs his pinky tighter making him laugh to himself again and say, “Yeah, hi, sweetheart. I’m your dad." 

Gojo then winces and makes a face. "Well, if your momma still lets me.. Because you know, I was kinda late for your birth-” he shrugs, laughing wryly. “But you have to know, your dad is a very important man. Saves the world and exorcizes ugly stinky curses for a living. Very cool-”

He continues to babble on, so engrossed with his one-sided conversation that he doesn’t even notice his students who have come to visit enter the room. Megumi, Kugisaki and Yuuji laugh quietly among themselves watching their sensei endlessly talking to the newborn while feasting on the fruit basket Nanami and Shoko had asked them to bring for you. They know you won’t mind anyway.

Gojo has always been a fast learner, quickly getting  accustomed to this new role as a father. Anyone who would see him cooing and holding the baby into a better position would think that this could not have been his first time holding a baby. 

Gojo doesn’t notice but he smiles wider and wider with every small movement the baby makes. Eyes gleefully dancing across the delicate features of his daughter. He knows it’s too early to tell but he can already see how much she takes from you, and he’s so glad that she does. Gojo knows he’s going to spoil her rotten and he’s already mentally preparing himself for all the arguments he’s about to have with you.

For the nth time this evening, Gojo sighs happily.

“I did not know this was possible,” he purses his lips, grazing his daughter’s cheek with his fingertip. “I only just met you but I already know you will own the rest of my days.” Megumi smiles at this, proud and happy for him. Didn’t know his sensei actually had that in him. Megumi shakes his head thinking, Is this really the same weirdo who raised me? But then, Gojo continues to say, “I’m so glad I made your momma pregnant.” Megumi rolls his eyes.

The trio’s protest and gagging noises startles Gojo.

“God, sensei.”

“Eww!”

“Gross!!”

Gojo scowls at them, just realizing he wasn’t alone with you and his baby in the room. “When did you three get here??” He hisses at them, eyes widening when he sees the basket nearly empty. “And why are you brats eating that! Those are for Y/n!!" 

Let’s just say you pretty much kicked them all out of the room when you wake up from all the bantering.

Gojo pouts by the door, begging you to let him stay.  Already missing his daughter’s warmth as he longingly watches you feed her.