MADE WITH LOVE (dad!gojo satoru x reader)
tags: dad!gojo, reader referred to as “mama” a few times, maybe the same universe as this lil drabble i wrote, not proofread bc i woke myself up with this idea and needed it down on paper asap (wc: 1.1k+)
Mornings are never smooth in the Gojo household. With a rapidly-growing toddler for a daughter, who has almost the exact same charming personality as her (toddler-like) father, it was rare for you to spend a morning in bed before the sun comes up. The two of them were always up to something, and whether that something was good or bad was often unknown.
A tiny little hushed mama causes your eyes to blearily blink open. Your hand gently rubs them of sleep a few times, adjusting to the light peaking through the curtains from outside.
It’s light out, you mentally note, meaning it can’t be any earlier than 7:00am, at least. She usually wakes you and Satoru up within the hour anyways, but as you reach behind you to grab your husband, you’re met with a handful of empty sheets.
With a furrowed brow and confused expression, your eyes fall onto the tiny figure gently poking your forearm—your daughter stands before you, face mischievously contorted into a smirk as she waits for you to address her presence.
While the grin adorning her face is identical to her father’s, she looks just like you—from the hairs on her stubborn head to the tips of her little toes. You gently smile to yourself as you think of all the times Satoru would complain of her not getting any of his good looks, though their personalities are all the same.
With a quick glance over of her status—she doesn’t appear to be hurt and she’s not crying, she actually seems rather pleased with herself—you let your eyes peacefully close once more.
“S’anyone bleeding?” you mumble, voice still laced with sleep.
“No,” she states matter-of-factly, shaking her head.
“No,” a fit of giggles follows this response.
“Then gimme a few more minutes,” your head returns to the pillow and your daughter grumpily sighs as she watches you further snuggle into the comforter.
Eventually, the quick little patter of footsteps leaves your room, allowing you to rest again—that is, until you hear your husband’s booming voice coming from the kitchen.
You can practically see him behind your closed lids—sitting wide-legged at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand as he keeps up with your daughters quick-paced conversation style with ease. You assume she left your bedroom to run out to him, reporting back that you were still in bed. You faintly hear Satoru egg her on with an excited, “You have to get mama up! Say it’s an emergency, or something.”
You snort out a chuckle, because the fact that you can practically hear the grin in his voice, and based on your daughter’s response of giggles, you know he’s a liar—the both of them are.
Not even seconds later, the sound of tiny bare feet against your hardwood floors picks up speed, getting closer to where you lay.
“Mama,” your daughter returns, this time more confident in her story as she no longer whispers, “It’s an emergency!”
“Daddy says it’s an emergency,” she retaliates, and between the two of them, you know that you returning to sleep is about as realistic as seeing pigs fly.
With a sigh and a defeated okay okay, you let your feet hit the floor as you sit up on the side of your bed. Your daughter, practically bouncing out of her little skin, is grabbing your hand and attempting to quickly usher you into the kitchen.
Once you’re standing up and walking down the hallway, she darts down ahead of you and disappears around the corner leading the kitchen. As you follow her, you’re surprised to see the tiny table for three set with dishes and silverware, covered with a messily-made breakfast. A stack of pancakes—some charred to a crisp while others appear to be slightly undercooked—sits in the center plate. A few side dishes with bacon, fried potatoes, and cut up melon are scattered across the cluttered table.
You finally lay eyes on your husband for the first time this morning, as he walks over to you with you daughter perched on his hips and two hot coffee mugs in either hand. You hold your tongue from telling him to be careful with the drinks around her. He knows.
“What’s all this?” you softly inquire as Gojo sets the mugs down, using his spare hand to pull a chair out for you, gesturing you to sit down and relish their good-hearted surprise.
“Just a lil somethin’ for the best mama ever,” he quips with a quick peck to your lips, “Sorry for waking you up, it was gonna get cold.”
Before you can answer him, your daughter is jumping out of his arms, grabbing the carton of milk from the fridge, and proudly shoving it into your hands for you to pour into your coffee.
“Thank you, my baby,” you coo as you accept her offering, placing a kiss on her chubby cheek.
Seeing your reaction, Satoru is not far behind his little girl, wearing a flirty grin and presenting his own cheek for you to kiss.
“And thank you, my other baby,” you entertain him, peppering his pale face a few times, before meeting his lips for a sweet kiss.
Eventually, the two of them join you at the table, and your little family sits down for your favorite time of the day. Satoru cuts your daughters pancakes for her, before letting her pour on a far too large amount of syrup onto them. You pass around pieces of melon, laughing at the odd variety of shapes and sizes they've been cut into. While the food itself is no five-star meal, you wouldn’t have it any other way—as it was made with love from your two favorite instigators.
“Mama?” your daughter pipes up, wiping her face with a napkin as she grins mischievously.
“Yes, baby?” you appease her, taking a sip of your coffee and letting it’s warmth hug you further into the coziness of the scene engulfing you.
“Daddy says I’m gonna be a big sister soon.”
You shoot Satoru a glare as he shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands in defeat.
He remains quiet as he smirks, taking a moment to admire the filled-to-capacity table as he sits with his girls. He watches your daughter excitedly talk about her hypothetical sibling, going into great detail about how she’ll be the best big sister ever—even offering to help out with changing stinky diapers and sharing her many toys.
As you tell her that you plan to hold her to that if the day ever comes, she’s excusing herself from the table and darting to her playroom to show you her newest drawing. You raise your eyebrows at Satoru from across the table, but once again, you’re met with his sly grin and shrugging shoulders.
He grabs your hand from across the tiny table, pressing a few kisses to your knuckles before standing up to go follow your daughter. As his lips are gently pressed around your knuckles, he feigns a gesture of faux innocence.
“Kids and their crazy stories, huh?”
