BABY FEVER ! - g. satoru
pairings - g. satoru x fem! reader
synopsis - ❝he's the strongest sorcerer, and according to him, he doesn't have a weakness, so you hit him with the worst weapon of all—babies.❞
words - 3.9k
a/n - wrote this ages ago
"Whatcha doin'?"
You jumped like you'd just been tased, spinning around with your heart in your throat. "Shit!" you hissed, pressing a hand to your chest. "Satoru, stop teleporting behind me like that! One day I'm gonna clock you."
He didn't flinch. Just smiled—that smile, lazy and smug—as if catching you off-guard was the highlight of his day. His arm snaked casually around your waist, fingers splaying over your hip like he owned the place. "Can't a husband come check on his wife during work hours?" he asked, voice dripping with mock innocence.
You turned your head, frowning. "During work hours? Wait... you're still on your mission, aren't you?"
He gave an exaggerated shrug, as if that detail barely registered. "Yeah, but like—it's mostly just cleanup at this point. No big deal."
You stared at him. "Satoru. Are you seriously telling me you ditched your special grade mission to come flirt?"
His eyes twinkled like you'd just complimented him. "You say 'flirt' like it's not the most important part of my job."
You started to protest, the words already on your tongue—Do you even care about protocol? Someone could get hurt! What if the curse reemerges?—but you didn't get the chance. He silenced you with a kiss, one of those deep, focused ones that made it impossible to remember what you were mad about in the first place.
His hand curled at the back of your neck, the other still firm on your waist as his mouth claimed yours with a softness that was entirely unfair. It was dizzying. Warm. Frustrating.
By the time he pulled away, you were breathless, dazed, and dangerously close to forgiving him.
He leaned back just slightly, lips still ghosting yours. "Ah," he whispered, smug and utterly pleased with himself. "Much better."
You blinked, trying to remember how to form sentences. "You—ugh—that's not the point! You left someone alone with a special grade! What if it regenerates?! What if it mutates?! What if—"
"Nanami's there," he said, completely unfazed. "He'll handle it. Besides, I missed you."
You narrowed your eyes. "You missed me enough to risk someone's life?"
"Relax," he said, spinning you lazily in his arms. "You act like I haven't done this before. I left detailed instructions."
You gave him a skeptical look. "What kind of instructions?"
His grin widened. "Step one: stall until I get back. Step two: don't die."
You stared at him, unimpressed.
"I mean, technically that covers everything," he added, nuzzling your cheek.
You groaned. "You're impossible."
"Mm," he murmured, trailing kisses along your jaw, "and yet, here you are. Married to me. Who's the real menace here?"
You huffed, trying to stay mad, but his arms were warm, his presence familiar, and—dammit—he smelled good. You sagged against him in reluctant defeat.
"You didn't answer my question."
You stirred the pan without looking at him, the quiet hiss of butter and noodles filling the space between you. "Doing my job."
He cocked his head to the side, arms crossed like he was preparing to argue. "I told you, working isn't worth it while you're with me. I can take care of everything."
You rolled your eyes. "It's not some corporate job, Satoru. I'm just babysitting. Chill out."
"Babysitting?" he echoed, straightening. "Where'd we get a baby?"
You exhaled sharply through your nose and nudged him aside with your hip, reaching for a bowl. "We didn't get a baby. My sister dropped hers off this morning."
He blinked. "You have a sister?"
"Yes," you said dryly, tipping the noodles into the bowl. "She exists. Lives two cities over. Has a husband, two kids, mild wine addiction. Very normal stuff."
Satoru looked offended, like this information personally betrayed him. "Since when?"
You shot him a look. "Since always. You just don't listen when I talk about my family."
"I listen," he said, lips twitching. "I just have a filter for boring things, like taxes and siblings."
You shoved the bowl into his hands. "Then filter this: I'm watching her kid for the next few hours, and if you scare him with your teleporting or weird sunglasses tricks, I swear to god—"
"Wait, wait—he's here?"
You blinked. "No, I left him in the astral plane. Yes, he's here."
He stared at the bowl like it was suddenly radioactive. "You fed this to a child?"
"That's your dinner." You said, tone flat. "I'm feeding him the same though."
"Oh. Carry on."
You walked past him toward the living room, already hearing the faint sound of cartoons. He followed close behind, peering over your shoulder like an overgrown puppy.
"How old is he?" he asked.
"Four."
"Does he cry?"
"Only when he meets grown men who ask dumb questions."
He grinned. "So I'm his first traumatic memory. Nice."
You sighed and dropped onto the couch. "Don't make this weird, Satoru. It's two hours. You'll survive."
But he didn't answer right away. Just looked toward the hallway where the kid was playing quietly. Then back at you.
And under all that smugness, there was something else—something softer. Curious. Dangerous.
"When r'you getting back to your mission?"
You didn't even look at him when you asked it, but your tone said enough—dry, unimpressed, and just barely tolerant of the man currently lounging on your couch like he paid rent.
Satoru sighed dramatically, throwing himself further back into the cushions like the world's most powerful teenager. One leg swung up onto the coffee table, ignoring the coaster you'd placed there just an hour ago.
"When I feel like it."
You rolled your eyes so hard it might've caused a minor shift in the earth's rotation. "Uh-huh. Tell that to Nanami when you crawl back in three hours late with powdered sugar on your collar."
"That was one time," he muttered.
"Was it?"
Before he could answer, you turned away and focused on the real task at hand. "Levi," you called softly, setting the bowl down on the low table with practiced care.
The kid looked up from where he sat on the floor, blinking up at you with big, curious eyes. There was mashed fruit on his cheek and a plastic toy clenched in one fist.
"Food," you said gently, tapping the edge of the bowl and handing him the spoon.
Levi made a delighted little sound—more of a babble than a word—and promptly reached for the utensil with both hands. He managed to get it into the bowl, then promptly made a mess of trying to shovel the noodles into his mouth. Half ended up on his chin, the rest drooled back into the bowl, but he seemed thrilled with himself.
Satoru watched the whole thing with a look you didn't catch often—quiet, unguarded, a little too soft around the edges.
"...He's messy," he finally said, as if stating a discovery.
"He's a toddler," you replied, not even turning your head. "You're messier."
He didn't argue. Just leaned back, staring at the kid like he was trying to solve a puzzle he hadn't known existed until today.
"You're kinda good at that," he murmured.
"At what?"
He gestured vaguely toward Levi, who was now humming to himself while making a swamp out of noodles. "That. The whole... kid thing."
You glanced over your shoulder. "It's called basic human decency. You should try it sometime."
He smiled, but there was a note of quiet in it now. Like something had settled. Something new. Or old, and just never acknowledged.
You moved to sit beside him, brushing your hand against his leg on the way down. "You still not going back?"
Satoru didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on Levi, the mess, the soft chaos of it all.
—
He finished his meal surprisingly fast, little hands sticky and face smeared with noodle broth. You didn't bother with a napkin—you just scooped him up in your arms like you'd done it a thousand times before, hip tilted, his tiny fingers clinging to your shirt as you carried him toward the sink.
"Satoru!" you called over your shoulder, wrangling the squirming toddler with one arm as you reached for the tap. "Grab me the bag by the couch!"
He groaned dramatically, as expected, tossing his legs off the coffee table with all the flair of a man being deeply inconvenienced. "Bossy," he muttered, waving a finger. His Blue technique activated with a flick of his hand, pulling the diaper bag toward him with supernatural precision. It hovered for a second before he caught it, slinging it lazily over one shoulder as he moved to stand.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it—"
But he stopped.
Right in the doorway.
Just—froze.
Because there you were.
The late afternoon light from the window stretched across your face, soft and golden. The boy was perched on your hip, one arm looped lazily around your neck, still babbling nonsense under his breath. You held a damp washcloth in one hand, gently wiping the mess from his cheeks, patient and unhurried. And you were smiling—absently, the kind of quiet, genuine smile that people didn't fake.
The kind of smile Satoru didn't see very often anymore.
And it hit him—harder than it should've. You looked like a mom. A good one.
His breath caught in his throat, just for a second. His usual smirk faltered. He'd faced down curses the size of buildings, fought through blood and fire and the end of the goddamn world—but this?
You. With a kid on your hip. Barefoot in the kitchen. Smiling like peace wasn't something you had to earn.
That wrecked him.
"Hey," you said, glancing over. "You get it?"
He blinked, like he'd forgotten where he was. "Y-Yeah," he said, a beat too late, voice lower than usual. "I got it."
You turned back to Levi, who was now trying to chew on the edge of the washcloth. "Thanks," you muttered, gently prying it from the baby's grip and tossing it in the sink.
Satoru stepped in slowly, setting the bag down on the counter beside you, eyes still on the boy. Or maybe on you. He wasn't sure which anymore.
You didn't look up at him when you asked, casually, "You good?"
He swallowed once. Nodded. "Yeah. Just... didn't know I could get jump-scared by domestic bliss."
You gave him a tired look. "It's a baby and a sink, not a nuclear reactor."
"Same level of danger in my world."
You snorted, brushing your thumb gently across Levi's cheek one last time. The kid yawned and curled tighter into your side.
And Satoru, still standing beside you, hands in his pockets, just... stared.
Quiet.
Still.
Like something was shifting beneath the surface—and maybe it had been for a while.
—
Levi had wobbled to his feet, his tiny legs pat-pat-patting across the hardwood with all the coordination of a wind-up toy. Satoru barely registered the movement until the thumps got close—too close—and he instinctively lifted his blindfold to get a better look.
The kid was coming straight for him.
Satoru's brow furrowed, and he glanced at you in disbelief. Levi, completely unbothered by the towering man in front of him, walked right up and latched onto Satoru's leg like a baby koala. He looked up, eyes wide, babbling incoherent syllables like he was giving an important mission briefing.
"He probably wants you to hold him," you said, casually folding a small towel.
"Me?" Satoru pointed to himself like he'd just been accused of high treason. "Aren't I, y'know, terrifying? To children?"
You raised a brow. "Obviously not. He wouldn't be hanging off your leg like it's a safety bar if he was."
He looked down again. Levi was still chattering, now bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly waiting for something. You watched Satoru freeze, hesitation painting his features in real time.
"Pick him up," you said gently.
Satoru didn't move at first. He just stared—like the concept was entirely foreign, like Levi might explode if touched incorrectly. Then, slowly, he crouched down. His hands hovered around the toddler's waist for a moment, unsure, before he finally wrapped his fingers around the small body and—somewhat awkwardly—lifted him into the air.
Levi squealed in delight, arms flailing, eyes wide with wonder. He kicked his feet and let out a delighted string of baby gibberish, clearly overjoyed to be flying.
Satoru's breath caught.
He wasn't expecting that. The weight, the warmth, the ridiculous joy radiating off this small, squishy human in his hands. The baby looked at him like he was a miracle, not a weapon. Like he was magic in the good way.
"...Why is this thing so damn cute?" Satoru murmured, almost to himself.
You smirked. "Hormones. Evolution. You know, basic biology."
He didn't laugh. Just kept staring.
Levi wiggled again, and Satoru shifted his grip instinctively, pulling the toddler closer, tucking him against his chest. Levi settled there immediately—head against his shoulder, thumb in his mouth, tiny hand curling into the fabric of Satoru's shirt like it belonged there.
And for a long second, Satoru just stood still. Quiet. Soft around the edges.
"He likes you," you said, voice quieter now.
"I noticed," he replied, eyes still locked on the bundle in his arms.
You watched him, watched his shoulders shift, the way his hands no longer shook. He'd gone still, thoughtful in a way you rarely saw. Like something old and hollow had stirred awake, stretching in the sunlight for the first time in years.
You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall. "You ever held a kid before?"
"...No," he said, and it wasn't cocky. It was honest. Bare.
He looked down at Levi again. The kid was drifting now, eyes fluttering, thumb bobbing lazily in his mouth.
Satoru smiled faintly.
And you realized—he was doomed.
—
The strongest sorcerer had fallen.
Not to a curse. Not to Sukuna (though give it time). No, it was something far worse. Something small. Something with impossibly sticky fingers and a seemingly endless supply of superhero stickers.
A child.
Satoru Gojo—six eyes, immeasurable cursed energy, god complex fully intact—had been reduced to a living doodle board.
He sat motionless on the couch, legs crossed, a toddler in his lap and a constellation of colorful stickers plastered across his face. Hulk flexed on his cheekbone. Iron Man hovered just beneath his chin. A Captain America shield was stuck—poorly—over the crest of his blindfold, slightly off-center, like an art project done under duress.
Even his uniform hadn't been spared. Levi had gotten creative, peppering his chest and shoulders with the rest of the Avengers, a few Looney Tunes characters, and—because chaos knew no limits—a single Minion for good measure.
And Gojo? Gojo just let it happen.
He didn't move. Didn't resist. He just sat there with the solemn patience of a man in deep meditation while Levi babbled on in a string of nonsense so enthusiastic it could probably be mistaken for a TED Talk.
To your surprise, Satoru was actually talking back.
"Yeah, I know, Levi," he said seriously, as if they'd been discussing the fate of the universe. "Superman is a cool hero. But he's from DC, not Marvel. We gotta stay brand loyal."
Levi responded with a confident nod, then stuck a giant Superman sticker directly in the center of Satoru's forehead.
You couldn't help it. You laughed—hard.
The sound made Gojo glance up at you, expression almost smug despite the fact that he now looked like a middle schooler's notebook. "You think this is funny?"
"You look like a walking comic con," you said, hand over your mouth. "And not in a good way."
Satoru raised an eyebrow. The sticker on his forehead wrinkled with the movement. "I'll have you know I'm the most popular exhibit here."
Levi cooed in agreement, now slapping a Batman sticker onto Satoru's knee with the grace of a tiny, chaotic god.
You shook your head, still smiling as you leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You realize this is blackmail material, right?"
"Oh, definitely," he said, grinning. "You'll never be able to threaten me with emotional intimacy again. I've officially been broken by a toddler."
And yet—he didn't sound broken. He sounded... lighter. Happier, even.
You watched as he gently fixed a sticker that had fallen sideways on Levi's shirt. His fingers were careful. Like he'd done this before. Like maybe he wanted to do this again.
"You're good with him," you said, quietly now.
Satoru didn't look up. "He's easy to talk to. Doesn't ask about my mission stats or my trauma."
You blinked. "That's dark."
He finally looked at you, his smile crooked. "Yeah. But real."
You nodded. "Fair enough."
Levi had now moved on to Satoru's hair, trying to wedge a tiny Thor sticker somewhere near his temple. Satoru didn't even flinch.
And just like that, the strongest sorcerer sat there, covered in stickers, listening to a baby babble about god-knows-what—and for once, he looked like he belonged there. Like maybe strength wasn't just what he could destroy, but what he could hold.
Carefully. Gently. With sticker-covered hands.
—
Once Levi had been picked up—bundled into his mother's arms, still half-asleep, little fingers twitching like he didn't want to leave—Satoru just stood there in the entryway. Dumbfounded.
The stickers were still intact. Superman clung proudly to his forehead. Hulk flexed beside his temple. Iron Man looked like he was ready to launch off the bridge of his nose. His uniform was still a battlefield of Minions and Marvel characters, creased from toddler hands, and for once, Satoru hadn't tried to brush a single one off.
You turned to glance at him. He hadn't blinked.
"Bye bye, Levi," you murmured softly, more to yourself than anything. You bent slightly, brushing the last bit of hair from the boy's forehead before his mother cradled him to her chest. "See you again."
The door clicked shut behind them. The hallway fell quiet.
And still... he didn't move.
The echo of your voice lingered. Sweet. Gentle. Unknowingly full of something heavier.
And then there was Satoru—six foot plus and emotionally stunted—just frozen like someone had unplugged him mid-thought.
You stepped toward him slowly, arms crossing over your chest. "You good?"
He blinked once. Then again. "...He left."
"Yeah, that's usually how babysitting works."
He looked down at his sleeve like he was only now realizing it had a Bluey sticker on it. He didn't touch it. Just stared.
"...I want one."
You barely looked up from the floor where you were collecting Levi's abandoned army of plastic dinosaurs. "A what?"
"A baby," Satoru said, straight-faced, like it was the most reasonable mid-evening request in the world. "Like that one."
You turned around slowly, cradling a tiny green T-Rex in one hand like it might protect you from the sheer audacity of this man. "You know I'm not a baby-making machine, Satoru. I can't just shoot them out like a bottle rocket whenever you're feeling sentimental."
"Sure you can!" he beamed, motioning toward the couch with all the seriousness of a man inviting someone to a business meeting. "Get over here and I'll stick a load in you, no problem. We'll get the ball rolling. It'll be fun. Productive."
You blinked once. Twice. "We haven't had sex in weeks. And that's the line you open with?"
"I'm being honest!" he said, hands raised. "We've been slacking. Emotionally, physically, reproductively..."
You sighed, turning back around to toss another stray rattle into the toy bin. "Not when you're that straightforward. Jesus, ease into it like a normal person."
Satoru followed behind you, barefoot and trailing sticker glue like a toddler's shadow. "What's not normal about wanting to start a family with the love of my life?"
You whipped around with a plastic giraffe in hand. "You literally just said 'stick a load in you'. That's how you propose starting a family?"
"It's efficient," he offered with a shrug. "No frills. Action-oriented."
You gave him a flat look. "Do you even know how pregnancy works?"
"Sure," he said confidently, sitting on the armrest of the couch like some kind of smug fertility god. "You let me hit it once, I knock you up, boom—baby in nine months. Simple."
You snorted. "You think I'll get pregnant instantly from one round?"
He pointed at himself with a serious face. "I'm Gojo Satoru. I don't miss."
You laughed despite yourself, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. "You are so full of yourself."
"Full of you, if you'd let me be," he teased with a grin, then ducked when you threw a soft plush at his head. "Kidding! Sort of."
You bent down to grab another toy, shaking your head. "You realize that raising a baby is more than just, like... impulse breeding, right? They don't just smile and giggle at you all day."
"I know," he said, a little more quietly.
You glanced over. His expression had softened—eyes distant, hands still resting in his lap, a red Power Ranger sticker stuck to his forearm.
"I know they cry. I know they keep you up. I know it's not all sunshine and sticker books." He looked up at you again, more serious now. "But when I saw you with him earlier—cleaning him off, talking to him like he was yours—I dunno. Something just... clicked. I think I want that. With you."
You stared at him for a second, the weight of his words a sudden shift in the air. Not just joking now. Not just teasing.
Real.
You swallowed. "You want a baby."
"I want our baby."
He stood then, brushing his palms together, like he'd just made peace with some lifelong goal he hadn't realized he had until an hour ago. "You. Me. A house with actual furniture. Maybe one of those swings out front. A fridge full of juice boxes."
You raised a brow. "Juice boxes?"
He grinned. "I'll drink half of them."
You rolled your eyes, stepping toward him. "You're skipping the part where I carry another human for nine months and then push it out while you cry in a hospital chair."
"I'll hold your hand and cry supportively," he said, gently wrapping his arms around your waist. "We can start practicing tonight. Right neow."
You groaned into his chest. "Stop neowing at me like a pervert."
"It's part of my charm."
You paused, feeling his heartbeat beneath your cheek.
Then softly: "Satoru?"
"Yeah?"
"You still have a sticker on your ass."
He gasped. "Levi, you little menace."
You snorted. "This’ll happen all the time when we have our own son."
He froze. Then pulled back to look at you. "Wait. Are you saying—?"
You pressed a kiss to his jaw and walked away. "I'm saying take the stickers off. Then we'll talk."
Behind you, you could hear him quietly celebrating like he'd just won the lottery. And maybe, for once, he actually had.
"Daddy Gojo has a nice ring to it..."
