satoru had never been unsure about anything in his life. not curses, not power, not the way the world bent slightly when he stepped into it. so of course, becoming a father was no exception.

you were barely showing, hands resting over your stomach more out of habit than necessity, when he crouched in front of you like this was another mission briefing. one palm hovered near you, careful but confident, like the space itself would protect you if he asked it to.

“they’re gonna be ridiculous,” he said easily, grinning. “strong. smart. definitely got my eyes.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you don’t even know if it’s—”

“doesn’t matter,” gojo interrupted, utterly unbothered. “i can already tell.”

it was almost funny, how fearless he was about it. diapers, late nights, the unknown weight of keeping something so small safe, none of it seemed to reach him. to gojo, this unborn child was already untouchable, already destined for greatness, already wrapped in the same certainty he carried everywhere.

his hand finally rested over yours, warm and steady.

“relax,” he added, softer now. “with me around? our kid’s got nothing to worry about.” and somehow, despite everything—despite the fear, the change, the fact that neither of you had ever done this before—you almost believed him.