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personally i think goyuu would have like 5 kids and the first 4 are just carbon copies of gojo both in looks and personality. meanwhile gojo’s like “okay NEXT one will look like yuuji for sure” and yuuji’s just happy to have a big family i fear gojo’s genes are too dominant
Personally, Gojo Satoru imagines a big family.
Loud. Chaotic. Full of laughter.
Yuuji is even worse—he doesn’t just imagine it, he wants it. Openly. Shamelessly. He grins at the thought of tiny footsteps running down the halls, of little hands tugging at his sleeves, of a home that never feels empty again.
So when they have their first child, the world feels right. Better.
And then the baby arrives with shock-white hair and startling blue eyes that shine with far too much awareness for a newborn.
Yuuji cries.
Satoru cries even harder.
“He looks just like you, Satoru!!” Yuuji beams, exhausted and glowing, cradling the tiny bundle like he’s holding the universe itself.
Satoru stares down at the carbon copy of his own face and mutters, “Huh. Must be beginner’s luck.”
It isn’t.
The second baby has the same snow-bright hair. The same sharp grin. The same cocky little tilt of the head.
The third is a near-perfect replica.
The fourth—
—Satoru doesn’t even bother removing his sunglasses this time. He already knows.
By the time their fourth child is toddling around the house, there are four miniature Satorus sprinting through the halls. Four pairs of bright blue eyes. Four matching smirks. Four tiny sorcerers who inherit not only Satoru's techniques but Yuuji’s ridiculous raw strength.
They are overpowered. Unreasonably so.
The training grounds are a cratered disaster zone.
Satoru has faced Sukuna and felt less fear.
Don't get Satoru wrong. He definitely loves them. Satoru adores them. He brags about them daily to anyone who will listen—and plenty of those who won’t. Satoru would even destroy the world for them without hesitation.
But every morning, he walks into the kitchen and sees his own face staring back at him four times in a row.
Four identical voices shout, “Papa!”
Satoru pauses. Lowers his blindfold slightly. Takes in the matching grins.
I am outnumbered, he thinks.
Yuuji, meanwhile, is delighted beyond reason.
“They’re so cute! They look exactly like you, Satoru!”
“That’s the problem,” Satoru mutters from the corner, sipping on his very sweet milky-white coffee like a man who has lost a very specific genetic war.
The children aren’t offended. If anything, they weaponize it.
Whenever Satoru tries to monopolize Yuuji’s attention, four tiny white-haired gremlins materialize instantly—clinging to Yuuji’s arms, his legs, his waist.
“Daddy, watch this!”
“No, me first!”
“Carry me!”
Yuuji laughs, overwhelmed and glowing, completely surrounded. Floating like he's on cloud nine and Satoru doesn't even mind but he does mind when his children are clearly trying to cockblock him.
Satoru stands there with his hands in his pockets, betrayed by his own dominant genes.
By the time Yuuji becomes pregnant with their fifth child, Satoru has had enough.
That’s when the shrine appears.
It starts small. A few candles in the corner of their bedroom. Then incense. Then offerings—snacks, sweets, even one of Satoru's favorite blindfolds folded neatly at the base like a sacred relic. Yuuji finds him one night kneeling dramatically before it, clapping his hands together with exaggerated reverence.
“Satoru,” Yuuji says carefully, “why is there a shrine in our house? Is this really necessary?"
Satoru doesn’t turn around, focused on trying to make his wish come true. “Shh. I’m negotiating.”
“With who?”
“The universe.”
He clasps his hands tighter.
“Please,” he intones solemnly. “Just one mini-Yuuji.”
From that day forward, like clockwork, Satoru performs his daily prayers. Dramatic claps. Sincere bows. Whispered pleas to whatever cosmic force has clearly decided he is hilarious.
“Just one,” Satoru murmurs. “Pink hair. Brown eyes. That smile. I’ll even accept average cursed energy. I’m flexible. I won't even ask for more. I'll even give up sweets for a day.”
Yuuji watches from the doorway, trying not to laugh.
“You know I don’t mind,” he says softly, resting a hand on Satoru's shoulder. “I’m happy. They’re ours.”
Satoru sighs and leans back into him, kissing Yuuji's inner wrist. “I know. I love them. I love you. I just… want to see a mini-version of your face at breakfast too.”
Yuuji’s smile softens every single time.
The months pass.
The house remains chaotic. Four tiny Satorus continue to wreak havoc. The shrine gains more candles. And when the day finally comes—when Satoru stands outside the delivery room again, pacing for the fifth time in his life—he presses his hands together one last time.
“Universe,” he whispers. “Be kind.”
Inside, a newborn cries.
There’s a long pause.
A nurse steps out, smiling in that knowing way nurses do.
Satoru holds his breath.
Yuuji’s laughter floats faintly from inside the room. Satoru steps forward, heart hammering, and pushes the door open—
Well.
Who knows? Did Satoru's wish finally come true?