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wintergojo · 2 years

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Hi this is my first ask ever so I'm not even sure if I'm doing this right hehe XD I really love your dad!gojo and baby seishi works! Could you maybe do one where baby seishi gets a cold and gojo and reader try their best to calm down since it's his first time getting sick? Thank you!

omg anon this was actually one of the things on my list of drabble ideas ^0^ i was so excited to write when i saw this! :DD and can i just say i feel honored to be the first one to receive ur ask and that u love my fics? 😭😭 and dw there's really no format for them :33 (aside from being polite hehe)

i’m also sorry this was mainly focused on fever instead of cold, it’s bc i read that colds in babies normally has fever as the symptom and the actual cold starts after 3 days (although i cut it short here) but i still hope u enjoy this! 😚😚

cold cold cold (dad!gojo x mom!reader)

tags: tbh idk what genre this is (hurt/comfort? angst? fluff? help me pls), slice of life, just bby gojo getting sick and his parents worrying, mentions of sickness, death

wc: 2.9k (what drabble)

navi

additional note: i was actually debating whether to write seishiro as 5 months old or 13 months, but i thought 5 months would be better since they would be very new dumb parents & seishi is kinda more vulnerable at that age bc his immune system's still weak (makes them more scared) hehe

how did it come to this?

yesterday seishiro was still his energetic 5-month-old self, actively attempting to roll around and lift his head as both his parents encouraged him on. he even had enough strength to try sitting up without any support.

yes, you and your husband took him outside in the middle of winter. but it was just for 20-30 minutes to get some fresh air on the balcony.

you both made sure he was wearing layers and layers of clothes to protect him from the cold and the wind. satoru even made sure your little baby was wearing the viridescent mitten maki gave, a cute tangerine-colored bonnett nobara gifted, a pink fluffy earmuffs given by yuuji, an indigo bootie chosen by megumi, and a very thick and warm baby blue blanket you spent your whole pregnancy knitting.

yet the next morning both of you were woken up at four a.m. by the crying sound of the boy, a drastic difference from how he usually wakes up at seven a.m. without any fuss. just a toothless smile showing his tongue and a little flailing upon seeing his parents hover their face over his bassinet.

since the cot was on your side, satoru allowed you to get the baby and was about to fall back asleep when he heard you curse under your breath upon checking seishiro.

the sorcerer instantly gets up and scoots over to your side, slowly getting filled with anxiety.

the room has no light in it except for the night lamp you turned on, but satoru could see the worry starting to brew in your eyes.

"i think he has a fever, 'toru. he feels hotter than usual. what do we do? what do we do? we haven’t learned anything about this, we couldn’t even attend parenting classes, we’re not prepared at all, what if… what if–" you started panicking, lifting the crying seishiro off the crib and holding him close to your chest as you tried to shush him.

your husband frantically moves his arms around the both of you, not knowing where to put his hands nor who to hold.

"deep breaths, baby. we read about this in parenting books, remember?"

"who cares about those stupid books?! just hurry up and tell me what to do. ohmygod ohmyg–” you were cut off by seishiro crying even louder, prompting you to shift your focus back on him and settle him into a more comfortable position. “shh, baby. i'm sorry. mama and dada are here, okay? don't cry."

satoru stills. racking his brain to try and remember the contents of the chapter 'my infant is sick for the first time and i'm a shitty parent, what's next?'

he can't.

his mind is filled with too many worrisome thoughts over the possible outcomes of his son's fever to even recall what he read.

your husband pulls himself back to reality. no. he needs to think of what to do now to help his wife and his little dumpling. he refuses to even think about how this could possibly end badly.

shoko.

“i’ll call shoko! she’ll know what to do.”

the father grabs his phone from the nightstand and swiftly dials the doctor. his former classmate will most likely shout at him for calling at this hour and frankly, satoru doesn’t really care. the promise of free booze will be enough to appease her.

he waits for her to pick up while nervously pacing around the room, eyes never leaving his normally docile son he’s never been so afraid to touch. the in-depth thermography his six eyes can see is more than enough for him to tell how high the boy’s temperature is from the color vermillion spreading through his little forehead to the bright orange hue in his neck; a contrast from his mother’s pale orange face and blue cheeks.

satoru flicks the room’s light switch on and turns up the thermostat. it doesn’t matter if he or you gets too hot, seishiro needs to sweat more.

shoko answers at the eight ring, her voice obviously laden with sleep. “it’s freaking four o’clock in the morning. what do you want?”

“seishiroissickandwedontknowwhattodotellushurryup.” he all but let out all at once, pacing faster as he anticipates shoko’s directions.

“huh? what did you say? and is that seishiro i hear crying in the background?”

your husband takes a deep breath. he’s letting his anxiety get the best of him.

“seishiro has a fever and he won’t stop crying. we don’t know what to do.”

the white-haired sorcerer hears some shuffling in the background and the click of a switch. “have you taken his temperature?”

“no. we kinda focused more on making him stop crying.”

shoko’s sigh makes its way to his ears before her instructions for satoru on what to do. the man intently listens, asking some questions in between and engraving every word his friend says to his brain.

when the call ends, he sees you looking at him with hopeful eyes. “what did she say?”

“shoko said we should check his temperature first. i'll get the rectal thermometer, honey. hold on for me, okay?" he leans closer to you and the boy in your arms before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

he then slowly raises his large hand to caress the back of seishiro's small head filled with little tufts of white hair and flinches upon feeling how warm and sweaty the 5-month-old is. he feels like he just touched a metal park bench in the middle of summer.

nevertheless, the father still presses his lips onto his son's forehead and mutters 'wait for dada, okay, dumpling?' in an attempt to soothe him before abruptly standing straight and darting his head around the dim room, trying to remember where you keep the rectal thermometer.

"we keep one in the bathroom's medicine cabinet!" he hears you urgently whisper-shout amidst your son's woes.

your husband instantly teleports into the ensuite bathroom in a hurry, not even bothering to walk. he comes back in less than a second and sees you gently laying seishiro on his back, slowly unzipping his furry snorlax onesie as you sing him lullabies you both know calms the baby down.

he recalls shoko's words. wipe the tip of the rectal thermometer with cotton and rubbing alcohol. make sure it's clean and dry.

the father's moves are swift and accurate, not permitting himself to make even one small mistake as he follows the doctor's instructions. put a small amount of lubricant on the tip. ("what kind of lubricant?") anything but butter. if you have petroleum jelly that'll do.

satoru dips his knee onto the bed while holding the newly cleaned thermometer and vaseline before tenderly stroking his son’s head as he joins you in singing. seishiro's cries were instantly reduced into light sobs, puffy cerulean irises instead focusing on his father as he calmed down.

you finish taking out the baby’s feet and hands from his clothes while your husband lightly dips his hand from the vaseline container to get a small amount of the product. without satoru telling you anything, you softly raise both of your son’s thick little legs together, exposing his bottom to the father.

just when he was about to insert the thermometer, seishiro's cries once again resonate throughout the room, expression twisted in what looks like agony as he babbles and tries squirming his legs held up by his mother.

your husband effectively halts his own movements, hesitation visible in his eyes as his shaky hand continues hovering in front of your baby’s naked buttocks.

"you won't hurt him, 'toru. it's okay." your calm voice makes its way to him and he sees you gazing at him with eyes teeming with reassurance.

he takes a deep breath.

the sooner i get this done the faster my dumpling can feel better.

after that 4:00 a.m. what-to-do crisis, shoko sent both you and your husband a list on what to do and what not to do with your sick baby. one of the things on top was to give seishiro an acetaminophen to lower his temperature and pedialyte to avoid dehydration which—despite the abundance of all sorts of pain reliever medicine in your home—you do not have.

so at the crack of dawn in the middle of a snowy winter, your husband ran to the nearest pharmacy wearing his evergreen silk velvet pajamas and his 70,400 yen cream-colored gucci off the grid sandals to get probably everything the pharmacist recommended (judging by his baggage when he came back panting before dropping everything in bed) from medications to cooling patches to suppositories.

the doctor also said to bathe seishiro in lukewarm water and change him into lighter clothes (which you did, dressing him up in a short-sleeved romper) with a reminder to not bundle him up in blankets (you mentally note to give the doctor a generous gift when you see her), as well as to monitor his temperature regularly (which your husband did like a maniac, unbuttoning his son’s crotch every 30 minutes and sticking the thermometer to his backside to the point that you had to reprimand him).

you and satoru never left him alone, nor could you both manage to even be at least one meter away from him. right after his morning bath and giving him his fluids, you lulled seishiro back to sleep right in the middle of you and your husband as you watched him the whole time, monitoring the slumbering baby for any signs of discomfort.

when his lunch time came, the generally big-eater seishiro refused to drink your boobie milk nor the baby formula when he was so eager to suck in the morning (satoru was very jealous). shoko said it was normal for him to lose appetite and not force him to eat but still, you couldn’t help but worry.

“baby?” you hear your husband’s wary tone call you out from the living room while you’re chopping some carrots. you turn to your back and try your best to peek on the kitchen’s cased opening to get a look at your husband crouching down in front of seishiro lying on the couch. “what is it, ‘toru?”

his voice was still cautious when he responded, “i think our dumpling’s getting sick again?”

you dropped the knife, rushing to satoru’s side before crouching down as you touch your baby’s forehead. he wasn’t as warm as he was roughly eight hours ago although there’s some clear snot dripping down his nose. he’s looking at the both of you with cerulean eyes full of contempt, as if he absolutely hates his parents for taking him outside yesterday and putting him in his current misery.

"why does our son look like that?" the man on your left asks, slowly raising his hands to get the 5-month-old's mucus with his fingers and wiping them on your apron (you don't notice). seishiro glares at him even more upon seeing what his father did.

you answer his query with another question, "you think he hates us?" you too then lifted your hand before straightening your index and folding the other four. at this, your baby’s frown instantly smoothened, transforming into his usual smiling face as he raised his small appendaged and held the finger in his still-warm fist.

your husband hummed. “i don’t think so,” he tried copying what you just did, but seishiro just looked at his father with disdain and tightened his hold on your finger. satoru pouted and dejectedly muttered, “probably just his dada.”

you lovingly caress the man’s back in comfort before sighing and wiping another blob of mucus dripping from your baby’s nose. “i think he has a cold now,” you sigh as you continue, nuzzling your face into your husband’s neck and whispering, “i don’t know what to do anymore. i’m getting so worried about him…”

your baby seemed to have heard and understood your words, judging by his tiny little hand gripping your index with a little more force and a whimper falling out of his lips. his teary eyes became focused on his mother as the corners of his mouth turned down and his eyebrow furrowed. he also started babbling aggressively.

satoru rests his chin above your head, wrapping his right arm around your form before moving his hand up and down your torso. "i'll call shoko again, baby. it doesn't seem bad this time."

"thank you, 'toru. i'm going back to the kitchen." you give him a peck on his cheek before raising yourself a little and bending over your baby who still refuses to let your finger go. "mama's going to cook, okay? dada will take care of seishi."

over your son's nine day of sickness, you and your husband acted like freaks continually obsessing over your baby. you were two nervous first-time parents riddled with anxiety, fearing for the countless possible outcomes of his sickness, especially the worst of them all—death.

you remember clearly how terrified you were on the first day, when seishiro's fever was 38.8°C and he was hot and fussy and obviously in pain. you were so, so scared. you were sure your husband was too.

seishiro was back on his bassinet located at the side of your bed, asleep after all the ruckus that occurred at the break of dawn. your husband was sitting on the edge of the bed, intently observing him; his six eyes pushing themselves over the limit as he traced every surface of his dumpling's face and body for any unusual signs.

you on the other hand was inside the crib, lying on your side with your upper arm flat on the mattress, head resting on your upper arm. your left hand was softly caressing the boy's smooth warm face, hoping it would keep him calm until his usual wake up time. you wanted to hug him so badly, to let your little child sleep comfortably and safely on your chest, to hold him safe and sound until you were sure he was fine (you were doing your best to restrain yourself as it might be dangerous for babies to not sleep on their back).

your little seishiro was so, so precious. you’d give your life for his safety.

“babyy, go back here and rest. we have a long day later," you hear your husband whisper as he patted the mattress, before he sat up and walked over to your side to plant a kiss on your forehead. he continued hovering over the crib, large hand caressing your face just like what you were doing to your son.

you relax in his touch, eyes closing as you enjoy his loving touch, "i'm fine, 'toru. you sleep. i'll watch our baby."

satoru sighs, bending over the cot to lift you up bridal style. "no can do, my lovely wife. just leave our baby to me! i promise i'll wake you up if something's wrong."

when your husband laid you down on the bed, you gripped his pajamas and voiced out what you had been feeling since you touched seishiro two hours ago.

"i'm scared, satoru." your voice was merely a whisper, you wouldn't be surprised if your husband didn't hear it.

but of course he did. he always does. whether you shout, talk, whisper, or say nothing at all, satoru will always work his eardrums over the edge listening to everything you had to say.

he pulled you closer to his muscular chest and rested his chin on the top of your head, hands running back and forth to your spine comfortingly. "i know, baby. i know."

hot tears started to uncontrollably stream down your cheeks, instantly drenching your husband's 200,200 yen olivia von halle pajama shirt as you securely wrapped your arms around his waist. “i am so, so scared.”

and now, after countless sleepless nights combined with your son’s wailing and trash bags full of used wet wipes, your baby is back on the balcony basking in the warmth and sunlight the early morning offers.

his father stabilizes him as he tries sitting on the man’s lap, flailing his hands excitedly and looking up at satoru with wide expectant eyes when he succeeds (though your husband still has both of his hands at the boy’s back as a support). the older man gasps. “you can sit now, huh? last week you were just trying to roll. you’re growing up fast, aren’t you? hm? who do you take after? is it dada? or is it mama?”

seishiro babbles in response and satoru nods repeatedly as if in agreement. “that’s right, dumpling. you take after dada, don’t you?”

the glass window opens, and your form holding a tray full of food and baby formula comes into view. “don’t twist his words, ‘toru. our son said he takes after his mama,” you placed the wood onto the table and sat at your husband’s side, lifting the baby off his father’s lap and cradling him into your chest, “isn’t that right, hmm, baby?”

your son’s face contorted for a moment, taking his momentum to adorably sneeze before babbling excitedly at his mother.

you and your husband froze, heads turning to stare at each other as you both rack your brains.

“we really shouldn’t have taken him outside.”

ps. idk what happened but i was actually planning for this to be fluffy 😭😭 it kinda got all sentimental

thank you so much for reading!! 😚 interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <33

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