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“You want a what?”
“A baby,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders and shoving another piece of cake in your mouth as if you told him you wanted a designer bag for your birthday. Innocently blinking, head tilting to the side as the fuzzy crown he bought for you started to slip from where it was hastily placed on your hair. The 3 and 0 candles still left on the corner of your plate, the burnt ends sitting there and reminding him that you were already moving onto another stage of life without looking back to see if he was chasing you.
But Satoru Gojo had spent so fucking long trying to fit into whatever space was left for him that he wasn’t sure what he’d be without you.
From the first moment he met you, back when your family had been hired at his clan’s estate and you became his built-in playmate, your face scrunched up with indignity at your circumstances before you begrudgingly shoved your hand out to shake his, all he had wanted to hold onto you and never let go.
“Like, um, a real one?” He stupidly asked, throat constricting as he watched you clean the fork with your tongue slowly. Considerately. Taking your time to think about what he was asking, what this conversation actually meant, while his brain was thinking filthy things about your glossy lips, what your eyes might look like glazed over, how good your hair probably would smell if he buried his face in it.
“Mhm,” you eventually hummed, pulling the fork out of your mouth and plopping it down on your plate. Glancing back over your shoulder for a quick second, looking at the birthday decorations he’d spent two hours setting up before you showed up at his penthouse, the banners and the balloons and the glittery streamers that were probably way over-the-top for takeout and cake for just the two of you. Smiling a little to yourself as your head turned to him, tilting a little as your eyes locked onto his. “Do you think I'd be a good mom?”
“The best,” he honestly answered, as if in his fantasies, he wasn't already imagining he was the father.
“I was thinking of getting a sperm donor,” you casually added, clearly something you'd been toying around with for a while.
Two words, and a terrible idea blossomed in the back of his brain – and exited his mouth before he could shut the hell up for once.
“Why not just use mine?”
Your mouth fell open. His did too.
Watching you slowly blink, eyes slowly narrowing into a squint as he panicked and pushed out some frantic explanation, holding his hands up as he tried to make it sound somehow less creepy, “Look, you just never know if the guy you pick already has like, fifty other kids, and what if your baby meets one of them and doesn’t know that they’re siblings and-”
“You don’t want me to use a sperm donor because you think my hypothetical kid might accidentally fuck their sibling?”
Okay, wow, that was worse.
“I’m just saying you wouldn’t have to worry about that sort of stuff with me,” he continued, choking on the lump in his throat before clearing his throat. “You already know I have great genes.”
And like he wasn’t already shooting himself in the foot just by speaking, he flexed his bicep with a stupid grin on his face, t-shirt straining against his muscles just for you to roll your eyes at him.
“You’re twenty-eight,” you bluntly said, as if he had ever given a shit about being younger than you before.
If he was the same age, would you see him differently?
He had asked himself that too many times to count. Enough that the hurt that it came with had seeped into his bones and started to live there. Weighing him down as he wondered how you would treat him if he met you later, when you were both older, somewhere neutral.
Would you want him the way he wanted you?
“And?” He whined, pouting as you resisted the urge to shut him down harder. “Doesn’t that mean I have, like, even better sperm?”
“Satoru, you’re gonna meet some gorgeous girl and get married, and then it’s just going to be weird if-” You started, shaking your head dismissively.
“I’m not,” Satoru cut you off before you could finish coming up with weak excuses, like he’d ever met anyone he thought was half as gorgeous as you.
You made that cute little face you always did when you wanted to argue with him but couldn’t come up with anything that would make him agree with you.
“You don’t know that,” you said after a few short moments, leaning in closer, oblivious that the next whiff of your perfume was enough to make him lose what little reason he had left.
“What if I pinky promise?”
“That you’ll never have kids with anyone else?” You gawked at him, face scrunching up in confusion. “That’s literally ridiculous. You know I’d never ask you to-”
“I was going to get a vasectomy in a couple years anyway,” he lied in a panic, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t really care when he had literally never cared more about the simple notion of some stranger’s sperm winning out over his.
“You never mentioned that,” you quietly pouted back, like you were a little upset at the idea he never brought it up. But at least you believed it.
“If I was even ever going to have one,” He paused, dragging his chair closer to the table to stretch over it and wipe some icing stuck to the corner of your mouth, dredging up something he knew without a doubt was the truth to make up for his bullshit. “I’d want it to be with you anyway.”
You stared at him, his fingers still grazing against your mouth before he dropped his hand and reclined back in his chair, as if there was even a scrap of his cool left to recover. Shrugging his shoulders as he scrambled for something to say before you could call him an idiot for even suggesting something like that.
“I could even pay for it,” he grinned like this was some grand gesture instead of him desperately clinging onto this chance. He didn't like to just throw money at problems – but he'd throw his entire dignity in the trash can if it meant when you were waddling around pregnant in six months, that it would be his baby you were carrying. “What else are best friends for?”
Personally, he’d prefer to add father of your child (and future husband) to his resume, but he was used to accepting whatever you offered.
“Satoru,” you said his name slowly, sounding out the syllables so he could hear the hint of scolding in them. But you didn't dismiss him.
He smiled at you, and it was just as easy as it had always been. Comfortable. Cozy.
“It's not a big deal,” Satoru shrugged. “I want what you want.”
Even if it meant pulling down his pants and jerking off in a cup a few weeks later after you admitted that maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to have the hottest guy you knew contribute his sperm to create the cutest child ever – not that you worded it exactly like that. He guessed his promise of paying all the bills may have also helped sway your decision.
The whole thing was sorta scary, waiting and hoping for updates from there about egg retrieval and embryo viability, feeling like a loser checking his phone two hundred times a day when he wasn’t with you and showing up at your place with meals, trying to pick out foods that were good for someone doing IVF.
You always let him in, even if you hummed and huffed that he didn’t have to do it.
Satoru clung to claiming that he just wanted to be supportive.
Carrying you back to your bed after you crashed on the couch, tucking you under the blankets and cleaning up the dinner, stuffing the styrofoam boxes down in the trash can while he cursed himself for not just coming clean about his feelings fifteen fucking years ago.
Sometimes he wasn’t sure you even saw him as a man. Didn’t realize he wasn’t the awkward, lanky preteen or scrawny kid he used to be despite the fact he’d been taller than you for over half your lives now.
You didn’t even blink when you woke up to him sleeping with no shirt on your couch, the blanket deliberately draped at his hips to show off his sculpted abs, just yawning and walking past him, already showered and fully dressed, applying lip gloss as you scrolled on your phone.
“Just lock the door after you leave,” you hummed, dropping your phone back in your purse and picking up your shoes before returning back to the couch to sit on top of his calves so you could slip them on.
A few years ago, he might have pretended to groan, to tease you for being on him, but now he just felt utterly hopeless at how hard he was savoring the connection, the weight of you on him even when it was totally platonic. Blinking sleepily and staring at your side profile as you bent over to slide your shoes on, preemptively picturing where you both might be in nine months. Would he be helping you get them on then? Putting his hand on your stomach and feeling his baby kick underneath your skin?
“Where are you going?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes before he propped himself up on his elbows.
“Today’s the day,” you casually said, and after a painfully long pause, it clicked.
“Like, the day?” He gawked, adrenaline overwriting the exhaustion at the thought that you could be coming back home with his babies implanted inside you.
“We don’t know if it will take,” you muttered. The cocky half of him wanted to remind you that the doctors had said that his sperm was high quality, tempted to turn it into a joke and break the tension, make some childish offer. But he held it in, reached out to brush his fingers against your arm.
“How many are they implanting?” He asked, tracing a faint little heart over your skin you didn’t seem to notice.
“Just one,” you answered with a little sigh, biting your lip to hide the hint of a smile curling up and betraying the hint of excitement under the surface you were trying not to feel. “A girl.”
And then you were standing back up, readjusting your purse over your shoulder as you searched it for your keys, despite the fact they were sitting on your kitchen counter instead.
“Can I come?” He asked, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks as you puckered your lips together, shuffling on your feet. Was it so fucking wrong to want to be in the room at least when he got you pregnant?
“It’s not like-”
“I could drive you,” Satoru offered, hyperaware of how hopelessly desperate his own voice sounded. “I have the day off anyway.”
He didn’t, but he’d call out sick if he had to, fake a coughing fit and convince Ijichi to push back all his meetings or come in at absurd hours to catch up on stuff if he had to.
Satoru didn’t want to miss a single appointment. Didn’t want to let you do it alone – no matter how strong he knew you were. You never needed him. But he needed you.
Craved being the guy you depended on. Trusted to help take care of you.
You glanced back at him, tilting your head to the side with that cute little sigh of yours you always made right before you caved in.
“Fine.”ᘏ⑅ᘏ
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
For a man who was only supposed to be a sperm donor, Satoru Gojo was acting far more like a father.
Your best friend standing outside your front door with shopping bags of baby stuff, stumbling through your threshold with that stupidly charming cheeky smile. And when he realized he was about to be scolded, he started dramatically sniffing the air as he peeked past you to see what you were cooking, eagerly changing the subject before you could comment on what he brought, “Whatcha making?”
“How many different outfits do you think she needs?” You rolled your eyes as you eyed him suspiciously, sighing as you shut the door behind him. Satoru just laughed, already piling up everything on your coffee table as you self-consciously tried to pull down your t-shirt from where it was sticking to the swell of your stomach, threatening to ride up and show off your growing baby bump. Only five months in and barely fitting into any of your old stuff anymore, despite how many prenatal yoga classes you attended or midnight cravings you ignored.
He looked as perfect as he always did. White hair tousled and the sleeves of his button-up rolled up on his forearms, veins sticking out as he glanced up at you with those irritatingly sparkly blue eyes. God, you couldn’t remember a single time you’d seen him look bad.
Even when you were younger, you couldn't escape the effect he seemed to have on everyone else. It didn't help that your family worked for his, that you got a front row seat to watch him get everything he ever wanted. Hyper aware of all the differences in his life than yours, what world he'd been born into that you just happened to occupy. Only able to stare from the sidelines, the bottom row of the bleachers, pointedly aware that he occupied a certain position above everyone else.
You’d grown up glaring as your other friends fawned over him, strangers approaching him in public to shove their numbers at him or shyly flirt while he smiled at the affection he was showered with. It wasn’t his fault. You didn’t even hold it against him, not when over time, you’d found yourself increasingly, um, fond of him.
But you couldn’t just ignore who he was when it trickled down to every aspect of your own life.
All the guys you started seeing never lasted long.
Either assholes who cheated on you or dickheads who dumped you, both always citing how little they could stand Satoru, just insecure, you supposed, unable to tolerate your best friend and his sometimes annoying antics. He had a bad habit of showing up right when you were about to go on dates, swinging by late at night or bringing presents just because.
You tried to explain that it was just how he was. Satoru had spent his entire life being spoiled and sheltered. Spoiling you in return was one of the few ways he knew how to show affection. And when he could drop a few bands a day without noticing so much as a tiny dent in his bank account, it wasn't like money or gifts meant anything to him.
And here you were now, feeling like you were taking advantage of it anyway, single and pregnant while your best friend bought your (his?) baby teething toys and the most expensive car seat stroller combos, helping turn your spare bedroom into a nursery on the weekends while you reminded him (and yourself) over and over again that you didn’t expect him to do any of it.
Satoru didn't just blur the lines.
He buried them.
Took a shovel and tossed so much sand over it that it was impossible to tell where they originally were. And after the first embryo was successfully implanted, once you went to the first scan and saw the tiny little blob that would be your baby, you seemed to be making meals for three instead of two most days when the man who helped make it insisted on coming over after he got off work nearly every evening.
Sometimes, he'd arrive with takeout or groceries, but he never showed up empty handed.
“How's our, um, this little princess doing?” Satoru grinned after he corrected himself, walking over to squat down in front of you, tapping your stomach like he was trying to wake her up.
“She keeps kicking,” you murmured, biting your lip as his palm abruptly pressed flat as if he was hoping to experience it for himself. His hand was warm through your thin shirt, his thumb subtly dragging a small semi-circle as you continued, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Lay down,” he muttered, just as a faint flutter stirred in your stomach, the sensation of your baby moving around still alien and strange as you watched the slow smile spread up on his face as he felt it too. “I’ll finish cooking.”
“You suck-”
Satoru pressed one long finger against your lips before you could argue with him, shaking his head as he scoffed, “I’ve been taking classes.”
“When?” You pouted, a hand on your hip as you racked your brain for when he’d even have the opportunity when you practically had to shoo him out of your place half the time.
“Every other Tuesday,” he retorted – and then he was gently trying to guide you over to your couch, not stopping until you were sitting down and he was putting the remote in your hand.
Begrudgingly flipping through boring movies, readjusting a pillow behind your back before you gave up and started sorting through the bags of stuff he brought with him.
Blue dresses. Pink bows. Extra diapers and wipes. Swaddles.
A two-pack of onesies featuring the words MOMMY’S ANGEL and DADDY’S PRINCESS embroidered across the chest.
A small voice in your head rationally suggested that you should set some better boundaries. Tell him you weren’t going to put her in that second one when he was supposed to be more like a…rich uncle? Family friend?
Well, something other than daddy.
But some awful part of you sort of liked it.
Liked how much his attention was devoted to you, how you couldn’t exactly ever feel lonely when he was always around, always willing to step into whatever box he thought you needed from him. He didn’t complain. Never groaned or gritted his teeth and acted like you were too much. Always able to make you laugh and smile, holding your hair back when you were nauseous and holding your bags for you in public.
Even if all of it was only platonic.
You weren’t stupid enough to think his interest in you was romantic.
He could pick anyone. Go out and come home with a girlfriend in two hours if he wanted to.
Satoru was simply excited to share this with you, at the idea of a little infant that might have his hair or his eyes, his ego probably ballooning and bigger than ever because you chose him to have it with.
The one thing you could never afford was letting yourself have a crush on him.
Especially when his care right now was temporary.
It would probably fade after your baby was born, once she was crying and crawling and required more than just trinkets and toys to thrive. You didn’t think he’d disappear. But he would move on, focus on his work or his other friends, return to his more spontaneous visits as he resumed his role as your best friend rather than baby daddy.
Which was fine.
Completely, totally, fine.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” Satoru hummed, handing you a warm bowl before clearing off a space on the coffee table for you to put it before rushing back to grab napkins and a drink for you to go with it. You stared at him. Struggling to ignore how sturdy his frame was, how handsome, how steady he’d turned out as he hurried around, casually rummaging through your cabinets to pick out a glass while he acted like he was perfectly at home here when his own place was probably three times bigger, your heart thumping a little too loud for your own comfort as you caught a glimpse of that cute crinkle by his eyes when he turned his head.
You loved him.
As a friend.
You were content to raise your daughter by yourself, made the decision to have her because you knew you could.
But maybe you could enjoy his attention while you had it.
Hold onto how things were before he got bored.
And whatever this fluttering in your stomach was, the one that you couldn’t blame on the baby in there, it would pass.
ᘏ⑅ᘏ
Satoru only realized the depth of his own stupidity when he was realized just how fucking hard it was to stay best friends watching you waddle around swollen and seven months pregnant with his baby. Barefoot with powdered sugar dusting your fingertips, one hand casually resting on your stomach and leaving a print on your loose pajama shirt while you baked your favorite dessert, babbling about how badly you were craving it in between complaining about how much your back was aching.
He’d known his pining was pathetic from an early age.
Forced to acknowledge it post-puberty when you started going on dates and he had to resist the temptation to punch a wall and tell you that no one was good enough for you. Discomfort and anger crawling under his skin at the idea of you giving anyone else who obviously didn’t deserve you any of the time that should be his.
And now, despite the (lack of) wisdom age had added, he was still just stuck staring at you with an open mouth like a moron as you glanced back at him, glowing no matter how much you complained about how awful you thought you looked.
His pants had never been fucking tighter around you.
Boner carefully concealed with one of your throw pillows, long legs stretched out on your couch as he pretended to scroll on his phone.
Every day only seemed to get harder too. More of a struggle to shove down his feelings when you started to rely on him more. Leaning against his shoulder, holding onto his forearm, your fingers skimming over his skin as you started to casually cling to him the same way he always hung onto you. Asking him for massages, laying your head on his lap, playing with his hair when you walked by him. Your stare had started to stick to him more, catching you watching him when you thought he wasn't looking.
Satoru had spent years dreaming of this easy domesticity with you.
Walking through your door to find you already making a meal big enough to share, baking or singing to yourself, peeking out and smiling at him without even being surprised. Expecting to see him there.
And still, he only ever got to sleep on the couch.
Didn't get to hug you or hold your hand or kiss you at the end of the night.
He wanted to invite you back to his place, see if you’d spend it with him if he changed up this new normal, but he was scared that you’d decline. That he’d fuck up this tightrope he was walking before he made it to the other side.
Um, and maybe because he’d turned one of his own extra rooms from storage to a pretty, pink nursery too. Just in case you asked him to babysit, or uh, wanted any extra help with her.
But there was a subtle edge to your behavior, your softness sometimes switching abruptly, going cold or sharp when least expected it, suddenly getting short with him when he got a little too close. Hormones, maybe?
It wasn’t like he could ask without receiving a lecture that he shouldn’t blame your feelings on your hormones just because they didn’t match whatever he thought they should.
“You’re quiet tonight,” you commented with a huff, turning on the timer on the microwave after you shut the stove.
“Jus’ thinking,” he hummed, trying to avoid the urge to spill out his dirty secret.
“About?” You tilted your head to the side, almost bumping into the baby swing he built last weekend as you walked back over to him, starting to bend over to try and lift one of his legs instead of just sitting on him like you used to.
He patted his thighs, as if you would actually take him up on it, just to earn a dramatic hand on your hip, pouting hard.
“You’re really making a pregnant lady stand?” You muttered dryly, jutting your bottom lip out further.
“There’s a perfectly good seat right here,” he teased, grinning as his hand reached out, leaning forward, about to gently graze against your waist when-
You started crying.
Big tears welling up in your eyes before he could so much as blink, your brows knitting together in frustration as your own fingers rushed to wipe them away.
His mouth fell open, words automatically spilling out, “Sorry, I’ll move, I-”
“You’re an asshole,” you hissed, breath hitching as you started to turn away from him, and he was shoving himself up off the couch, hurrying to spin you around by your wrist only for you to yank your arm away from him.
“What did I do?” He gawked, blinking hard and fast, panic seizing in his chest as he desperately tried to search your face for any sign.
“You keep acting like-” You stopped yourself, just vaguely gesturing up-and-down at his body before you scoffed and buried your face in your hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking that this was a good idea.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he argued, pulling your hand down so he could wipe away your tears himself. Dragging his thumb under your eyes and cupping your cheeks to force you to look at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We need, like, boundaries, or-”
“Boundaries?”
Okay, sure, boundaries were normal, needed even, in most relationships. But he’d be lying if he said the idea of you putting up walls and pushing him away with new rules didn’t make him want to vomit.
“You keep treating me like I’m your girlfriend,” you said, eyes wide and wavering as you barely managed to meet his stare. “Like, this means something more-”
“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
He knew he shouldn’t have said it the moment he heard how it sounded out loud. Heard the sharp inhale you sucked in, how shattered it came out. “Stop-”
“You mean everything to me,” he blurted out before you could break his heart, ready to beg, to barter, to do whatever he had to just so you would see it.
“Don't say that,” you whispered, shaking your head as you tried to take a step back. “Not when you don't mean it.”
“I do,” he huffed, holding onto you as he again attempted to stop you from pulling away, from severing this connection. And somewhere in his panic, his body purged all the words his mind had been shoving down for so long. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love you. I've loved you my entire life and I will for the rest of it. I'll be anything you want me to be, shit, just don't shut me out.”
“You love me,” you repeated, like it was ridiculous.
“I love you,” he said it again anyway, his voice dropping low.
“You-” You stopped yourself, starting to breathe fast through your nose, biting your bottom lip before you continued, “If you're just trying to make me feel better-”
“Do you seriously think I'd say it and risk ruining us just because you're crying?” He asked, wiping away another stray tear from your soft cheek, managing to sound appropriately serious for the first time in his life.
You swallowed hard, like you were suffocating on the truth now that it was out there. Fingers balled up by your side, fists shaking as you fought the reality Satoru had dropped on you.
“I don't expect you to tell me that you love me too, just, fuck, just don't walk away from me, okay-”
And before he could finish begging, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt to pull him down, his mouth still open when yours connected with it.
You kissed him, soft, unsure, like you weren't certain or confident that this was the right decision. But you didn't stop even if part of you thought you'd regret it later.
His own hands failed him, his brain freezing the second if processed the fact you were actually kissing him, stuck completely still as you soft lips lightly started to suck on his bottom one, his breath stolen and his heart straining to accept how fucking sweet this felt.
But then your fingers went loose, started to let go of his shirt, and he snapped out of it. Tethering his hands in your hair, deepening the kiss before you could pull away and he'd have to hear that you changed your mind. That he lost his only chance.
Satoru tried to show you with his lips.
Tongue dancing across your bottom lip for entry, dragging over the ridges of your teeth, exploring your mouth and memorizing how it felt. Saved it in case he'd never be able to savor the experience again.
And when a cute little moan slipped out as his chest pressed against yours, as your bodies connected, your baby bump pressed against his stomach and your free hand draped over his shoulder, he knew his boner was back.
“Mmph, Sato-” you murmured when you finally pulled away for air. He was desperately trying to suck in the quickest breath he could just to kiss you again.
The most he managed was a few quick pecks pressed to the corner of your mouth before your palm pressed flat against his chest.
“We should talk about it,” you reasonably said, despite how inclined he was to throw reason out the window and carry you back to your bed.
“Do you want me?” He asked, sucking in a short breath, leaning down so his nose was nuzzling against yours.
“I do,” you answered, your voice strained and tight as you reluctantly looked up at him, studying the shape of his lips. And maybe it was because he’d spent an entire life wrapped around your finger, building and molding himself to be the sort of man you wanted, that you needed, he knew what thoughts were swirling around in your head before you said any of them. “I’m just scared.”
Hearing it out loud still scared the shit out of him though.
Knowing how close he was to having you – and how easy it would be to fuck it all up.
“What can I do to show you just how serious I am?” He murmured, leaning in, lightly grazing his lips against your mouth again.
You closed your eyes, held onto his shirt and let yourself melt into his chest.
This kiss didn't last long though, not when the timer on the microwave suddenly blared out.
“I, um, should check on that,” you muttered, and it was incredibly hard to let you go. To watch you slip from his hold again and walk back into your kitchen, some intangible thread tugging him towards you, unable to stay more than a few steps away from you while you opened the oven and sighed before you added a few more minutes on the timer.
But you didn’t come back, didn’t speak up immediately.
You were staring at your distorted reflection in the microwave, like you were silently attempting to convince yourself of something.
Maybe to turn him down.
Say that you were both always going to be better off as friends.
“Tell me what to do,” Satoru begged.
“I don’t know,” you blanched.
“Anything,” he started. “I swear, I’ll-”
“Shouldn't we take this slow?” You hesitantly asked before he could offer to put up a billboard professing his love or get down on his knees to propose, clinging onto the counter tight enough he could see the clear outline of the bones and tendons in your knuckles.
“You're having my baby,” he pointed out, and you just pouted at him.
“I know,” you muttered, mulling over how you wanted to word your concern. “But what if you're only doing this because of that?”
“Sweetheart,” Satoru started, a fresh pang of panic shooting straight through his chest. “I would want you whether or not the baby was mine or someone else's. I've loved you for so fucking long-”
“It's hard for me to accept that,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don't understand why you would pick me. You could have-”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. You occupy all my thoughts,” he breathed, his throat constricting as he did his best to confess. “Your glare. Your laugh. The way you defend me even when I'm a dick. How you indulge me even when I don't deserve it. Every morning, every night, every stupid meeting I get stuck in and when I'm in the shower. I've spent my whole life waiting for you to see me standing here and hoping for you.”
Another big tear welled up in your pretty eyes, one you quickly blinked away as your stare shined up at him.
“Can you wait a little longer?” You asked, as if he wouldn't wait another ten, twenty, thirty fucking years holding onto this.
“Of course,” he whispered.
As long as you needed.
He’d just hope it was a sooner rather than later thing.
You wiped your cheeks, recollecting yourself before checking the oven again, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you put some mitts on and opened it to pull out the baking tray before reaching up to shut off the timer.
Satoru ended up where he always did.
Stretched out in the corner of your couch, arm thrown around the back and pretending to pay attention to what was on TV instead of watching you in the corner of his vision. But this time, you snuggled up a little closer after you sat a plate down in front of him.
Curled up enough that your thighs were firmly pressing against each other, and slowly, his hand drifted down to cup your stomach. Just under the skin, feeling the faint flutter of his daughter kicking, or readjusting in there. Growing to hopefully be more like you than him, even if she would get stuck with half his DNA.
“You’re warm,” you softly said, as if that was your excuse to melt into him more.
“Will you still let me spend the night?” He pouted, lips parting only for you to push a warm treat against them to shut him up.
“On the couch?” You asked, watching him chew, chocolate probably smeared across his mouth before you asked something he only ever dreamed about. “Or in bed?”
ᘏ⑅ᘏ
Satoru never stopped staying the night.
And despite the fact he’d technically gotten you pregnant, you still had yet to have sex with him. But instead of him walking in hungry for your cooking, he was starving for you. Thighs hooked over his shoulders while he dragged his tongue up across your pussy, greedily lapping you up like it was his new favorite meal.
You liked the way he kissed you when you woke up, his strong arms slung around your body, his soft mouth dotting your face like it was his favorite thing in the world. You loved the way he looked at you when he left for work, the warmth that seemed to radiate and wrap around you when he leaned down to caress your cheek and tell you that he’d call you at lunch.
Somewhere along the way though, or more precisely around week thirty-eight, you started spending the night at his place instead, getting stretched out on his long fingers in his silk sheets instead of your cotton ones.
You spent almost an hour chewing him out for the nursery he’d already set up there, dismissing his excuses because you both were well aware of the reasons why.
He didn’t want to just be the donor.
He wanted to be your baby’s dad.
And when it came time to actually have your daughter, when your water broke a couple days past your due date and he rushed you to the hospital, you were the one to tell the nurses that was exactly what he was instead of playing pretend and ignoring what was right in front of your face.
Letting him wipe the sweat from your brow and hold the cup of water to your lips, nearly breaking his hand by holding it so hard when it came time to push, hours of labor culminating in a little baby with your favorite set of blue eyes.
She had your hair though, and he tried to say your smile too, peeling off his shirt right there in the room and ready to do skin-to-skin with her the second you said he could.
If you hadn’t figured out you were completely and totally fucking in love with him, you knew the second you saw him cradling her to his chest, the gleam in his stare and the reverence in his trembling fingers brushing across her chubby cheeks.
He had looked up at you with that lopsided smile, pride and adoration present in every line etched in his face.
“I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he grinned.
And just a couple months of being with him had made you see how lucky you’d always been to have him.
To have her.
Even though you were pretty sure she inherited her dad’s personality.
Specifically the loud and clingy parts.
Always needing one of you to be carrying her, crying when you tried to leave her in the crib, refusing to be bottlefed half-the-time even when you were just feeding her what you pumped. Her crystalline stare welling up with fat tears if you dared to put her down on a soft mat for tummy time, lazily hitting her tiny feet against the ground instead of trying to roll or crawl.
All that baby proofing Satoru had spent hours on pretty much useless so far when she'd barely been outside of your arms or the baby carrier he proudly walked around with her in. He even started working from home once his paternity leave ran out, taking meetings with her still in the carrier, chatting with people on the phone or on video calls, something about the sound of his voice and the way he bounced her, always seeming to lull her to sleep.
You had unofficially moved in with him, although you let him handle all the packing and unloading, rooms conveniently already set up like he'd always been holding that space for you, closet half-vacant until all your clothes were hung up by his.
Boyfriend, best friend, husband, no title really needed to tag onto whatever it was the two of you shared.
It was bigger than that.
You were his now.
And you didn’t want to deny it anymore.
Besides, you'd done some laundry a couple days ago and found a ring box underneath his boxers in the sock drawer, so you supposed it would have a label soon anyway.
If you were going to spend the rest of your life loving someone, it was always going to be him.
You were an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
But he never made you feel like one.
He kissed you good night like it was the most natural thing in the world, half-draped across your body and skimming his fingers over your face before he curled up next to you in the dim bedroom, blankets tangled around your bodies.
Falling asleep came fast when it was in his arms, but you'd begun to have one, or, uh, two problems when you woke up at four in the morning with a massive ache in your chest.
In his quest to be the best father (and future husband), he'd taken over night feedings to make sure you slept, but despite his sweetness, your body wasn't on the same page. Or rather, schedule.
Missing her night feedings had left you engorged.
Tits swollen and milk stuck in the ducts, the usually soft flesh practically hard under the stretched skin, painful when you sat up and realized you had started to soak through your bra and shirt. You tried to peel both off of you, wincing at the wetness as your finger fumbled for the pump you left by the nightstand in the dark only to knock it off instead.
“Sweetheart?” Satoru groggily spoke up, a big hand reaching out, half-patting your stomach in his sleepy state.
But then he was already shutting his eyes again, yawning and humming as he drifted back to sleep, your lips pressing together in a frustrated line as you swung your legs off the bed and bent over to grab the pump.
Although, it wasn’t really much use when your ducts were too fucking clogged for anything other than a painfully slow drip to come out, the ache just getting worse as you begrudgingly switched on the lamp by your bed and bathed the room in warm yellow light as you put the pump back.
“Satoru,” you whined, rolling over in bed and lightly shaking the pretty man drooling on the pillow next to you. He almost immediately stirred for real this time, sitting up and blinking before wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth, grunting as he got up, the low sound only making your thighs tense and press together.
“Mm, baby?” He yawned as he stretched, running his fingers through his hair as his baby-food-stained sweatshirt rode up to show a sliver of his toned abs.
“When did you feed her?” You half-whispered as his tired eyes shifted to his phone on the other side of him, briefly turning it on with a sigh.
“Like, an hour ago?” He answered, blinking a couple times as his eyes returned to you – and then practically bulged out of his head at the realization your boobs were out.
Mouth falling open in a pretty ‘o’, drool probably pooling inside it as he stared at how heavy they were hanging, tongue uselessly trying to form a coherent follow-up and some strangled sound escaping instead.
“I need you,” you admitted just as another droplet of milk leaked out, starting to roll down your breast – but before it could make it more than an inch, Satoru was there, wrapping his lips around your areola and starting to suck before you could even get another sentence out.
He pulled you closer, an arm slipping around your lower back, pulling you in as his tongue dragged over your hardened nipple, his other hand already reaching up to squeeze your other tit, groaning at how it felt under his palm.
You gasped, a surprising surge of electricity racing down your spine as heat you hadn’t expected bubbled up to simmer in your core. Technically, you’d been cleared for sex, like, six weeks ago, but you’d been a little anxious about him seeing your postpartum body.
Not sure if his feelings would be swayed after you carried his baby, if the stretchmarks or soft plush of your stomach would put him off.
But the ravenous gleam in his eyes, the frenzied way his fingers kept fumbling to make sure you couldn’t slip away, you didn’t think anyone had ever wanted you as badly as he did right now.
And before you could fully process it, your back was hitting the bed, pinned between his heavy body and his firm mattress, the sheets crinkling underneath you as he greedily drank.
He looked delirious.
Okay, probably a little bit sleep deprived from being in night feeding duty half the time, but he was drunk on you, letting out a lewd moan as he sucked hard on the hardened bud, desperately kneading into the other one with those thick fingers of his while something hard and huge dug into your thigh.
Fuck.
Why the hell was he that big?
The size of him was on your mind as he switched breasts, eagerly slurping as he squeezed, trying to break up the clog with his thick fingers, pressing in and working into the skin, forcing more milk out as he tried to drain you.
“Shit, angel,” he moaned, barely pulling away to glance up at you, the blue in his eyes swallowed up by his pupils as milk dribbled down the corner of his mouth. “You’re so sweet.”
“S-Satoru,” you stammered, relief washing over you as he went back to drinking and managed to clear out at least one of the ducts, eyelashes fluttering as his tongue toyed with your still overly sensitive nipple. Your fingers were shaking as you tangled them in his hair, trying to guide him back to the other one, hyperaware of how sticky your skin was, some of the milk definitely leaking down onto the bed and getting on his shirt as he continued without a pause.
“S’not fair,” he whined, fingers digging in again as he practically rutted his cock against your thigh. Hips rolling down to grind against you, his muscled thighs flexing with every rock of them. “How come she gets to drink this all the time and I don’t?”
“You can’t be serious,” you gasped, tugging at his roots to pry him back just to find that fucked-out look on his face, everything relaxed as he jutted out his bottom lips like he was willing to beg for more if he had to.
“This is my new favorite drink,” he insisted, and before you could sputter out another protest, he was latched on again, relieving your other breast with that pretty mouth of his, massaging it until you were both moaning, your head falling back against the pillow as you gave in.
Gave it all up for him.
Finding yourself arching your own back up off the bed, squirming and shuddering as he went to work on it, teeth skimming and scraping until your nipples were sore, swallowing your milk until your breasts almost felt empty – but you knew they’d fill back up sooner or later. Sooner, if he kept sucking on them like that as if he could telepathically communicate to them to make more.
And even when they were nearly drained, he was running his tongue over your chest, cleaning you up like he was a goddamn cat. Taste buds dragging over your skin, running his fingered over your peaked nipples now, a surprised squeak pulled from you that made you both pause for a second, his blue eyes wide when they immediately locked onto your face.
Neither of you said anything.
But his cock twitched, and a funny pulse shot down to your clit, and your mouth was opening to ask him something you’d been craving more than you could confess.
“Do you want to fuck me?” You breathed, awkward, tense.
Terrified he’d say no, no matter how irrational it was.
But Satoru just smiled, climbing completely on top of you and caging you back in to caress your cheek, “God, you have no idea just how long I’ve been waiting for-”
Your mouth crashed against his before he could even finish his sentence, your own impatience catching you by surprise, lips fitting so nicely in between his, and you wondered why it had taken you so long to take what was always yours.
You could taste yourself on him, the faintly sweet milk on his breath, although it was a little weird mixed with the leftover mint from him brushing his teeth. He didn’t seem to mind though, eagerly shoving his tongue in your mouth, the now-damp fabric of his shirt pressed against your chest.
One of you would definitely need to throw a load into the washing machine after this, strip the sheets down and change them after the mess you were making.
But you couldn’t help but slip your hand down, sneaking underneath the band of his sweatpants and inside his boxers to feel his swollen tip, collecting the thick pre-cum already there and sliding it down his dick.
Veins pulsing against your palm, your fingers delicately wrapping around his girth and starting to stroke as he made some guttural groan that made your stomach feel funny. Pure want searing through you, desire you weren’t used to handling or holding back now dealt to you in spades.
Maybe it was because some small voice was trying to suggest that you were about to have sex with Satoru, a sliver of you thrilled at the idea of him needing you too.
“F-fuck,” he whimpered, and it was probably the prettiest sound you ever heard. “M’gonna cum if you keep doing that.”
“You’re not even in me,” you teased him. He growled at that, and before you could even giggle, he was pulling your hand back out of his pants, firm fingers gripping your wrist and pinning it above your head before you could make him snap.
And then his other hand was suddenly helping spread your thighs further apart, easily able to move the thin fabric of your cotton shorts and lacy panties aside so he could shove two fingers inside your pussy to see how soaked you were.
“Baby,” he immediately hummed the second his fingers swirled inside, one corner of his mouth curling up almost condescendingly while you huffed back at him. “I wasn’t even in you.”
Dick.
But it was hard to be hurt by him mocking you back when he was sliding his actual dick inside you barely thirty seconds later, the rest of your clothes and his quickly discarded so he could do what you'd both been dreaming about, his eyes scrunching shut as he slowly took it inch by inch. Savoring the stretch, the way his hands trembled as he touched you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he felt your walls squeeze around him. You might’ve complained at how long it was taking if you weren’t also having a hard time holding yourself together.
Studying all those details of his face you’d fallen for, the shape his soft lips made when his features were all twisted up in pleasure, how his long lashes fluttered as he whispered your name like a prayer.
Sure, you had sex before. Weren’t exactly a virgin by any means.
But nothing was like this.
No one was like him.
Satoru was treating you like some alter he was born to worship at. Every movement deliberate, sucking in a sharp breath as he pushed through, filling you up until his cock was nestled against your womb, the pressure mind-melting as he tried to focus on your own body reacting to him.
“I-is it too much?” He asked, like he wasn’t straining, his voice thin and airy. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
Still concerned for you, still worried he might wound you.
You nodded, heart thrumming wildly as his cock throbbed and all your sore muscles tensed around him. Hesitantly opening your mouth to reassure him, “I’m good. This is good.”
Fantastic, actually, but his ego didn’t need that much of a boost.
Satoru still lit up like you’d told him it was the best you ever had.
“Thank fucking god,” he murmured, his head falling down so he could nuzzle his nose against your neck. Peppering your throat with kisses as he started thrusting, almost delicate at first, but quickly picking up the pace once he was confident he wouldn’t completely break you with his cock.
Driving himself in faster, harder, both hands now holding up your hips, angle himself deep enough you could feel himself re-molding you to him. You were out-of-practice, and you could tell he was too, but his sloppiness was made up for with how eager he was, how earnestly his mouth and his fingers and his cock worked to make you feel good.
“I love you,” he babbled, breathing hard and heavy into your collarbone, your breasts still leaking a little bit of milk onto his chest that he didn’t seem to notice. “I, oh fuck, I love you so much.”
You were nodding, tracing your fingers over his broad back, his defined shoulder blades, holding onto him as your walls tried to squeeze and clamp down on him. The sex felt different, all your nerves suddenly more sensitive, everything burning and starving for more.
“I-I love you too,” you gasped, an invisible weight lifted off your chest hearing the words leave your mouth.
He made a noise that was probably loud enough to wake anyone else in the building, both of you freezing as your heads snapped back towards the door to see if it woke up your daughter down the hall.
But then his thumb darted to your clit, rushing to make rough circles, his chest heaving with fast breaths as he tried to make sure this wouldn’t end without him making you cum.
“My pretty girl, fuck,” he purred, sucking a spot he’d already nipped at above your tendon, the jolt it sent through you dragging you embarrassingly close to climax when it was combined with the patterns he was painting over your needy bud. The friction was intense, feeding something deep in your chest you hadn't realized was hollow before.
Comforted by him coaxing you, crumbling bit by bit into his hand as his cock continued pumping inside you.
“Always been your girl,” you half-whispered back, toes curling hard as your body tensed up again, lips staying parted as he pulled you right to the precipice.
“Mine forever then?” Satoru asked, sounding ruined.
“Forever,” you promised without really thinking, breath itching in your throat as his cock abruptly stalled, still buried deep.
You were pretty sure he came first, but before you could open your eyes or get another word out, his thumb twitched and pressed down mid-motion and you were seeing stars right as he groaned and snapped his hips down. Too occupied with the pleasure rolling through your almost limp limbs, your nails scratching down his back as warm spurts of cum started coating your walls, leaking down your legs.
“Shit, fuck, please tell me you came,” he hissed, his own eyes shut, sweaty strands of hair hanging down and sticking to his forehead as you stared at his glossy lips.
“Mhm,” you murmured, blinking as he finally peeked his eyes open and took in the full sight of you. Breasts still sticky and swollen, his cum dripping down your thighs, bite marks probably staining your throat.
“Will you marry me?” He bluntly asked, and you could only roll your eyes and laugh at him.
“Ask me again later,” you muttered, sighing at the state of yourself and wondering if a late night shower would wake a sleeping baby.
You guessed it didn't matter when her soft cry cut through the brief silence, both of you exhaling at the same time.
“I'll get dressed and go get her,” Satoru preemptively offered, climbing off of you with a small yawn. You watched him pad barefoot over to the dresser, biting your lips as he pulled fresh boxers back on and rummaged through the other drawers for pajamas.
“Um, Satoru?” You hesitantly spoke up as a thought nagged at you.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I'm not on birth control.”