Summary: Sanemi's too shy to fuck another child in you.

Warnings: NSFW content, MDI, f!reader, kinda oblivious reader, mention of pregnancy, raw intercourse and SHY SANEMI.

Characters: Sanemi Shinazugawa.

A/N: Yes! back to back! >:D. Forgive me for naming the child that I couldn't help myself.

It's been a few months since your little girl arrived—tiny, white-haired like her dad, with his fierce eyes but your gentle smile. Sanemi's been the most attentive father imaginable—up at every cry, rocking her to sleep with surprising tenderness, those scarred hands so careful it's heartbreaking.

But around you? He's a wreck.

You're in the kitchen of your quiet estate, humming softly as you prepare ohagi (his favorite, because you know him too well). Your body's changed since the birth—curves softer, fuller in all the ways that drive him insane—and you're completely oblivious to how you look in that simple yukata, hair loose, moving with that effortless grace.

Sanemi leans in the doorway, arms crossed, trying to act casual. But his eyes are glued to you, face heating up under those scars. Every time you bend to grab something or stretch, his breath catches. He wants you again—badly. Wants to pin you down, fill you up, give you another baby. The thought alone has him shifting uncomfortably, cheeks burning.

You turn, smiling brightly. "Dear? You okay? You've been staring for a while."

He jolts, averting his eyes fast—actually blushing like some inexperienced kid. "Tch, 'm fine," he mutters, voice gruffer than usual as he rubs the back of his neck. But he can't stay away. He steps closer, hesitant, like approaching a wild animal.

His hands—those big, rough hands—hover before finally settling on your waist from behind, pulling you gently against him. You lean back instinctively, still clueless to the hard evidence of his desire pressing against you.

"Missed holdin' you like this," he mumbles into your hair, voice low and shaky. His fingers trace your sides, dipping lower, thumbs brushing the curve where your hips meet your thighs. He's trying so hard to be gentle, but you feel him tremble.

You giggle, turning in his arms. "You're extra cuddly lately. Is it because Akira's finally sleeping through the night?"

He groans softly, forehead dropping to yours, eyes squeezed shut. "Somethin' like that." God, you have no idea. No idea how seeing you with their daughter—nursing her, cradling her—awakens something primal in him. How he lies awake at night imagining you round with his child again, imagining making you that way.

His hands slide up your back, then down again, bolder now—cupping your ass lightly, pulling you flush against him so you have to feel how affected he is. But when you blink up at him innocently, tilting your head, he freezes.

"...You drive me fuckin' crazy, y'know that?" he whispers hoarsely, face redder than ever. He steals a quick, desperate kiss—deeper than intended—before pulling back, breathing hard. "Want...want another one. With you."

You finally catch on, eyes widening. "Another...baby?"

He can't even look at you now, hiding his face in your neck, arms tightening like you'll run. "Yeah. If...if you want. Just—fuck, seein' you like this...can't think straight."

But before you can answer, he scoops you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the bedroom with determined (but still shy) strides. "Akira's napping. We got time."

And this time, when he has you beneath him—slow, reverent, but hungry—he doesn't hold back his whispers, how perfect you'd look carrying his child again, how he'll take care of you, how much he needs this. Needs you.

He lays you down on the futon like you're made of glass, even though his hands are shaking with barely restrained need. The room is quiet except for both of your breathing—his ragged, yours quickening as you finally realize just how worked up he is.

Sanemi hovers over you, white hair falling into his scarred face, cheeks still dusted pink. He can't meet your eyes at first, busying himself with untying your yukata, fingers fumbling more than usual. "Fuck... you're so damn beautiful," he mutters under his breath, voice cracking a little. "Especially now. After her. Carryin' my kid...changed you in ways that—shit, I can't stop thinkin' about it."

When the fabric falls open, exposing you fully, he groans low in his throat, hands immediately roaming—palms cupping your fuller breasts with reverence, thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks until you whimper. He's gentle at first, almost worshipful, lips following his hands—kissing down your neck, your collarbone, lingering on the faint stretch marks that appeared during pregnancy like they're something sacred.

"You have no clue," he whispers hoarsely, settling between your thighs, spreading them wide with scarred hands that tremble. "Seein' you feed her, hold her...makes me wanna put another one in you so bad it hurts."

His mouth descends without warning—hot, desperate licks and sucks that have you arching off the bed. He's not teasing; he's devouring, like he needs your taste to ground himself. When you tangle fingers in his hair and moan his name, he shudders, pulling back just enough to look up at you with those intense eyes, face flushed deeper than you've ever seen.

"Don't say my name like that unless you want me losin' control," he warns, voice wrecked—but he crawls back up anyway, shedding his own clothes in hurried, clumsy motions.

He's already throbbing hard when he presses against you, sliding in slow despite how wet you are for him. The stretch makes you both gasp—he buries his face in your neck, muffling a curse as he bottoms out.

"Fuck! fells...too good," he pants, starting a deep, deliberate rhythm. Every thrust is measured but powerful, hips rolling in a way that hits just right. His hand slides to your lower belly, pressing lightly. "Wanna see you swollen again. With my baby. Wanna watch you grow 'em...take care of you through it all."

The words spill out now that he's inside you—filthy, vulnerable confessions between kisses. "Gonna fill you up...make sure it takes this time. Want a whole damn family with you. And you want it, right? My love?"

“Y-Yes Dear-ah!” you moaned.

He's blushing furiously the whole time, especially when you clench around him at his words, teasing him about how cute he is when he's shy. That earns you harder thrusts, his hand gripping your thigh to hike your leg higher, pace turning relentless until you're both falling apart—he spills deep with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he pushes as far as he can go, like he really means to breed you right then and there.

Afterward, he doesn't pull out immediately. Just collapses half on top of you, face hidden against your chest, arms wrapped tight like he's afraid you'll vanish. "...Love you," he mumbles, so quiet you almost miss it. "And her. And...whatever comes next."

You stroke his hair, feeling him relax bit by bit. But even spent, his hand drifts back to your stomach, tracing lazy circles—a silent promise of more to come.

Hope you liked it.LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.

Genya!!

𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader (You)!

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: fluff, faith, slice of life, light humour, marriage, parenting, breastfeeding, mini uncle Senjuro! Rengoku is obsessed with your baby!

Blurb: Your husband, Rengoku is a tease. Your son is the cutest thing you've ever seen. It's a playful evening in your household, filled with love, laughter, gratitude and milk.

🧡 ᡣ • . • 𐭩 🍼

“You love Papa, don't you Kei?” Kyojuro asked, giving your son an affectionate squeeze in his arms. “More than mommy.”

The man teasingly stuck his tongue out at you and mouthed, “Mine.”

Lord, why did I marry this silly man?

Kyojuro smirked as though he won a prize when Keijiro chose him over you, his mother, in a “come here” challenge to see who the baby would choose.

“Traitor!” you said playfully, grabbing a pillow next to you. You hugged it to your chest instead of throwing it like you wanted to. “You're sleeping on the couch tonight. Give me my baby back.”

You scoffed in amusement as Keijiro, your one-year-old son, slobbered all over his father's shoulder while he babbled.

“You’re Papa's boy, aren't you Kei?” Kyojuro hummed, holding the baby's back carefully while he patted his bum in a soothing rhythm. “Say Papa.”

Keijiro made gurgles, and giggled as if he understood. “Ma,” he started, “Mama.”

You laughed at the betrayed look on your husband's face and cooed at your son's flushed chubby cheeks and pouty lips. Your baby was in a duck themed onesie; entirely white with yellow flippers on his feet and a beak on its cap.

It was adorable.

You just had to buy it when you saw it.

You cherished this—them together.

Your husband and son.

The sight warmed your heart, and you thanked God for this blessing.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17, came to mind and you thought it was perfect.

Life. Love, and family.

Kyojuro Rengoku didn't have the most supportive father. After his mother, Ruka’s death his dad practically became an alcoholic. He wasn't a proper father to Kyojuro or his younger brother Senjuro after that, not really.

When Kyojuro became a teacher at Kimetsu High he took his little brother in. The fifteen-year-old boy moved in two years after your marriage with Kyojuro. It was an adjustment for you all but it went well and it was worth it.

The boy fit right into your little family.

Senjuro was a sweetheart.

You adored him.

He was a mixture of a big brother and an uncle to your son; you loved their bond.

A memory of a few weeks ago surfaced.

“Kei, look here,” the teenager called his nephew’s attention then hid his face behind his hands. “Peekaboo.”

Keijiro cried.

Senjuro panicked but was able to cheer the little one up.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I'm right here, Kei. Sorry bubs,” he picked the baby up and shushed him gently. “It's okay.”

“Aww, he was so scared his baba disappeared,” you whispered, holding the tears at bay at how endearing they were together.

Keijiro inherited everything in the looks department from his father. The two were identical. Matching thick, blonde hair with red streaks. Pale skin and bright golden eyes with hints of red that sparkled like flames.

And the loudness.

The tiny human loved to make noise, Keijiro was a hyper baby who loved to be talked to but grew grumpy when it was his time to nap.

“My baby's the cutest.”

You felt a rush of ‘cuteness aggression’ overtake you and wanted nothing more than to bite the almost dosing baby's cheeks and smother him with affection.

“And my husband is so handsome,” you added and waved the man over. “Come here, I'm getting lonely.”

Kyojuro wore fatherhood so well, seeing him nurture your son made your stomach flip pleasantly.

“Oh dear,” the man mused, and quickly moved to the space you patted next to you on the bed. “We can't have that,” he leaned down for a kiss but Keijiro pulled his father's hair and whined.

“Excuse me, mister,” you sassed the baby and ticked his tummy, getting a squeal out of him. “I had him first. He was my husband before he was your daddy, y'know.”

You took Keijiro from his father's arms and the boy went without a fuss.

He pawed at your shirt, then tugged harder and you immediately knew what he wanted.

“Oh, is my baby hungry?”

You were glad to be able to breastfeed your son. Not a lot of mothers did it these days—and some couldn't. It was something you treasured. Nursing made you feel closer to your son, and it was known to be good for babies.

Kyojuro propped the pillows around you to make you more comfortable.

He remained a steady presence next to you.

His gaze was soft, and showed how much he cared about you and his son.

“Okay,” you said, lifting your shirt, allowing the little one to latch on in the privacy of your room. “There you go angel.”

Keijiro’s small, chubby hand found its way to your cheek as he suckled in slow pulls. His eyelids fluttered sleepily while making a noise of contentment as he drank. You maintained eye contact with the little one, and took in every detail of his face, memorising it.

He was so tiny in your arms.

Keijiro stared at you as as if you held the stars through droopy eyes.

“Ma,” he spluttered out a slobbery. “Da.”

“My precious,” You couldn't help but smile. “Thank you Lord for this. For my family. I pray that my baby grows up strong, and healthy. I pray that you give me the gentleness, wisdom, and kindness to be a mother to him. Teach me, O God. To do the right thing.”

You felt Kyojuro lean into your side, and kiss your shoulder, muttering a prayer of his own over the two of you, and his brother. “Amen.”

“I love you,” he said, and pressed a peck to your forehead. “You're a wonderful mother. I'm thankful to God for you, beloved.”

You felt Keijiro's lips detach from your nipple, and cool air hit your chest.

“He's asleep.”

You tucked yourself away, and shifted the baby in a more comfortable position.

“You are so beautiful when you nurse, dear one.”

You knew Kyojuro meant it.

Even if your hair was messy, and your shirt was stained with the pumpkin Keijiro smeared on you from dinner.

“Stop.”

“My wife is the most beautiful,” he cupped your cheek and drew you in for a kiss.

“I'm gonna shower soon,” you announced with a yawn, nuzzling into his warm palm. “I need to get out of these clothes, and into something more comfortable.”

“Can I join?” Kyojuro asked, eyes lighting up with excitement. “I can wash your back. And your hair. We could take a bath together. It'll be more efficient for relaxation,” he perked up, and slid off the bed. “I can get it ready. You just sit tight—”

Kyojuro liked taking care of you.

“Wait, who's gonna watch Kei?”

It wasn't too dangerous to let the boy sleep alone for a little while, you knew that. You had portable baby monitors and Keijiro’s crib had bars—it was built to keep him safe but you still worried.

What if Kei wakes up and I'm not here?

At the sound of shuffling downstairs you remembered your brother-in-law was in the house too.

“I could ask Senjuro to check on our boy if you're too uncertain, darling,” he brushed his thumb over your lip, and grinned. “He loves Kei. I'm sure he won't mind, and we won't be too far either. I'd never let anything happen to our son!”

“I know,” you said, comforted by the words, and kissed him. “Okay.”

.ᐟ ˚ ༘ ⋆｡🍼♡˚

Keijiro Rengoku

Meaning of name: Joyful, blessed or celebrated second son.

Kei - joy, celebration, blessing Jirō - second son

Pronunciation:

Keijiro → KAY-jee-roh

Kyojuro → KYOH-joo-roh

†

Author Yaps 🧡

Isn't our baby the cutest tho?

What'd ya think? >//<

I wanted to continue a next scene, caretaking bath time, and more fluff and comfort. Maybe Senjuro, Tanjiro, and the gang can babysit Keijiro, and shenanigans ensue. Future fic ideas tho.

Written on 18. 07. 2026

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