you’re pregnant but simonriley insists you still get your needs met?
“sit, mama, sit the fuck down.” simons gruffy voice rings out from behind you. six months pregnant and you’re big. doesn’t help that your daughters daddy is 6’2 and built like a tank while you’re slightly thick and way shorter.
you weren’t insecure on the baby weight or anything, but the thought of sitting on your husbands face and suffocating him at your size? a big no. “si im scared .. don’t wanna hurt you.”
he scoffs, biting at you inner thigh to make you yelp and bounce. his hands reached up to rub your swollen stomach. “you’re not gonna hurt me, sit on my face baby.” you don’t give in, your hormones making you stubborn and determined to be right for the past six months.
“five, four .. fuck it.” he grabs you and hauls you onto his face. you gasp, can’t help but moaning feeling his pointy noise rub against your swollen bud while his tongue laps through your wet folds.
you squirm desperately, trying to get off or get more? you didn’t know, at one point you feel yourself start to doze off at the feeling of your pussy get wet with your husbands saliva and your own juices. you wanted him to impregnate you again, immediately.
he squeezes your plump ass while eating you like his last meal. hands rubbing up everywhere as he praises you while muffled between your legs. you weren’t a fast comer, but God did his tongue move in waves through you making that tsunami come easy.
“si-umgh .. si i cant.” you grind in rhythm to his tongue. as you feel his grin against you, another poke comes through and the next second, two thick fingers are plunged into you.
“cum all over my mouth .. good girl.” his mouth and stubble is covered in your juices, his tongue lapping over and over to clean every spot of you squeaky clean.
you lift your hips shakily, moving down to sit on his lap as you watching him lick around his lips desperately, his tongue not long enough to get a drop left on his chin before he gives up and swipes it along his finger to suck.
“good time, aye?” he rubbed your stomach, eyes warm looking between it and you. you nod lazily, putting your head on his chest as you curl up.
if you knew it’d be that good you would’ve sat down a long time ago.
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Satoru’s trying hard to keep a straight face right now.
Quite literally fighting demons to maintain a neutral expression.
You’re sitting in his lap sniffling, belly swollen for 6 months with his child, letting him wipe away your tears with his thumb.
“You asked me hic- for permission to hang out with your friends,” you hiccup “You’re so nice to me” the last part leaving as a whine.
Your husband hides his smile, “I’m sorry?”
“Nooo” you shake your head, dissolving into a puddle of tears “You’re so sweet…I-I don’t deserve it”
Impossible, he thinks.
“You deserve everything and more my lovely wife” he places a kiss on your hair, inhaling your scent.
“But t-toru I don’t do anything for you, I can’t even reach my own toes” you burst into tears.
Tutting he lifts your chin up to look at him, eyes stern “Don’t you dare be mean to my wife”. He’s messing with you but still trying not to make you more upset than you already are.
“Okay…” you trail off, breathing in, calming down.
Satoru sighs, not overbearingly never, just glad to have calmed you down. His large hands come to rest on your belly, feeling a sharp kick and a hiss escapes your soft lips.
He pulls you in tighter his entire world in his arms.
Simon Riley who becomes the most loving, attentive, domestic husband when his wifey is pregnant with their kid.
Johnny would make fun of him over all the different dessert recipes Simon would have spread all over his desk. Different sheets full of ingredients and steps to follow so that once he is back home, he can cook one for ____.
Although he has always been aware of his lover’s sweet tooth, he was definitely not aware of how that craving for sugar would intensify to an extreme once she got pregnant.
So he had to learn how to be good at baking. Had to waste a bunch of food only to get good enough to satisfy the hungry little bean monster inside that lovely womb.
His first attempts had to be shared with the rest of his team. They would all fuck around, joking about how the scariest bastard among them had become a mama hen just for that little babe.
Simon didn’t give a shit. After all, it was all for ____ and the baby growing inside her womb. His family.
So fuck them all, grown-ass soldiers. He would do everything to take care of his growing family, and there was not a single bit of shame about that.
.𖥔 ┈┈┈ .・. ┈┈┈ 𖥔.
I loved the scenario so much I felt like doing it a fanart jsjsjs Thx for reading !! <3
summary - you and jack have a little fun hiding your pregnancy from your coworkers.
cw - pregnancy
a/n - YAYY fluff! literally nothing but. i am falling in love with this little family and i have big plans. i also have a teacher!reader x robby in the works, and another all i want is you addition queued up. and im sorry but the idea that anything could possibly ever be hidden from dana is laughable. enjoy!!!
—
Being pregnant was no small feat. Your “morning sickness” held throughout the entire day. Your boobs were so swollen and tender you stopped wearing bras outside work. You were sweltering hot 24/7, and you hadn’t realized just how much sweat one person could produce. The fatigue was constant, but the smell of coffee now sent you dashing for the toilet. That is, if you weren’t already there, peeing for the millionth time that day.
You were only six months in, and you were sick and tired of being pregnant. And yet, the past four had been some of the happiest of your life.
Jack Abbot was unlike any other boyfriends you’d ever had. He never left your texts unread, even if he was in the middle of a trauma, somehow. He made you breakfast and dinner everyday without fail, no matter the hours he just worked. He paid enough attention to notice when you were running out of anything, and before you could realize yourself, a brand new bottle was taking its place.
Others noticed the differences too, not just in you, and your mood, but in Jack. He stopped taking overtime, volunteering to come in on his days off, or be persuaded to stay for “just one more patient” when he knew you were at home waiting for him.
It took about a week for Jack to convince you to move into his apartment. Not that it was a hard sell; his place was bigger, fancier, with a washer that could run at the same time as the dryer without crapping out. Romeo had settled right in, quickly finding his preferred spot in front of the radiator to bake his biscuits, though he was still wary of Jack.
Then there was Jack himself. Not the things he did, or the sacrifices he made, or the stuff he bought, but him. All the puke and stress and exhaustion seemed to fade the second he would lie down next to you in bed, hands in your hair, lips on your forehead. You could spend hours connecting the freckles scattered across his strong back, rising and falling easily as he slept. He smelled like sandalwood, and pine, and the fresh dewy scent of his shampoo.
Unfortunately, since you’d switched to days, the opportunities to lounge in bed with your gorgeous boyfriend weren’t as ample as you would have liked. It was still the best option, you had agreed, to go by your circadian rhythm, and get you some daylight, and prepare for when the baby came. But each time you had to say goodbye to Jack at shift change, your mood got just a little bit worse.
You knew, without confirmation but in your bones, that Jack had asked Robby to look after you during the day. His eyes lingered just a little too long, he checked in a bit too much to be normal. One time, he had actually scolded Dana, Dana, about bringing in lingering second hand smoke while you were charting. He’d had a hard time explaining that one, as you weren’t telling anyone about the pregnancy just yet.
You had a private betting board in the kitchen, amidst the meal plans, lists of banned foods, and reminders to drink water, guessing when people would start to catch on. They knew you were together. They knew you were maybe gaining a little bit of weight, even if you covered your growing belly with Jack’s baggiest sweatshirts. You were convinced that if you and Jack still worked shifts together, the cat would have been out of the bag by month three, the way he hovered.
Jack had already lost his bet of four months. You were sure that even if they figured it out, no one would dare speak up until month eight. Robby’s guess was about to expire at month six.
It was for the best, staying apart, but it sucked. So you had to take advantage of those perfect mornings when they did come around. When Jack had spent at least half of the night asleep, and he didn’t wake up for a run, and Romeo was curled in one crook of your arm.
This was one of those mornings. Your eyes were closed, letting the late spring sun fall across you and your purring cat. Your teeny tiny tanktop and underwear, the only outfit that didn’t have you waking up in the morning in a pool of perspiration, did little to cover your bump. Jack’s head was laying just next to it, staring hard. You sighed.
“Staring won’t make it grow, you know,” you said with a hint of amusement in your gravelly morning voice.
Jack grunted.
“You’re twenty-four weeks tomorrow,” he said. “Not to be rude or anything, but where is he?”
You chuckled.
“He’s in there, don’t you worry. Trust me, he had me up all night playing soccer with my kidneys.”
Now, you didn’t actually know if the baby was a boy. You were steadfast in your Team Green decision, and Jack was fine with whatever you wanted. However, when you told him your plan, he thought it best to temper your expectations.
“Just so you know,” he had said, “chances are it’s gonna be a boy. My grandpa had sons, my dad had sons, and my brothers all have sons. There hasn’t been a girl born in our family for generations.”
“Well, we’ll see,” you had replied.
“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too high that it’s a girl.”
It became apparent in the weeks that followed that whatever he said, it was really Jack’s hopes that needed to stay down. You made it clear that it made no difference to you, boy or girl. After all, you wouldn’t truly know the baby's real gender until they were old enough to tell you themselves. But Jack? He wanted a girl bad.
You caught him lingering in the girl’s clothing section in stores, smiling at the little dresses and bows. He had much stronger feelings about girls' names than boys. He listened and looked with rapt attention as Craig from radiology showed pictures from his kid’s daddy daughter dance.
You tried to stay neutral, but somewhere along the way the two of you slipped into calling the baby “he.” Maybe it was about humanizing the little fetus, maybe Jack’s hopes weren’t completely dashed and he didn’t want to jinx it, you didn’t know.
“Well, it is your first pregnancy,” Jack reasoned with himself, stroking a loving hand across your navel. “I bet it’ll be bigger your second time around.”
You raised your eyebrows, smiling.
“Oh, so there’s gonna be a second time?” you joked.
“If you’ll allow it,” he said, smirking back. “Honestly, I want as many babies as you’re up to having.”
You hummed, pretending to think.
“You mean, so you can increase your chances of having a girl?”
Jack army crawled his way up the bed to leave sloppy kisses on your chest and neck. Your free hand went up to play with his curls.
“Is it so bad to want another little you running around?” he asked innocently.
“Yes,” you laughed. “Do you have any idea what I was like as a teenager?”
He furrowed a brow.
“Weren’t you a total nerd?” he asked, in the least judgemental way possible. “Weren’t you, like, in band and stuff? With the little uniform, and the trumpet case?”
You scoffed.
“First of all, I played the clarinet,” you said indignantly. “Second of all, band kids are fucking freaky. Trust me, you do not want our child doing the things I did.”
“Intriguing,” said Jack, leaning back on his hand to admire you. “What kinda things?”
“All kinds’a things,” you said cheekily. “I’ll show you some other time.”
You pushed yourself up to a sitting position with more than a few cracks in your spine and shoulders. Jack followed suit, an anxious hand on your back.
“What are you doing?” he asked, whiny.
You heaved yourself to your feet with a groan that startled Romeo off the bed.
“Well, I’m gonna go pee.”
“Uh huh.”
“And then I’m gonna get in the shower.”
“Okay.”
“And you’re gonna get in with me.”
Jack whipped off the covers with haste as you disappeared into the bathroom.
“Sounds like a great plan.”
***
The day after next, you were unfortunately parted once more as Jack dropped you off for the day shift. He had cooked you a massive breakfast of buttermilk pancakes, eggs over easy, sausage, fruit, and of course, your pile of prenatal vitamins.
“You know, the calorie recommendation for pregnancy only goes up by like four hundred,” you said as you poured syrup over your cakes.
“That’s bullshit,” he said over the lip of his mug of tea. He had gotten rid of every bit of coffee in the house since you gained your aversion. “It’s better to eat too much than too little. Gaining some extra weight during pregnancy isn’t the end of the world. And if maybe the weight sticks around afterwards, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, either.”
You gave yelp as he pinched your ass, grinning. Everything was part of his fucking agenda.
Jack walked you inside at the hospital, dropping your homepacked lunch in the fridge and giving you a quick kiss goodbye. You smiled after him as he walked out to his truck, mind most certainly not on work. Until someone snapped in front of your face.
“Rude,” you said in response to Robby’s knowing smirk. “I was kind of enjoying myself there.”
“Well, now I need you to kind of enjoy charts,” he said. “How are you feeling?” he added, hushed.
“Actually, pretty good,” you said, sipping some water. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I think the nausea is finally gone. You know, near the end of the second fucking trimester.”
Robby chuckled.
“Say, you haven’t had any odd questions lately, have you?” he asked innocently. “You know, like about wardrobe changes, or why you’ve been spending half the day with your head in the toilet for the past six months.”
“Nope.”
“No? Not even about your sudden caffeine cleanse?”
“No, nothing of the sort,” you said smugly. “I wouldn’t hold out too much hope, Robinavitch.”
“I have a few more weeks,” he said stubbornly. “I’m not losing faith.”
“You’re gonna lose,” you said. “These people are predictable. You know what is also predictable? My bladder, so I’m gonna go pee.”
“Be safe,” he said.
“Don’t cheat while I’m gone!” you sing-songed.
As you washed your hands, you examined yourself in the mirror. Your face was a bit rounder, your hair a bit fuller. Jack insisted you had the glow, and maybe it was the fluorescent hospital bathroom lighting, but you weren’t so sure. Taking a quick scan of the bathroom to assure you were in fact alone, you tentatively lifted the bulk of your sweater, a worn navy crew from Jack.
There was a small bump. You could see it if you tried, if you pictured yourself before pregnancy and compared it to the reflection of you you watched now. If you weren’t trying, it could have been explained away by a big lunch, or constipation. Not that you weren’t constantly constipated. Ah, the joys of growing life.
Though you might not have looked very big, you certainly felt big. There was a heaviness in your middle, a fullness that never went away. It was kind of comforting. Assurance that the baby was there with you, even if no one else knew it.
The door suddenly creaked open. You pulled the sweater down, just barely fast enough. Princess stared at you, your hands clutched in the material of the crew, bunching it forward. There was a split second where all you could do was stare back, before the thought of winning the pot kicked your mind into gear. You played a relieved smile.
“Oh, good, Princess,” you said, turning slightly further away from her. “Did I bleed through my tampon?”
“Oh,” she said, leaning down a little. “Umm… no, you’re all good.”
“Great, thanks,” you said with a smile, patting her arm as you passed. “See you out there!”
You had to congratulate yourself on your quick thinking. It was almost disastrous, messing up in front of Princess, one of the messiest gossips on the floor.
You told Jack all about it in the break room, as he came in early for shift change.
“Now, she thinks I’m on my period,” you said as you munched on yogurt covered pretzels. “Pregnancy is the last thing on her mind. Which means it’ll be the last thing on Perlah and Mateo’s minds, the loudmouths.”
“Nice,” said Jack. “I’m rooting for you. Ever since he won the Garcantos bet, I’ve been hoping to see Robby burn.”
“Also, I’m gorgeous and brilliant and you love me and want good things for me,” you added.
“Well, obviously those things,” he said, and despite the joking tone, you could tell he was completely serious.
The door swung open just then, and Dana appeared.
“Oh, good, Abbot,” she said, looking distracted. “You on the clock?”
“Sure,” he said. “Need me?”
“South four, been waiting for six hours.”
“Got it.”
He gave a peck to your forehead and made his way out. Dana gave you a knowing smile. Why did everyone have those around Jack?
“How’s it going with you two?” she asked, letting the door fall shut behind her.
“Great,” you said, a giddy smile of your own taking up your cheeks. “He’s such a sweetheart. And he cooks, too, and cleans. Literally won’t let me lift a finger.”
“That’s good,” said Dana. “I’m happy for you, you deserve it.”
Flustered, you just shrugged. You did, you were coming around to realizing. You had put up with a lot of shitty boyfriends before finding your soulmate, some you didn’t even realize were so shitty until him. The first time he woke you up with breakfast in bed, you couldn’t stop crying for five whole minutes. And now, having experienced it yourself, you would be suspicious of any man who didn’t take everything over the second his partner got pregnant.
As Dana smiled at you, you felt the sudden urge to spill your guts. If anyone would help you through a pregnancy, it would be her, the veteran. You’d probably be calling her up at least once a week once the baby came, asking for advice. Something about Dana’s warm presence just screamed at you tell me all!
Luckily, before you could do anything rash, the door opened again and the both of you were called away. But as Dana patted you gently on the shoulder, you got the sense that maybe she already knew. You just hoped she kept her lips sealed for another two months.
Your twenty-five week mark came and went without a whisper. You could tell because Robby was getting increasingly more annoyed whenever the bet got brought up.
“You’re wearing sweaters in fucking June,” he said angrily. “Doesn’t anyone gossip anymore? What has this place come to?”
You laughed.
“Whatever, Mike, just get ready to pay up.”
It was easy to laugh at him, but the past two weeks had been busy ones for the baby. The morning before you hit week twenty-six weeks, you were surprised to feel a bit of a stretch as you put on one of Jack’s scrub tops. Even with a sweater, you were just starting to pull on the fabric, and the hem was just slightly raised. If that wasn’t enough confirmation, Jack couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off of you as you got ready.
You had finally, officially, popped.
“Don’t look so happy,” you said grumpily, as Jack nosed along your neck, hands roaming hungrily under your top. “At this rate we’ll never make it to eight months.”
“Huh?” he said absently, eyes still focused down on your bump.
You huffed.
“Don’t you want me to win?” you asked, turning around in his arms so you were bump to belly. “Listen, the really stretched out sweaters are all in the wash, I need you to go out today and buy some of the biggest hoodies you can find, okay? Are you listening to me?”
He didn’t respond, so you grabbed his face in both hands and pulled it away from your middle to meet your gaze.
“Got it?”
“Got it, I got it,” he said quickly.
Robby hovered around you all day, anxious for victory. You weren’t in a good mood, tugging fussily at your too-tight top, trying to be inconspicuous. You barely glanced up from work to greet the new med students, and snapped at people all day.
By the time Jack arrived at half past six, you were eager to go, and Robby was practically vibrating with excitement.
“Hey,” said Jack as you tapped too hard at an ipad at the nurse’s station, pressing your bump against the high counter. “You okay?”
“Perfect,” you spat. “Did you do what I asked?”
“Yeah, they’re in the truck,” he said. “I figured you wouldn’t need them, since you were…”
He met your heated glare and took a step back.
“Why don’t I go get them?” he suggested.
“Why don’t you,” you deadpanned, turning back to your work.
You were going to win, you thought angrily, as the med students exited an adjacent room, following closely behind Dr. Santos. You turned to hand her the tablet, not reciprocating her smile. Can’t wait to see the look on Robby’s stupid face when —
“Oh, congratulations! When are you due?”
Your head snapped up. So did everyone else’s. Some random, gangly ass med student had a slowly fading smile on his dumb, stupid face as everyone began glaring. Dana peered at him over her glasses. Langdon was backing slowly away from the scene. Princess and Perlah looked ready to kill, while Whitaker was suddenly very interested in a spot on the floor. Donnie was just shaking his head.
Robby, of course, lit up like a damn Christmas tree. Your jaw ticked.
“Ogilvie!” the other med student snapped, smacking him hard.
“What!” he said, rubbing his arm. “I just —”
“You fucking idiot!” hissed Santos, giving him a smack of her own. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Fuck!” you exclaimed, smacking the tablet down onto the formica with a bang. “Shit! October seventh! For fuck’s sake!”
“He didn’t — what?”
Whitaker, jumping to excuse his poor, ignorant, frustrating med student, stopped dead. Everyone’s gazes turned from Ogilvie to you, angry to bewildered. All except Dana and Robby, who glanced at each other with small smiles on their faces.
“Did you just say October seventh?” asked Mel. “Like… ”
“Like that’s a due date?” asked Perlah. “Like you're pregnant? Right now?”
“Yeah, I’m fucking pregnant,” you said, crossing your arms. You turned to Robby. “Are you fucking happy now?”
“Yes,” he said. “But I will give you a cut.”
“I should think so,” you said, grumpily allowing him to put an arm around you.
“Who’s the father?” Whitaker blurted out, before turning beet red, and stepping behind Trinity.
You made a face.
“Abbot,” you said. “Obviously.”
“Oh,” Whitaker squeaked, practically quaking under your gaze. “You and Abbot? I didn’t —”
“Are you serious right now?” said Trinity, shoving him out from his hiding place. “God, you’re such a huckleberry.”
You pulled away from Robby, dragging the sweaty crewneck over your head with some difficulty. You threw the stupid thing over the counter, smoothing down your hair.
“At least I don’t have to overheat everyday anymore,” you said. “Which, by the way? You guys are kind of stupid.”
At that very moment, Jack reappeared at your side, holding an impressive collection of oversized hoodies. Once again, all eyes shifted in unison, this time to the confused looking man you either wanted to kiss or strangle. He looked around, then down at you, and your bump. He opened his mouth, presumably to ask what the hell was going on, but everyone erupted into noise at once.
“Congratulations!”
“I’m so happy for you guys!”
“You should name the baby Princess!”
In an instant the two of you were surrounded, getting hugged, patted on the back, having your belly rubbed. It was kind of sweet, but you were already sweating before getting piled on with people. You finally managed to extricate yourself from the mass, when the rest of the night shift started to appear, and you had to do the whole thing over again.
Still, as you left that night surrounded by friends, who insisted on getting mocktails to celebrate, your heart was as full as your belly. Your baby was going to be the most loved kid in the whole world.
Summary: Steve Harrington has baby fever so bad it's practically a medical condition. He's going to be a disaster emotionally but he's going to be a perfect dad.
Pure tooth rooting fluff - warning you may swoon
A/N: I'm back on my girl dad Steve agenda! Yippie! I'm also starting working through my requests! Many for Joe few for Steve so allow my draft box to keep you entertained until then :3
Word Count: 1,026
The pregnancy test had barely dried before Steve Harrington lost his damn mind permanently.
Not in a bad way - never in a bad way. But in the way that had him waking up at 3 AM to reorganise the already-organised nursery drawers, in the way that had him pressing his ear to your stomach at the most random moments, in the way that had turned the former King of Hawkins High into a man who actually squealed in the baby aisle at Kmart.
"Baby," you called out from the couch, seven months along and feeling like a beached whale in the best possible way. "It's midnight. Come to bed."
You heard rustling from the kitchen, then the sound of something being dragged. Steve appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in seventeen different directions, holding a shopping bag that looked heavy enough to contain bricks.
"I couldn't sleep," he said, eyes bright and borderline feral with excitement. "I kept thinking about her."
"Steve, we don't even have a name yet."
"But we have a her," he said, like this was the most profound statement ever uttered. He dropped the bag on the coffee table and immediately lowered himself to his knees in front of you, gentle hands finding your swollen belly. "Hi, princess. Daddy's here. I got you something."
You ran your fingers through his hair, still damp from his evening shower. "What did you buy at midnight?"
He pulled out item after item with the reverence of someone handling ancient artifacts. A tiny pair of socks with strawberries on them. A onesie that said "My Dad is a Dork" in glitter letters. A stuffed demogorgon - soft and child-safe - that he'd apparently custom ordered from somewhere.
"Steve," you laughed, picking up the demogorgon. It's red and oddly cute, with button eyes and no teeth, just the blooming flower head. "Really?"
"She needs to know her roots," he said seriously, then ruined it by pressing a kiss to your stomach. "Your mom and dad fought actual monsters, princess. You're gonna be so tough."
"She's going to be a newborn, Steve. The scariest thing she'll face is gas and vomit."
He looked up at you, and your heart did that thing it had been doing since you were sixteen years old - skipped, stuttered, swelled. His eyes were soft, overwhelmed, his.
"What if I'm not good at this?" he asked quietly, all the manic energy draining into something vulnerable. "What if I - what if I mess her up? My parents weren't exactly - " He stopped, jaw tight. "What if I'm like them?"
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the worry lines he was getting from frowning in his sleep. "You're going to be amazing."
"You don't know that."
"I know you." You leaned down, kissed his forehead, his nose, his mouth. "I know you drove to three different towns to find the right crib because the first two didn't feel safe enough. I know you read three parenting books in one week and highlighted the important parts. I know you cried when we heard her heartbeat."
"I did not - " He caught your look. "Okay, I cried a little."
"You sobbed, Steve. You sobbed."
He buried his face in your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist. "I'm so scared," he mumbled against the cotton of your shirt. "I want to be perfect for her. For both of you."
Your heart broke open, warm and tender. This was the boy who'd faced down monsters without flinching, who'd fought in a war against things from another dimension, who'd become a hero without ever asking for the title. And here he was, terrified of being a father.
"Hey." You tugged his hair until he looked up. "You're already perfect. You're Steve Harrington. You fought with a bat that had nails in it to save a bunch of kids. You can definitely handle a baby."
"But what if she doesn't like me?"
"She's going to adore you." You smiled, feeling a tiny flutter against your ribs - her, awake and active, responding to his voice probably. "Feel that? She already knows her dad."
Steve's hand pressed flat against your belly, wonder transforming his face. "Is that - did she just - "
"She's saying hi."
He stayed there for a long moment, forehead resting against your stomach, whispering things you couldn't quite hear. Promises, probably. I'll protect you. I'll love you. I'll be there.
When he finally sat back on his heels, his eyes were wet again, but he was smiling. "I got one more thing," he said, reaching into the bag.
It was a tiny headband with a small bow, soft pink and impossibly delicate. He held it between two fingers like it might dissolve.
"To keep her head warm till she has hair." He said. "Which... Let's face it she's probably going to end up with my hair gene, but until then... I want her to feel like a princess. Our princess."
You took the headband, then took his hand, pressing both to your heart. "Come to bed, Harrington. Your princesses need sleep."
He helped you up - always so careful now, treating you like glass even though you kept telling him you weren't breakable - and walked you to the bedroom with one arm around your waist, the other carrying his midnight haul.
In the dark, curled around you with his hand spread over your belly, he whispered, "I love you. Both of you. So much it actually hurts."
"I know," you whispered back. "We know."
He was asleep in minutes, finally, exhaustion winning over anxiety. You stayed awake a little longer, feeling her move inside you, feeling his breath warm against your neck.
He was going to be incredible.
You knew it like you knew your own name. Like you knew that the boy who'd once been too cool for everything had grown into a man who was exactly cool enough for this - for late night shopping trips and nursery assembly and learning to braid hair someday.
Steve Harrington was going to be a father.
And he was going to be absolutely, perfectly, wonderfully terrified the entire time.
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You move slower at five months, one hand always finding your belly without thinking. Your loose linen co-ord hangs off you, soft and forgiving, the top riding up to expose the curve you still aren’t used to seeing. Stretch marks faintly decorate the underside, your hips wider, your body undeniably changed. Your feet ache, swollen again, and you sigh when you finally lower yourself onto the couch.
Kiko curls up immediately, warm and insistent against your thighs. You nap like that half-awake, belly bared, cat purring, heart full in a way that hurts a little.
When Satoru comes home, the world shifts. He can’t believe his eyes.
He just stands at the edge of the room and stares. You look like something out of a dream he didn’t know he was allowed to have. Soft. Round. Alive. Your pregnancy walk earlier, the way you waddle just a little now it’s burned into his mind like instinct.
He crosses the room quietly and kneels beside you. His hand finds your belly first. Always.
A gentle pat. Grounding. Protective.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
You blink awake. “You’re home…”
His mouth curves immediately. “Yeah. And you look…” He exhales slowly. “You look unreal baby”.
You try to joke it away. “I look tired. And puffy.”
He shakes his head, thumb brushing the curve beneath his palm. “No. You look like the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Something in your chest aches.
He presses a kiss just below your navel, lingering there like it’s sacred. Like you are.
“You’re getting so round,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Every day I come home and it hits me all over again. Hits me I’m the lucky guy who gets to make you like this, see you like this”.
You swallow, emotions swelling fast and unpredictable. “Sometimes I don’t recognize myself.”
He looks up at you then eyes bright, serious, unguarded. “I do,” he says immediately. “This is you. Just… more. You’re carrying our baby after all”.
Your hormones have been wild lately. Everything feels bigger. Your emotions, your cravings, your need for him. Sometimes you cry because your toast is too crispy. Sometimes you glare at him because he smells too good. Sometimes you just want him so close it feels like you might dissolve if he steps away.
Tonight is one of those nights. You sit up slowly, wincing a little as your feet shift. He immediately slides his hands under your calves, lifting them gently into his lap.
“Swollen again?” he asks softly.
You nod, biting your lip.
He starts massaging them without another word.
And you just look at him.
The strongest man in the room, always. Tall. Untouchable. And here he is, kneeling in front of you, thumbs pressing into your aching feet like it’s an honor.
Your chest does summersaults.
It hits you suddenly, the weight of everything. The baby. Your changing body. The stretch marks. The extra softness in your face. The way your hips feel wider.
“‘Toru…” your voice wobbles. “I look so different.”
He looks up at you like you’ve said something offensive.
“Yeah,” he says.
Your heart drops..
“—you look unreal.”
Your lip trembles despite yourself.
“I love you,” you whisper, voice thick. “I love you so much Satoru.”
He shifts closer, guiding you carefully until you’re reclined and he’s above you, one hand braced beside your shoulder, the other never leaving your belly.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours. “I know. I feel it too. I love you baby”.
When he kisses you, it’s slow and consuming. Not rushed. Not playful. Like he’s grounding himself in you. Like he needs this closeness to breathe.
Your body reacts before your thoughts can catch up: everything warm and open and needy in that overwhelming, hormonal way that makes you feel almost feral. You cling to him, fingers fisting his shirt.
“Satoru,” you whisper, overwhelmed. “I feel… so much lately.”
He groans quietly, forehead dropping to yours. “You don’t have to explain it to me. I see it. I feel it.”
His hand drifts, careful and reverent, holding you like you’re something precious that might bruise if mishandled. He keeps you close, slow and steady, like he’s listening to your body instead of leading it.
“God,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “You’re always so wet now baby. Dripping for your husband, being the best wife ever. Fuck. You’re so hot y/n”.
The words alone make your breath hitch.
He kisses along your jaw, down your throat, murmuring things meant only for you. “I love you like this,” he says quietly. “Motherly. Warm. Full of life.”
A pause. A breath.
“I want more of this someday. More kids. More evenings. More you.”
Your eyes sting.
“Don’t say that like that,” you whisper, clutching him. “You’ll make me cry.”
He smiles against your skin. “Good. Cry if you need to. I’ve got you.”
His hand slides higher, cupping the weight of your breasts with practiced gentleness, thumbs soothing the ache like he’s done a hundred times already.
“Too heavy?” he murmurs. “I know, baby. They’ve been bothering you all day.”
He kneads slowly. Comfortingly. “Let me take care of you.”
Your head tips back, overwhelmed by how deeply wanted you feel. Not despite the changes, but because of them.
“Mommy,” he murmurs softly, the word slipping out instinctively, reverent rather than playful.
Your breath catches like your soul just shifted.
He freezes for half a second, searching your face.
You only pull him closer.
“That’s what you are now,” he says quietly, voice full and steady. “And God…seeing you like this? Loving you like this? It rewired something in me.”
You cling to him, tears slipping free.
“I’ve never loved anyone like this,” you confess. “It feels… so good. Like my whole body knows you’re home.”
He presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in.
“You are,” he says simply. “Both of you.”
He pulls your pyjamas down in a swift motion and hooks your panties to the side with his big fingers. He doesn’t need to prep you. Pregnancy hormones are working overtime it seems, making you ready every time your husband needs you. He lines his red hot tip to your entrance, gives it a few strokes with his big strong manly hands and gently thrusts into your weeping hole. He gives a few quick thrusts while he’s too far gone and whining with his eyes closed “Fuck, baby you feel so good around me”. “Aahh, been waiting all day to fuck you stupid”. He sets a slow pace, rocking his hips back and forth- mushroom tip kissing your cervix. Come dripping from south as it travels all the way between your ass cheeks. He gently moves his hands around your belly, always careful when it comes to the love of his life and future heir.
He fogs your minds with his filthy desires and dirty commentary on how your soft insides were made for his cock, how sniffing between your thighs makes him high, how he’d keep fucking you each night for the rest of your life.
Letting your husband hit fucks with your brain chemistry and rewires it again and again. He gently gropes your heavy and aching breasts, swirls his spit around and sucks on your perkiness. “Aww baby…so heavy right? I know..shhh.. I’ll massage them for you.”
You love this. How it’s a routine now. Carrying the honoured one’s baby has truly given you the greatest honour of your life and you know it in your bones that husband would absolutely anything that he says to his baby mama.
“Where’s your mind mama? I’m being such a good boy haa-aahh..fuck I’m- I’m so close”
Wheeww I needed a fucking break after writing that much angst in 30 days to get in your pants, Chapter 2.
Satoru pushed open the door to your shared apartment, the quiet hum of the city fading behind him. He had wrapped up his mission earlier than expected, eager to get back to you. The place smelled like chamomile tea and something faintly sour, probably from your morning sickness. He kicked off his shoes, sunglasses perched on his head, and called out softly.
"Baby? You home?"
No answer at first, just a sniffle from the bedroom. His heart twisted in that delicious way it always did when he heard you like that. Tears. God, he loved your tears. The way your long lashes clumped together, dark and wet, framing those big, vulnerable eyes. The slight flush on your nose, the way your voice cracked and trembled. And the best part? Only he could fix it. No one else got to see you like this, hold you, make you feel whole again. It made him want to lock you away forever.
He found you curled up on the bed, knees to your chest, that oversized sweater swallowing your frame. Your hair was a mess, face buried in a pillow. Pregnant belly peeking out just a bit, round and perfect. You looked up when he approached, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks streaked. "Satoru," you whispered, voice thick. Fresh tears welled up. "You're back."
He dropped onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his lap without a word. You fit so perfectly there, your weight a comfort against him. "Hey, hey. What's got my girl crying today? Talk to me." His hand stroked your back, fingers tangling in your hair.
You buried your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. "Just everything, Toru. You left before I woke up again a-and I hate that. I hate when you're gone before I even see you. Then the nausea hit hard this morning and it wouldn’t go away for hours. A-and... and my favorite dress. The blue one you like? It doesn't fit anymore. I tried it on, thinking maybe today would be okay, but it won't even zip. I look... I look huge. Y-you probably think so too. You've been staring weirdly lately."
Satoru bit back a smirk. The dress. Yeah, that was his doing. He had tossed it in the dryer on high heat last week, watching it shrink just enough. Not to hurt your feelings, never that. But fuck, you looked too good in it. Those curves hugging your body, drawing eyes from everyone. No one deserved that view but him. And he knew it would end like this: you in his arms, tears soaking his shirt, needy for his reassurance. His cock twitched at the thought.
"Huge?" He chuckled low, tilting your chin up. Your lashes were clumped, mascara smudged just a little, nose pink. Perfect. "Baby, you're carrying our kid. You’re not huge, you’re gorgeous. And I've been staring because I can't keep my eyes off you. Every inch of you is sexier now. Those hips? This belly? Fuck, it makes me hard just looking." You sniffled with a small giggle, wiping your eyes, but doubt lingered. "Really? You don't... you don't think I'm gross?"
His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, smearing it deliberately. He loved how it glistened on your skin. Memories flooded him: the night he proposed, down on one knee in your tiny kitchen. Your tears had poured then, happy ones, splashing onto the ring as you nodded frantically. Or when he tickled your sides until you laughed so hard you cried, body writhing under him. And his absolute favorite, when he had your legs spread wide, cock slamming into your pussy over and over. You would grip the sheets, sobbing his name, babbling nonsense as orgasms ripped through you. Tears streaming, voice breaking. All his.
"Gross? Never." He kissed your forehead, then your nose, tasting salt. "You're mine. Every curve, every tear. Let me show you how much I need you." You hesitated, but your body melted into him, hands clutching his shirt. "Okay. Just... hold me first?"
He nodded, shifting so you straddled his lap, your belly between you like a warm secret. His hands roamed your sides, slipping under the sweater to caress bare skin. Soft, stretched just right from the pregnancy. He pressed kisses along your jaw, murmuring, "You're so beautiful like this. Swollen with my baby. No one gets this."
Your breath hitched, more tears slipping free. "Satoru... I feel so emotional. Like everything sets me off." He breathed against your neck, nipping lightly, "good. Cry for me. I really love it." The words slipped out before he could stop them, but you didn't seem to notice, too lost in the moment.
He peeled the sweater off you, revealing your full breasts, nipples dark and peaked. Pregnancy had made them heavier, more sensitive. He cupped one, thumb circling the bud, watching you gasp. Tears tracked down your cheeks as you rocked against him, feeling his erection press up through his pants.
"See? Look at what you do to me." He ground up, letting you feel the hard length. "I don’t need a dress when you’re already perfect naked and crying on my lap."
You whimpered, lashes fluttering wetly. "I love you, so much.” He replied, "I know," before flipping you gently, mindful of your belly, laying you back on the pillows. His mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking hard. You arched, fingers in his hair, a sob escaping. Colostrum beaded on his tongue, sweet and warm. He groaned, switching sides, kneading the other breast.
"Satoru! Oh God," you cried, tears flowing freely now. Your nose reddened more, voice pitching high. He pulled back, admiring the sight. Clumped lashes, flushed face, lips parted. His cock throbbed painfully. "Look at you. So pretty when you cry. Makes me want to fuck you senseless."
You nodded frantically, hands tugging at his pants. "Please…I-I need it inside. Make it better."
He stripped quickly, cock springing free, thick and leaking. Your eyes widened, more tears for some reason, joy or overwhelm, he didn't care. He settled between your thighs, spreading you wide. Your pussy was slick, swollen from hormones, folds puffy and inviting.
"Gonna fill you up," he promised, rubbing the head along your slit. You bucked, sobbing his name. "Yes, yes, Satoru!"
He pushed in slow, savoring the stretch. You were tighter now, pregnancy making you grip him like a vice. Inch by inch, until he bottomed out, balls against your ass. Your walls fluttered, tears streaming as you adjusted.
"Fuck, baby. So wet for me. Even y’re pussy’s crying for me??? H-hah…squeezing m’cock soo good." He started thrusting, deep and steady, hands on your hips. You gripped the sheets, back arching. "Too much... feels s’good... ah!"
He picked up pace, slamming harder, the bed creaking. Your belly jiggled with each thrust, your breasts bouncing. Tears poured, mixing with sweat. Your voice broke into babbles. "Satoru...mmh.. don't stop..."
"Never," he growled, possessive fire burning. Only he saw this. You sobbing, coming apart on his dick. No one else. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss, tasting all your tears. His hand slipped between you, thumb on your clit, rubbing circles.
You couldn't take it anymore, your pussy clamping down, creamingaround him. "Satoru! Cumming... oh fuck!" Sobs wracked your body, lashes clumped shut, nose bright red.
He didn't stop, fucking through it, chasing his own release. "That's it. Cry for me. All mine."
Your babbling turned incoherent, tears endless. He thrust deep one last time, spilling hot cum inside you, groaning your name.
You collapsed together, his weight braced on elbows. You sniffled, clinging, tears still leaking. He kissed them away, heart swelling. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," you murmured, voice hoarse. "You always make it better."
He smiled, secret kink sated. You were his. Tears and all.
Satoru lingered inside you, softening slowly, not ready to pull out. Your pussy milked the last drops from him, warm and content. He brushed hair from your damp face, thumb tracing the tear tracks. You looked wrecked in the best way: eyes puffy, lashes stuck together in little spikes, lips swollen from kisses and bites. That red nose tip made you seem so fragile, so his to protect.
"You know I didn't mean to leave early," he said softly, though part of him loved knowing it started your tears. "Mission ran long last night. But I'm here now. All yours."
You nodded, sniffling. "I know. Just... lonely sometimes. And the baby's kicking more than before. It feels weird…all the changes. Like I'm not myself anymore."
He placed a hand on your belly, feeling a flutter. His kid. Yours. Possessiveness surged again. "You're still you. Hotter, if anything. Remember when I proposed? You cried a whole river but I couldn’t find you any less beautiful." A watery laugh escaped you. "Dont remind me, Toru!"
"Hey, How could I ever let you forget? You were the prettiest yet that night." He grinned, thrusting shallowly just to make you gasp. "And when I tickled you last week? Laughing so hard you teared up a little. Fuck, that was so cute."
"Satoru!" You swatted his chest", fresh tears of embarrassment, "don't remind me."
But he did love reminding you. Every emotional outburst fed that hidden hunger. The joy tears, the laugh tears, the empathy ones when he talked about work. But nothing beat the sex tears. Like just now, you sobbing as he railed you.
"What about when I fuck you till you can't talk?" He murmured, starting to harden again inside you. "Bawling my name, pussy creaming all over my cock. That's my favorite."
Your cheeks flushed deeper. "You're awful. I-I don’t... okay yeah. I get overwhelmed, but I’m not a crybaby!"
He rocked his hips, that pervert was already building friction. "Y’know I really wanna make you cry again? Show you how much I love this body?" Your breath hitched. You bit your lip, nodding. "Yes please."
This time he went slower, savoring. Pulled out almost all the way, then slid back in, grinding deep. Your hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging. Tears started anew as pleasure built.
"Look at me," he commanded. Your eyes met his, wet and pleading. "See? Only I get this. Your tears, your pussy, our baby? All mine."
"Y-yours," you sobbed, legs wrapping around him. "All yours, Satoru. p-please just a little harder."He obliged, pounding now, skin slapping. Your breasts leaked a little with each thrust, milk dribbling. He leaned down, licking it off, sucking again. You wailed, coming fast, walls pulsing.
"Good girl. Soak my cock." He flipped you onto your side, careful, spooning behind. One leg hitched over his arm, he rutted deep, hand rubbing your clit. Tears streamed out, voice breaking. "Can't... too much... Satoru!"
"C’mon baby, Just cry it out f’me yeah?" His free hand squeezed your breast, possessive grip. Cum from before leaked out around his pistoning cock, messy and hot.
You babbled, "Love you... so full... gonna cum again..." Body tensed, then shattered, squirting a little. He followed soon after. Flooding you with more of his sperm. "Take it, all mine."
Panting, he held you close, kissing your tear-streaked shoulder. You sighed, content, emotional storm passed. "Thank you," you whispered. "For always taking care of me."
"Always," he replied, heart full. His secret safe, your tears his addiction. And later, as you dozed, he thought about the dress. Maybe shrink another one tomorrow. Just to make you need him again.
a/n: I know I said I’d most likely post my object gojo fic today but when I saw so many people anticipating and looking forward to it I got so nervous and felt more unsure of my draft so It’ll probably be out tomorrow!!
also I’m not sure if this dynamic is problematic or if it counts as dubcon since I made satoru more manipulative than I expected, idk yall. imo even tho the reader consents he’s making you vulnerable and insecure just so you be closer to him…
anyways let’s just say toru was listening to some ironmouse
I want you crying for me I want you waah wah wah wah waah wah wah wah I want you fighting for me and when you lose go wah wah waah wah wah wah CRY FOR MEEE
“Potato.” He comments. His four hands are greedily cupping your tummy, trying to find a heart beat. The shape of your belly reminded him of a very round potato.
A wail escapes your lips, tears prickling at the ends of your lashes, “Potato?! Ugly vegetable!!”
“..not a peach?” You’d sniffle, “Or.. or, a watermelon?”
He lets out a low grunt, displeased that your reaction isn’t what he was expecting, “Peach, then.”
The tears prickling at your waterline are blinked away, a delighted hum escaping your lips before your arms delightfully wrap around his shoulders.
