The sound of rain hammered against the windows the sound deafening in the quiet atmosphere.
The entire house smelled like baby powder, whiskey, and dinner that was left cold and untouched because your daughter figured that tonight was the best night to scream and cry for hours on end. Two hours to be precise.
Toji looked second away from fighting an infant or strangling himself.
"She's doing it on purpose, she always waits until i sit down." He muttered from the couch, dark hair damp from the ten minute shower he just finished taking a few minutes ago.
You laughed tiredly from the nursery doorway. "She's six months, Toji. Of course she's going to scream."
"Exactly. Old enough for psychological warfare." He stood from his spot on the couch to join you in the nursery, your daughter blinked up at him from your arms. Eyes wide and clearly sleepy.
Toji narrowed his.
"She's got your face," he accused, as if it was a bad thing.
"That's not an insult."
"It is when she's obviously judging me."
The baby yawned dramatically as you walked past Toji and into the living room, settling down onto the couch carefully bouncing her lightly until her tiny fingers curled around your shirt collar.
Toji watched the entire thing completely silent. Not with annoyance. With that look. That quiet look he got whenever he stared too long at you and your child and forgot to hide how much he loved his family.
It still startled you sometimes.
Because Toji Fushiguro wasn't supposed to look domestic.
He was all rough edges and scars. Sharp smiles that promised trouble. The kind of man people would look away from and jaywalk from one side of the sidewalk to the other in the middle of traffic in front of a police officer proudly just to avoid.
And yet here he was at two in the morning in nothing but black sweatpants because apparently wearing a shirt was suffocating, holding out his arms for his daughter with irritation written all over his face. Not out of genuine annoyance, but out of sleepiness.
"C'mere," he grunted. Your daughter immediately reaching for him.
Toji comfortably settled her against his chest, one massive hand covering nearly her entire back while she snuggled into him.
You stared, watching. "She doesn't like you more if that's what you're thinking."
"She does"
"She threw up on you earlier today."
"And?"
"You didn't change your shirt after," You sighed remembering the events. "That's gross."
"Why would i? She was comfortable."
Your chest tightened painfully at how casually he sounded saying things like that now.
Toji noticed immediately. He always did. "What?"
You shrugged. "Nothing."
"Bullshit"
You shook your head, smiling softly. "You're just...good at this."
Toji snorted like the idea offended him. "I'm really not." Though he grew silent looking at the baby sprawled against his chest. Quiet. Thoughtful. "I just don't want her growing up with a shitty father," He muttered. "Especially when..." He drifted off but you knew what he wanted to say. It was about Megumi.
"Shut up with that. You're doing good now, stop selling yourself short. You're a good father, Toji."
Toji went still. "You're good at reading me."
"Occupational hazard."
"Hm."
Your daughter shifted in his arms, Toji looked down at her once more.
Then at you.
And something changed in his expression.
Slowly. Dangerously.
"What?" you asked immediately.
His mouth twitched
"What are you getting all suspicious for?"
"Because every time you look at me like that i end up naked or pregnant."
"To be fair, in this case it was both."
You rolled your eyes standing from the couch and reached for your daughter who was now asleep. Toji handed her over without question, following you as you walked back into the nursery and placed her comfortably in her crib, tucking her in.
“You know,” he said quietly, "You looked good pregnant." he said suddenly.
You raised a brow. "That's your line?"
"I'm serious."
"That's worse."
Toji grinned with a shrug of his shoulders.
hen his expression darkened again as he leaned closer, voice dropping lower.
“Couldn’t keep my hands off you then either.”
Your breath caught.
Because he was telling the truth.
Toji had been unbearable during your pregnancy — obsessed with touching you, kissing you, keeping his hands on your stomach every chance he got. Possessive in a way that should’ve been irritating but somehow only made your heart pound harder.
Even now his palm slid absentmindedly across your waist like muscle memory.
You whispered, careful not to wake up the six month old baby in the crib sleeping thoughtfully. "Stop staring."
"Can you blame me? You give me a kid and look even hotter afterward. It's not fair at all."
"I hate you."
"You married me."
Unfortunately true.
Toji shifted carefully, making sure not to wake the baby before pulling you closer until your thighs pressed against his.
Then, quieter this time:
“I think I want another one.”
Your lips parted slightly. "Toji...Stop lying."
"I mean it." No teasing, no smug grin. Just honesty. Which affected you way more than it shouldve.
"Another one?" You carefully searched his face.
"Yeah, i like this."
“Toji Fushiguro admitting he likes domestic life?” you teased softly. “Should I document this historical event?”
“Don’t ruin the moment.”
You smiled.
But Toji’s hand moved to your waist again, fingers spreading possessively beneath your shirt while his gaze held yours.
“I spent most of my life not wanting shit,” he admitted quietly. “Didn’t see the point.”
Your chest tightened.
“But now I come home and you’re here.” His thumb stroked slowly against your skin. “She’s here.” A pause. “Makes me greedy.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly wrecked you.
Toji noticed immediately.
“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes darkening slightly. “That face right there’s gonna make me put another baby in you.
"Now you're ruining the moment."
"I'm communicating."
"That is NOT communicating."
"It got your attention though, didn't it?"
He leaned in before you could answer, kissing you slowly this time — deep enough to make your thoughts blur instantly.
And when he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, his voice dropped to a rough murmur.
“C’mon, sweetheart. One more.”
