#saturated

not just about being a father. well, part of it is, yes, but deeper than that lies a fear. the kind that sits heavy in his chest and refuses to be reasoned with. the thought of losing you eclipses everything else, the thought ubearable even. sukuna won't entertain the idea any further. no mama means no baby, and he won't trade you for a child, no matter how precious.

he knows himself well enough to admit it, that he doesn't know how to love anyone more than he loves you. raising a child would demand something from him he's never had to give before. a kind of selflessness that requires letting go, it's all in or nothing and he's learned to share a life with you...how is he supposed to stretch that space further without causing some damage? without hurting you?

so you both table that conversation for another time, agreeing for now that "it's a big decision to make." and "we'll come back to it." as if it were so easy to simply pick up and set down and carry on. life resumes its usual rhythm almost too easily. sukuna goes back to training rookies, recording his podcast, slipping back into the role of being the best husband ever. and you...you soothe the baby fever by ignoring it, quieting that ache in your chest the only way you can. you stop yourself from lingering on baby names, avoid the parenting aisle at bookstores, not daring to peek at onesies and booties on sale in matching colours, folded neatly in shop windows. you pretend it doesn't tug at you, that it doesn't sit there rotting into something worse, persistent and festering, just beneath the surface.

he's been bulking up lately too, now that his diet is less strict and cutting the weight doesn't have to be as severe a process anymore. there's a fullness to him now, his frame broader, heavier in a way that feels more lived-in than sharp. fills up around his arms and torso, his muscles haven't softened, just settled. less angular, more solid. "think i should try a different weight class?" he asks offhandedly, like it's nothing. but after one glance at your unimpressed and distant expression, he lets it drop without a fight.

"do you really wish to compete again?" it comes out sharper than you intended, dangerously close to accusation, sounding more like a demand. you thought that chapter of his life was closed, so why does he speak like it's still within reach? like there's a version of the future where he's still chasing something that doesn’t include you the way you want it to. a future only made for himself, more fighting, more weight, more everything that doesn't matter, shouldn't matter.

the thought hits hard, guilt following just as quickly from questioning him. who are you to make him choose? he wasn't even serious, it's just your mind spiralling again, feeding off unresolved dilemmas and setting them aside waiting for a confirmation, waiting for something you undoubtedly want but can't have. and would a child fix anything if you're not standing on the same ground to begin with? would they flourish being raised by parents who aren't on the same page?

months pass, and neither of you bring it up again, no more mentions of the future, but the silence isn't empty, the thought never leaves. pressing in and slowly carving out space between you, forming that wedge of distance that only grows. you keep busy, fill your time with work, with chores, with anything that keeps your mind from wandering. you stay on your side of the bed, putting sex on a pause indefinitely and letting intimacy fall away without ever addressing it. "are we good?" he asks, despite knowing the answer, and you nod, not turning his way and tucking yourself deeper under the covers. eventually, the idea dulls, hidden away beneath the weight of everything else life throws at you, you're so close to forgetting about it altogether.

until sukuna steps through your front door with a surprise.

it's small, curled up in his hand. a sleeping pitbull, all soft breaths and warm weight. "he was at the gym this morning," he says simply, like that explains everything. but you see the eagerness in his eyes, almost boyish, with the urge to hold it close. the dog stirs at the sound of his voice, nudging closer, tongue flicking out to lap at his cheek, and sukuna, of all people, leans into it.

there's an urge to pry further, why did he suddenly take pity on a stray animal and decided to bring it home? why does he make decisions so rashly, did he consider your thoughts? "we can't," you start, already thinking of the time, the effort, the responsibility, "we're both busy and...it's a dog." that should be enough reason. but sukuna's not listening, at least not right now when he's lying there on the floor watching the lump of grey, like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. his head tilts slightly when it whimpers, his expression soft in a way you've rarely witnessed.

and it's easy to fall for the pup, but not as completely as sukuna does. the man spends all his time with him, going on walks, prepping his meals—these incredible slow-feeder bowls filled with meat, vitamins, fruit, and grains, a dog never had better—fully embracing the pet parent life, he watches over him with the same attentiveness he once reserved just for you, maybe still does, just…shared now.

"his coat is so shiny," he says one evening, swiping through pictures on his phone, pride slipping into his voice like it belongs there. you don't say it out loud, but your chest twists at the sight, at the ease of it. how naturally he slips into care, the sight of it that looks so close to what you once imagined for the two of you. he wakes up earlier now, well, earlier than he's used to, just to take the dog out, the two of them jogging side by side. keeps a towel by the door to wipe his paws clean, muttering under his breath when he wriggles too much, "oi, you're gonna leave tracks and daddy doesn't wanna clean it up." you catch him once, half-asleep on the couch with the pup sprawled across his chest, one large hand resting protectively over its small body like it might disappear if he lets go.

it's not the same, you remind yourself. this is simpler, something he can manage, something that won't take you away from him. but when you watch him kneel on the floor coaxing the dog to eat, voice low and patient, you wonder if this is what he meant when he said he wasn't ready. not incapable, not unwilling, just afraid of loving something that might ask him to survive losing you.

"he needs a name," you say one night, standing in the kitchen while sukuna measures out food with surprising precision. he pauses, glances up at you, and there's something tentative in his expression, like he's waiting for you to take this from him or shut it down entirely.

"thought we could pick one together," he replies, voice lower than usual. together. the word settles between you, fragile, unfamiliar in the way it hasn't been for months.

you hum, pretending to think it over longer than you need to. "as long as it's not dumb," you warn lightly, though there's no real bite behind it. sukuna scoffs, like the idea offends him, but there's a small shift in his posture. shoulders loosening, muscles easing. later, the two of you sit side by side on the couch, tossing names back and forth, some serious, some not, while the dog stumbles between you, clumsy and curious, pressing into whichever hand is closest.

it's not a fix. you know that. whatever sits unresolved hasn't disappeared, but this feels like a step, even if it's a small one. a moment shared again, a hurt tended to together instead of avoided. sukuna leans back against the couch, watching you as you scratch behind the dog's ears, your laughter softer than it's been in a while. his gaze lingers, steady, like he's memorising it. and when the dog finally settles, curled up between the both of you, sukuna's hand finds yours without much thought. his fingers slotting into the spaces between yours, curling in firm, reminding himself you're still here and it's enough. you're enough.

it happens unexpectedly, a year later, there in the privacy of your home on what had been a seemingly ordinary day. you pace the length of the bathroom, bare feet cold against tile, waiting for the results on three separate pregnancy test sticks lined up on the counter. different brands, different promises of accuracy, but all meant to tell you the same thing—hopefully. you can't afford to be uncertain at this point. not now, not when your heart is suspended by a single, fraying fiber, ready to give way at any moment. every second stretches, thick and suffocating, your hands hovering uselessly at your sides like you're afraid to touch anything, to disturb the outcome before it's ready.

you won't say it was the heavy rain that night that drove you to seek him out, that it flooded the streets and turned the city cold, gave you an excuse to stay in, stay close. or the fact that it had been awhile because distance had settled between you in ways neither of you fully knew how to undo. but you remember the way he looked at you, really looked, like he hadn't in months. the way his hand cupped your face, slower this time, more deliberate, like he was relearning you, the woman he refused to lose. thumbs brushing your cheeks, your lips, feeling nothing but skin and softness. there was no rush to it, no careless urgency. just the warmth of choosing each other again.

the two of you come to realize, sometime in the middle of it all—in the way your bodies find each other again, like they remember what your minds tried to forget. in the press of his lips against yours, in the broken sounds he exhales into your neck, in the way your name slips from him like it's something he's been holding back for far too long—that you missed each other. deeply, achingly so. there's no talk of babies, no careful conversations about the future, but the way his hand drifts to your lower belly, resting there with a tenderness that feels almost reverent, says more than either of you dare to.

slow and sensuous he moves, wanting to commit it to memory, like he intended to make it special. like this was the moment that changed everything. it's not just about want, but meaning. about making something out of the space that had grown between you. there's a devotion in the way he touches you, his hands roam without rush, lingering on the parts he knows so well, your waist, your hips, the curve of your stomach, grasping, holding, like he needs to remind himself that you're still his, still here.

and you feel it too, the passing of time written all over his body. the ink of his tattoos slightly faded, like sun-worn memories stretched across his skin. the weight of him different now. heavier, heftier in a way that makes you feel held in the most secure of ways, you relish in being buried under. the small things haven't gone unnoticed, the way he's changed, you don't mind any of it, not when it's him. you press yourself into him without hesitation, breathing him in like something familiar and long missed, like something you never stopped needing.

and you love the feel. it's always nice when he finishes inside you, so hot and copious, each pump of his hips fucking you through the comedown. but this time, he works each load into you with purpose and you milk his cock for every drop, squeezing down and lifting your hips closer for more. sukuna doesn't stop, doesn't pull out, not even after the second, third time he's released inside you, after the point where most would slow, catch their breath, and let the moment settle. instead, he grips you tighter, pulls you in closer, thrusting and thrusting like he's got all the time in the world and yet, too much wasted on not giving you exactly this. almost urgent, desperate even, to make up for it. sukuna has been denied for too long and refuses to let it end just yet.

there's only so much of you, so much you can take, and despite the years and familiarity that has grown, the countless times you've fucked and done...this together, taking your time, setting the pace, where kisses and touches take precedence, where he doesn't say the dirty things, only the things he truly means "let's make a baby," he whispers, voice rough but the words are edged with the certainty you've been waiting to hear. his hand finds yours, pressing it against his heart, as if he needs you to feel that he's finally ready to start a family with you.

"why now?" you ask, needing to hear it, needing an answer that's steadier than your doubts and the way your heart is about to implode, not from joy, but that this was everything you wanted come true but you'd wish he'd want it too.

sukuna's hand comes up, rough thumb brushing against your cheek, slower than usual, like he's choosing his next words with care, bearing his true feelings to you, "i don't want to be afraid anymore," he says voice low, intimate in a way that makes your eyes brim with tears, a sudden wave of love for him sprouting from deep within you chest. there's a pause, his gaze softening as it lingers on you, "if it's with you, i'm ready for whatever comes after."

you nod wordlessly as the tears begin to run down your cheek. sukuna who might be in a loving mood, still indulges in a bit of filth, choosing to lean in and lick your tears. you chuckle at that, then smile as you feel his heartbeat thumping loud, hard, beating fast in his chest. wondering if you'll ever get used to the way he loves you, all-consuming, all-encompassing. too much and yet never enough at the same time.

it had been so different after too, just two people relishing the silence. "a baby..." he murmurs, arm heavy around you, your cheek pressed to his chest, a little fuzzy now that he's stopped shaving it, the steady rise and fall beneath you grounding in a way you hadn’t realised you needed, "i hope they're just like you." his fingers traced absent patterns along your spine, fingertips lingering like he needed that bit of contact still, like he needed the reassurance of you there beneath his hands. you remember thinking, faintly, that even if nothing changed, even if the future stayed uncertain, this was worth holding onto.

but now, your mind slips toward the worst thoughts. what if you can't do this, what if the answer waiting for you isn't the one you've been quietly hoping for, what if...he changes his mind? the questions come too fast, too sharp, until they blur together into something overwhelming.

and when you finally force yourself to look, to step closer, your eyes focus on the thin lines that will decide everything. heart pounding so loudly it drowns out every other thought, every doubt, every fear you've buried over the past year. and beneath it all, there's a fragile, blooming hope you're almost too afraid to pay attention to. for a moment, you hesitate, caught between wanting to know and wanting to stay exactly here, in this fragile space where anything is still possible.

the world doesn't end, doesn't shatter or split open the way you thought it might, but it shifts, all in a second. your breath leaves you in a shaky exhale, vision blurring before you even realise you're crying, fresh tears streaming down without resistance. your hand comes up instinctively to cover your mouth, like you can hold the moment in, like you might break it if you breathe too hard. it's there, repeated three times over and giving you no doubt to what it means. pregnant, it reads, undeniable.

your hand drifts instinctively to your stomach, pressing lightly, as if you might feel something already, as if the change has already begun. and maybe it does, maybe it always would have, because standing here, heart racing and aching all at once, you realise this isn't fear anymore when it feels a lot like the beginning.

the baby arrives soon, and when they do, it still feels like a miracle you weren't quite prepared to hold. loved instantly, fiercely, in that way that leaves you breathless. how is it possible that your baby knows their kicks before kanji, before they know anything else, before words, before meaning. before even the shape of the world, waddling unsteadily toward sukuna with determined little steps, tiny fists raised like they've already decided he's something to conquer. it must be genetics, you think, because they'd been just as restless before they were even here—soft, muffled thumps against his open palm resting over your warm, stretched belly—like they were reaching for him long before they ever saw him.