If Only You Knew
Chapter Index | Two
Not all lines are meant to stay uncrossed.
Pairings: BabyDaddy!Geto x f!Reader Content warnings + tags: 18+ MDNI, modern au, discussion of pregnancy and fertility treatments, non-consensual sperm sample switch (misrepresentation of paternity), angst, emotional turmoil, eventual smut, references to past unhealthy relationship dynamics, mild language, friends to lovers, reproductive deception, Suguru is dumb but we also love him trust wc — 3.3k words
After the end of a long relationship that left you questioning everything you thought you wanted, you’re finally ready to start over. A quiet afternoon at the zoo with your closest friend and his nieces becomes the backdrop for a decision you’ve been carrying in secret—a choice that could change everything between you.
Starting Over
You had always hated the feeling of being strung along.
It made you feel stupid. As if you were some gullible girl who couldn’t tell the difference between love and the idea of it. Like a fish caught on some invisible line, reeled in just far enough to think you were safe, only to be cut free when it suited him.
Sukuna had that talent. The talent of making you believe in a future he never planned to share. He could be so warm when he wanted to be. So convincing in those rare moments when he let you close enough to think he cared about anything beyond himself.
But in the end, he didn’t even bother cutting the line. He just stood there, watching you thrash around, like he couldn’t be bothered to pretend anymore.
You spent almost four years waiting for those moments to add up to something permanent. Four years with him, believing you were building something real. Four years of half-promises and deferred plans, of telling yourself that he was just afraid of commitment, that if you were patient enough, he’d eventually realize you were worth it.
But you were tired of patience. Tired of watching friends get engaged, get pregnant, buy houses, while you sat on the sidelines, convincing yourself you were content with scraps.
You thought it was a reasonable thing to ask. To want clarity. A plan. A little reassurance that you weren’t wasting your life on someone who didn’t see you in their future.
The night it all ended, hadn’t started out any different from the hundreds before it.
You’d cooked dinner, something simple, just pasta and a bottle of cheap red wine. You’d been rehearsing the words in your head over and over all day, feeling them swell and contract inside your chest like a bruise. You thought he’d look at you and see what you meant to him. That’d he remember every late night and early morning spent together, every argument you’d ever survived, every quiet hour when you thought: This must be what forever feels like.
When you finally asked him outright—“Where is this going?”—he didn’t even look up from his phone.
You remembered the feeling of your heart sinking, just a little. Like you already knew what was coming, but you just had to hear it anyway.
He set his phone aside eventually, looking you right in the eye and exhaling as if you were asking him something ridiculous.
"You’re doing this now?" he’d said.
That was how it spiraled from there.
You pressed, because you needed to. Because you were tired of pretending it didn’t bother you.
You told him you wanted to get married someday. You told him you wanted a family. You told him you were ready to start thinking about that—really thinking about it. "I just…need to know where we’re heading. I don’t want to wake up in a few years and realize I wasted my time.”
Sukuna listened, the way he always did when he was deciding whether or not to pick a fight. His mouth curved into that small, disdainful smile.
“You knew I didn’t want any of that,” he’d said simply, even though you didn’t. No apology. No hesitation. Just the truth, blunt as a dull blade. He said it like it was obvious, like it was your fault for hoping he’d change his mind one day.
You tried to reason with him. Tried to explain that people grew, that sometimes priorities shifted.
It turned into an argument you couldn’t steer back to calm.
You’d never really yelled at each other before. But that night, you did. Voices echoed off the walls of your shared apartment, accusations and resentment you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying.
You asked him why he’d never told you he didn’t want kids.
He asked you why you couldn’t just be happy with what you already had.
Your voice went hoarse from just trying to make him understand. His eyes remained flat and unimpressed. He told you he wouldn’t be “trapped” into a life he never signed up for.
You cried—a lot—and he got quiet. And in that silence, sitting on opposite ends of the couch with your cheeks still damp, you realized he was never going to change. That there was nothing left of your relationship to salvage.
You didn’t sleep that night. Just layed awake on the couch, feeling the shape of all your wasted years pressing down on you like a weight you’d never be able to lift. You remembered the way your heart felt quiet, too. How all that hope shriveled into something dry and small.
That was it.
No second chances. No compromise.
In the morning, you packed up half of the apartment in cardboard boxes. You didn’t wait for him to come home. Didn’t look back.
Maybe it was cowardly, but you couldn’t stand the thought of hearing him tell you again that he didn’t want you in the ways that mattered most.
It should have felt like freedom. But mostly, it felt like failure.
But through it all, every hour you spent crying on the kitchen floor, every time you almost called Sukuna just to hear him say anything, Suguru was there.
He was the first person you called.
He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t act surprised.
He just said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
And he was.
He was the one who loaded your boxes into the back of his beat-up car. Who held your hand in the leasing office when you signed the paperwork for your shitty little apartment with the creaky floorboards and the view of the laundromat. Who carried your cheap furniture up three flights of stairs without complaint. Who sat on the warped tile floor beside you with takeout containers and a pint of mint-chip ice cream you didn’t even touch.
He didn’t offer platitudes or try to tell you that it would be okay. He didn’t say Sukuna didn’t deserve you, though you knew he believed it.
He was just there. He’d open his arms, and you folded yourself against his chest like you’d done a thousand times before.
Steady and patient in a way that made you feel whole again.
And when the worst of it passed, when you could finally breathe without wanting to break, he stayed.
Suguru had always been like that. Being exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t know how to ask. The constant you never quite let yourself depend on too much.
The constant you never quite let yourself depend on too much.
Maybe because you knew, deep down, that whatever tether held you together was stronger than either of you wanted to admit. That no matter who you loved, no matter how it ended, it was always Suguru who put you back together.
It took you three months to come to the decision.
Three months of living alone for the first time in years. Of lying awake at night, wondering if you’d made a huge mistake.
Three months of realizing you didn’t have to keep waiting for someone else to want the same things you did.
You wanted to be a mother. You’d wanted it for as long as you could remember, but you’d let yourself believe it was only possible if you had someone beside you.
But you were done waiting.
It wasn’t decided on a whim. It wasn’t desperation or some reckless act of defiance. It was a certainty that settled into your bones like something you’d known all along.
It was the way you felt every time you visited Suguru and his nieces. The way Mimiko would crawl into your lap with her stuffed rabbit and ask you to read her the same picture book over and over. The way Nanako would slip her hand into yours when you crossed the parking lot.
It was watching Suguru tie their shoes, patiently brushing their hair out of their faces, smiling at them like they were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
It was the hollow place inside you that never quite healed after Sukuna. The part that still believed you had something good to give, if only you were brave enough to try.
So you started researching. Clinics. Procedures. The cost of donor samples. You read everything you could get your hands on.
By the time you made your decision, it didn’t feel impulsive at all. It felt inevitable.
Which was why you found yourself here, walking through the front gates of the zoo on a mild Saturday morning, feeling your heart stutter as Suguru waved to you from the ticket counter, Nanako perched on his hip, and Mimiko tugging at his sleeve.
He smiled when he saw you, an easy, quiet thing that made your heart flutter.
“Hey,” he called. “You made it.”
You nodded, hoping you looked steadier than you felt.
You hadn’t planned on telling him today.
But something about the warm afternoon and the girls running ahead of you to look at the sea lions made you feel like it was safe to want things again.
You glanced at Suguru, with his hair tied back, sunglasses hiding the way his eyes always softened when he looked at you, and felt the words gathering in your throat.
You didn’t know exactly what you were going to say.
Only that if there was anyone in the world you could trust with your truth, it was him.
You hardly looked at the animals.
It wasn’t that you didn’t care about the sleepy red pandas or the sun-bathing crocodiles. It was that you were too aware of Suguru beside you. The way he kept glancing over to make sure you were keeping up, the warm brush of his hand at your back whenever the crowd thickened.
Nanako had claimed his right hand, small fingers wrapped tightly around his index finger. Mimiko clung to your side, tugging you toward every enclosure with a breathless “Look, Auntie!”
The first time she called you that, you’d nearly melted on the spot.
Suguru didn’t bat an eye. He just smiled, the same quiet, fond expression he always wore around them. You wondered if he even realized how natural he looked with a child tucked against his side. How easily the girls trusted him, how effortlessly he seemed to fit into the role.
Sometimes, it was easy to pretend. To imagine that this was something you might have had if your life had turned out differently if you’d chosen other people. Other paths.
“Stay where I can see you,” Suguru called when the girls bolted ahead to press their faces against the glass of the penguin enclosure.
“Yes, Uncle Sugu!” Nanako sing-songed, already ignoring him and halfway gone.
You bit back a laugh as you stepped up beside him. He looked so much like a tired young dad.
“You’re very patient,” you murmured.
“They’re good kids,” he replied, and there was that softness again, always so effortless with him. “Even when they pretend they’re not listening.”
Mimiko turned around to wave you over. You followed, letting the girls tug you from one habitat to the next—peering at otters floating on their backs, watching a tiger pace behind tall glass, admiring the giraffes that blinked sleepily in the sun. Suguru kept pace just behind, hands in his pockets, expression content in that unassuming way of his.
And you loved it. You loved the simplicity of feeling like you belonged to something—this tiny makeshift family under the warm sky.
But there was always that small, hollow place inside you. The one that whispered you were just a visitor in their little world. An honorary member, destined to leave eventually.
Suguru noticed everything, though. He always did.
“You okay?” he asked at one point, when you fell quiet watching him kneel to retie Nanako’s sneaker.
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”
He didn’t push. He knew you too well for that.
By the time you’d made it halfway through the zoo, the girls were flagging. Suguru, always prepared, pulled juice boxes and crackers out of his backpack. He tied Mimiko’s hair into a crooked ponytail when she got too warm, handed Nanako his water bottle, checked the label to be sure it was still cold.
You caught yourself watching him, trying to imagine him like this every day—gentle, dependable, impossibly good.
When he looked up and caught you staring, something unspoken flickered across his face. But he only gave a tired, quiet smile and turned back as Nanako clambered onto his lap.
Mimiko leaned against your side, nibbling on the crackers. You reached over to smooth her hair behind her ear, feeling your heart twist when she turned to face into your palm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
For a second, you imagined doing this with your own child. Sitting on a bench on a warm Saturday morning, nowhere else you needed to be.
The thought lodged itself behind your ribs, stubborn and aching.
You tried to swallow it down, but it stayed there all through the last exhibits.
You didn’t know why you couldn’t just tell him then and there. You’d spent weeks rehearsing what you wanted to say. But every time you opened your mouth, the words died on your tongue.
So you waited.
It wasn’t until later, when you reached the small gift shop near the entrance, that you finally ran out of excuses.
Suguru handed each of the girls a crumpled bill. “Pick something you want,” he told them. “But just one thing each.”
They scampered off, giggling, Mimiko immediately grabbing a stuffed otter off the shelf.
“Don’t pick the same thing as last time,” he called after them, though his voice was more amused than stern.
You trailed along behind them, weaving through bright displays of plastic toys and overpriced t-shirts.
Your stomach had been twisting itself into knots since the flamingo pond, but you kept telling yourself: Just wait. Just wait for the right moment.
But standing there, you couldn’t pretend any longer.
Near the back wall, a small corner was arranged with baby onesies—soft cotton printed with cartoon giraffes and tiny elephants. A row of plush rattles lined the lowest shelf, pastel price tags swaying gently in the air conditioning.
You didn’t mean to stop. But your feet carried you there anyway.
Suguru came up beside you, following your gaze. For the first time all day, his calm seemed to slip.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice lower than before. He shifted a little closer, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you. “You sure you’re okay?”
No. You weren’t.
Your heart was battering against your ribs. Your throat felt too small to hold all the things you’d been trying to keep down.
And before you could think better of it, before you could tuck the truth back behind your teeth, you heard yourself blurt it out—
“I’m going to have a baby.”
The words hovered between you, enormous and absurd.
You turned to him fully, bracing for—what? Shock? Pity?
He just stared at you, like he was trying to make sense of what you’d said. His mouth opened. Closed. His brow knitted, a fine line appearing between his eyebrows.
You could practically feel his thoughts tumbling over each other, searching for the right response and coming up empty.
“You’re…” His throat worked. “You’re pregnant?”
Fuck. You almost wished you could take it back.
The question sounded strangled, the shape of it barely formed.
You shook your head quickly, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “No! Not yet. I—God, I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I’ve been thinking about this for months now.”
He still hadn’t moved. You wished he would. Anything would have been better than just standing there, watching the disbelief giving way to worry, the worry shading into something more fragile you didn’t dare name.
“Is it—” He exhaled carefully, as if he had to push the words out. “It’s not his, is it?”
It took you a second to understand who he meant.
Sukuna.
You almost laughed at how much you wanted to be insulted by the assumption, even though it was fair. Because of course he’d think that. Of course he’d be trying to do the math in his head, to piece together timelines you didn’t even want to remember.
“No,” you said, sharper than you intended. “It has nothing to do with him.”
You looked down, fingertips brushing over the folded edge of a onesie. Maybe if you didn’t meet his eyes, this would feel less like a confession.
“I’ve been…researching clinics. Donor programs,” you went on quietly. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to be a mom. And I’m done waiting around for someone else to want the same things I do. I can just…do this on my own.”
He was quiet for a long time. When you finally dared to look up again, his expression was hard to read, studying you like he could see every secret you’d never told him.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “You’ve really thought this through.”
You nodded. Your palms felt damp. You had the ridiculous urge to keep explaining—to fill the silence before it swallowed you both.
“I know it’s a huge responsibility. I know it might be stupid, or selfish. But I’m ready. I’ve been working extra shifts. Saving up. I don’t want to spend another year waiting around for—”
You stopped yourself before you said someone to love me the way you do.
“I just thought you should know. You’re…important to me. And this is important to me.”
His gaze flicked to the baby section again. He swallowed, and for a second, you thought there was something else he wanted to say. Something that would crack everything wide open if he left it.
Please don’t do this. Please don’t shut me out.
But all he did was let out a slow exhale.
“And…you’re sure this is what you want?” he asked quietly.
“I’m sure.”
Something in his shoulders sagged, as if he’d been holding his breath and finally let it go.
“Okay…I’m glad you told me,” he said after a moment, though his voice was a little unsteady.
“You don’t have to pretend to be okay with it.”
He hesitated. His jaw tightened, biting down on something that might splinter if he let it out.
“I mean it,” he insisted. “If this is what you want…then I’m happy for you.”
It wasn’t exactly true. You could see it in the way his hand hovered near yours before he curled it into a fist. In the way his eyes kept searching your face like he might find some small reason to change your mind.
But he meant it as much as he could.
And you loved him for trying.
Nanako’s voice broke through the quiet from across the store, bright and oblivious:
“Uncle Sugu! Can I get the tiger instead?”
He blinked, almost as if he’d forgotten where he was.
“Yeah, kiddo,” he called back. “I’ll be right there.”
Then he looked at you again. Really looked. And for one unbearable heartbeat, you thought he was going to reach for you. To gather you up the way he had when your whole world fell apart.
But he didn’t.
“If you need anything,” he murmured, softer than before, “anything at all…you’ll tell me.”
You couldn’t find it in yourself to answer. You just nodded.
Then he turned away to help Nanako, and you were left standing there alone, staring at the rows of tiny clothes, wondering why the confession felt so much like a loss.
Chapter Index | Two
Divider by: @kodaswrld | Art by: @tiramisooooh
