Baby Daddy! Toji Fushiguro
Baby Daddy! Toji Fushiguro who claims he’s only dropping by to fulfill a basic obligation, but his version of "providing" is borderline excessive. You’ll find high-end groceries and designer baby clothes left on the counter without a word, all paid for with "consultancy" money he won't explain, even tho later that week he'll venmo request you cigarette money.He watches you more than he watches the baby, his eyes tracking every tired sigh or stray hair you tuck behind your ear, silently calculating exactly how much cash it would take to make sure you never have to work a day again.
Despite the distance between you, Toji is hyper-aware of your physical presence due to his sharpened senses. He can hear your heartbeat skip from across the room and recognizes the scent of your shampoo before he even knocks on the door. He’ll often lean in close, closer than a "co-parent" should, under the guise of checking on the kid, just so he can inhale the scent of your skin and remind himself that you’re real and you’re still his in the ways that matter to him.
He has a terrifyingly quiet way of marking his territory without ever making an official claim. If he sees a new name on your phone or hears you mention a male "friend," his energy shifts from lazy lethargy to a predatory stillness that makes the air feel heavy. He won't pick a fight with you, but he’ll linger in your doorway a little longer, using the summer heat to go around shirtless and scarred, just to ensure any neighbors or visitors know exactly what kind of man is coming and going from your apartment.
Toji isn't a "talker," but he remembers every mundane detail you’ve ever mentioned about your routine. He’ll fix a leaky faucet or a creaky floorboard without you asking because he knows it’s been bothering you, doing the work with a practiced, effortless grace. When he looks at you, there’s an aching honesty in his gaze that says he knows he’s a mess, but he’d still tear the world apart if it meant keeping your little domestic bubble intact.
Even when things are tense, he can’t help but touch you, a hand on the small of your back to guide you past a corner, or his thumb brushing yours when you hand him a bottle. He treats these moments like accidents, but the heat in his touch is deliberate and lingering. It’s a silent confession that while he might have left the "relationship" behind, he’s never been able to leave you, and he uses the kid as the ultimate excuse to stay within your orbit.
The rain was a dull hum against the windowpane, blurring the city lights into smudges of neon. Inside, the apartment was warm, smelling of baby powder and the lingering scent of the dinner you’d barely finished. You were swaying gently, the weight of your child a familiar ache in your arms, when the heavy, rhythmic thud at the door sounded. You didn't need to check the peephole. Nobody else knocked with that kind of grounded, effortless authority.
When you opened it, Toji was standing there, damp from the walk, wearing a black compression shirt that looked like a second skin over his massive frame. He didn't say "hello." He just stepped inside, the chill of the night rolling off his shoulders, and reached out to take the diaper bag you’d left slumped near the door.
"He's almost out," you whispered, nodding toward the sleepy bundle in your arms.
Toji’s eyes softened, just for a fraction of a second, as he looked down at his kid. He didn't reach for the baby immediately; he knew his hands were cold. Instead, he just followed you into the small bedroom, his presence shrinking the space until it felt like the walls were closing in around the two of you.
The process of putting the baby down was a silent dance you’d performed a dozen times before. You leaned over the crib, carefully transitioning the weight, while Toji stood directly behind you. He didn't touch you, but the heat radiating from his body was like a furnace. You could hear his steady, deep breathing, a contrast to your own, which had become shallow the moment he stepped into the room.
Once the baby was settled, the silence became heavy. You turned around, and he was there, a wall of muscle and scars, blocking the exit. His eyes were dark, hooded, and fixed entirely on your face.
"You look tired," he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to settle right in your chest. "It’s been a long week, Toji. You could have called before coming over."
"I was in the neighborhood," he lied. You both knew he’d probably driven an hour just to spend twenty minutes in your air. He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near your neck before finally committing, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "You're always working too hard. Making things difficult for yourself."
"Someone has to be the responsible one," you bit back, though the edge was lost as you leaned just an inch into his palm. "I told you I'd handle the money," he muttered, stepping closer until your chests were almost touching. "I told you I’d take care of everything. You’re stubborn."
"I don't want your blood money, Toji. I want stability. I want someone who stays." He let out a sharp, self-deprecating huff of a laugh. "You know what I am. I don't 'stay.' But I keep coming back to you, don't I?"
The honesty in his voice was a physical strike. He wasn't a good man, and he wasn't a boyfriend, but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that hadn't let him down, was intoxicating. He shifted his grip, his fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back.
The first kiss was meant to be a provocation, a sharp, testing press of lips, but it dissolved instantly into something desperate. Toji groaned into your mouth, his other hand finding your waist and hauling you flush against him. He tasted like the rain and something darkly sweet, his tongue sliding against yours with a possessive hunger that made your knees weak.
He backed you out of the nursery and into the living room, never breaking the contact. His movements were fluid and powerful, pinning you against the cool surface of the wall. The contrast between the soft silence of the sleeping child in the next room and the sudden, violent heat between the two of you was dizzying.
"Toji," you breathed against his lips, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt, feeling the ridged muscles of his back beneath. "We shouldn't... this doesn't change anything."
"I know," he growled, his mouth moving down to the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone just hard enough to leave a mark. "It changes nothing. You still hate me, and I’m still a as shitty as I was."
He hiked your thigh up over his hip, his large hand anchoring you to him. The friction of his heavy denim against your skin, the sheer mass of him crushing you into the wall, it was too much and not enough. He was breathing like he’d just run a mile, his forehead resting against yours for a brief second as he struggled for control.
"But you're the only thing that makes me feel like I’m actually standing on the ground," he whispered, his voice cracking with a rare, raw vulnerability.
He didn't wait for an answer. He captured your lips again, harder this time, his hands becoming more urgent as they slid under your shirt. The air in the apartment felt thick, charged with years of unspoken resentment and an attraction that neither of you could outrun. In the dark, with only the sound of the rain and the rhythmic thud of his heart against yours, it was easy to forget that you weren't "together." In this moment, with his hands exploring every curve of your body as if he were trying to memorize you, he was yours and he was never going to let you forget it.
@ m-joys 2026 ♡
A/n: Idk what's my obsession with making out but never writing smut but oh well🤷♀️
