so one of the things I was vaguely aware of before reproducing was that people hold a lot of anxiety around the gender of babies and 'wrongly' gendering babies (i.e. failing to guess correctly based on their clothes and appearance what their genital configuration is) and having now had a baby: wow, yes, they really do.
I take an extremely laissez-faire approach to baby clothes because like, they are constantly being thrown up on and grown out of and so on, what matters is that they are clean and easy to put on and I am not spending $$$$$ on them. as long as the colour/design is not directly offensive, it's fine. what this means is that people are quite frequently 'misgendering' the baby and then falling over themselves to apologise about it.
and, like, I haven't even had a chance to dress him in anything pink yet; this is based on rules I didn't expect like 'anything with flowers or sparkly bits on it is for girls only'. equally, I do not care when this happens because it's an irrelevancy, but THEY care to make sure I am not offended. so I have started telling them "look, he's only [x] months old; his gender is baby."
and you know what? you'd be surprised how many otherwise average heterosexual people process this and go "huh, yeah, I guess it is." there is a tiny amount of hope for the future after all.
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Keep You Satisfied
sanji x reader
rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact
warnings: fem!reader, a baby, brief mentions of pregnancy and birth, lactation kink, body worship, nipple play, making out, Sanji simpin’
word count: 1064
note: Sanj is a man who would love me no matter what changes my body goes through and that’s why I love him so much bye
You start to stir when the baby cries, but Sanji is faster. He strokes your hair, lightly pressing you back down into your pillow. “I got him,” he mumbles with a kiss to your temple.
Sanji shrugs into his cozy robe, his feet sliding into his slippers where they wait beside the bed. He couldn’t tell you exactly how many steps it is across the hall to your son’s nursery, but he knows by sense memory when he’ll arrive at the side of the crib, even in the dark, still blinking the remains of sleep out of his eyes.
The baby settles a little just from being picked up, but judging by what times it is, he’s fussing because he’s hungry. Sanji carries the three-month-old into the dimly lit kitchen, cooing softly to him as he starts up the bottle warmer. With the baby tucked safely against his shoulder, he retrieves a bottle from the fridge and waits for it to heat up. It’s not exactly the kind of cooking he’s used to, but until it’s time for solid foods—or puréed fruits and veggies—it’s the most Sanji can do.
The worst possible thing Sanji can imagine being in this world is useless, especially when it comes to his family—you and the little guy. He knows he doted on you when you were pregnant, refusing to let you lift a finger if he could help it. You were carrying his child—what kind of man would he be if he didn’t wait on you, hand and foot, while you were busy growing a whole human? Then the birth was especially tough for him. Not as bad as it was for you, of course, but it was awful to stand by and watch when he couldn’t do anything for you except try to soothe some of your anxiety.
Now that he’s a dad, he wouldn’t trade it for anything, but sometimes he still feels guilty. His body is practically the same while yours has changed in so many ways, some strange to you, all beautiful to him. He can only feed his son from a bottle while you can do it right from your breast, which is downright incredible as far as Sanji is concerned. He hasn’t done anything except, well… help make the baby.
Which is why he’s more than happy to be standing in the kitchen at 4:30 in the morning while your son polishes off a perfectly lukewarm bottle so that you can stay in bed a little longer, but then he hears your slippers scuffing the floor upstairs.
When you wander into the kitchen looking dazed and beautiful as ever, it actually takes Sanji a few seconds to realize you have a strap of your tank top pushed down and one tit fully out and in your hand. Maybe parenthood really has changed him.
“Shit, is he done eating already?” you ask.
Sanji clears his throat, staring at the way you clutch your chest as he answers. “Yeah. You fell back asleep for a while.” It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together. Seeing you naked still gets him worked up, and he’s far too tired to try and hide it.
“Ok,” you sigh, “I’m gonna have to go pump then. Thank you for feeding him.”
With the baby over his shoulder, all the dots start to connect in Sanji’s head. Maybe he’s sleep deprived and delusional, or maybe he just fucking loves you so much. He’s consumed by how much he appreciates everything you’ve done for him, for your family, for your little boy. But he wants to try something, and if there’s ever been a time, maybe it’s now. He’s downright amazed by what your body’s capable of, and he’d be a damn liar if he said he hadn’t snuck a taste once or twice while doing dishes, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy his curiosity.
He takes a slightly more urgent step forward than he means to, enough to stop you in your tracks. More anxious than he realized, he’s almost out of breath as he asks, “Do you want some help with that?”
Coyly, you bite your lip, but the smile that follows has blood rushing between his legs. “Ok. Sure.”
With two hands supporting the baby’s head, Sanji bends to kiss you. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom. Do you need anything?”
When you say you don’t, he kisses you again, then floats upstairs to put your son back to bed. Thankfully, he goes down without much fuss, and before long, Sanji finds himself undressed, body nestled between your thighs, kissing you deeper, more passionately.
He’s careful with you—not so delicate as if you might break, but gentle, taking things softer and slower than he would have before. You only started having sex again a few weeks ago, just started getting comfortable again after the baby, and as badly as he wants you, Sanji also wants to make sure he never pushes you too far too fast.
“Is it ok if I touch you? Hold you?” he pants, breathing hard just from the heavy kissing. He’s so turned on, hard already against your legs, but he can’t help it. He skims the underside of your breast lightly with his hand, unsure if being full means it’ll hurt if he squeezes.
“Yes, just not too hard.” You sigh, legs curling up and around his waist, pulling him close. You want him too, he can tell.
With a shudder, Sanji palms your breast—the same one you pulled out of your top earlier—feeling the unfamiliar weight of it in his hand while his mouth wanders down your throat to meet it. He hasn’t mentioned it, hasn’t wanted to make you feel self conscious about it, but of course he noticed how your cup size went up after your milk came in. It’s nothing that you did on purpose, and it’s not for him, but he’s so desperate to explore as he drags his tongue down your heaving chest until he finds your nipple.
You gasp as he twirls his tongue around it, and Sanji groans with delight as he closes his lips and gives an experimental suck. He tastes you with a shock, milk flowing so suddenly that he pulls back and curses. “Fuck.” Eyes lock with yours, pupils blown.
You whimper. “Yeah.”
He dives back in for more.
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