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they’d barely been in this save for an hour
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The whole situation with the "Steve gets pregnant" subplot and, more specifically, how people--myself included--reacted to it has forced me to examine my own internalized biases and their roots in cisnormativity, so... I guess there's some silver lining to it, right?
The Steve mpreg plot is undeniably weird and bad. But it's weird and bad because a teenager gets suddenly, unknowingly, and nonconsentually pregnant, not because that teenager is a boy. So why did we all jump on the idea of it being mpreg? Why is that what we focused on to epitomize the weirdness of the plot?
Men getting pregnant isn't weird, and it shouldn't be seen as such. Men can get pregnant. But right now, it's seen as just a fetish, something weird and fringe and dirty that should stay in explicit fanfic. But the truth is, men getting pregnant is no more dirty or weird than women getting pregnant.
I'm in no way defending the Steve mpreg plot--it was weird and uncomfortable and I hated it. But our reaction is very telling to our biases, and made me think about why I had that reaction. And, to be clear, I am a trans man, so this bias is disgust, sexualization, and stigma toward what my body can do, even if it's not something I would personally ever want it to.
What I'm saying is: the Steve plot was weird, but male pregnancy itself isn't, and should actually be normalized.
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The US decided to change their citizenship rules so instead of being born a citizen if you’re born there, you now need to be conceived there as well. If not, you become a legal citizen of the country you were conceived in. After this was implemented, there was a huge scandal where like 1/3 of the population got deported because they were conceived on their parents vacations and all the politicians who wrote the rule got deported.
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If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power
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I just need to take a minute and say that it’s incredibly poignant and powerful that Halsey has created an album all about pregnancy and childbirth.
Halsey, who infamously struggled through a miscarriage during one of her first big recorded performances. Halsey, who has spoken at length about endometriosis and her struggles to conceive. Halsey, who wrote “More” on her last album, all about her sorrow and regret over lost pregnancies, but tinged with hope that someday, she would meet her child.
It’s so, so important and meaningful that she’s releasing an album like this. She wants to destigmatize and even immortalize the power and strength and softness of those who bear children. She knows the pain of being someone who wants children and thinks they’ll never be able to conceive.
It’s always a delight to witness a new album cycle, and I am always surprised by what she does. I cannot wait to see and hear this new project.
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They're both having babies at the same time 💓
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rules of engagement
all’s fair in arranged marriages and war.
you have no intention of marrying zen’in naoya.
he finds this out the hard way.
pairing: naoya zen’in x f!reader
notes: i used terminology from omiai for this but it is in fact run very differently from omiai, which i am hand-waving by virtue of sorcery clans doing things differently, which i have Thoughts about.
also i have another 2k that i wrote for this that this frustrating dick made impossible to work i hate him so much.
warnings: 18+ for allusions/mentions of smut. one brief pov change, naoya is his own warning, misogyny, arranged marriages & (failed) arranged marriage negotiations, parental death from a vague illness & a brief non-explicit deathbed scene, borderline dubcon kissing(?) and a brief moment of dubcon touching, pregnancy mentions/descriptions throughout.
“She’s old,” Naoya drawls, tossing the rirekisho aside. “Thought ya were supposed to be good at this.”
“Zen’in-sama,” the nakōdo says, wincing, “she’s not that much older than you a—”
“Ya deaf? She’s old. Next one.”
The nakōdo hands over the next rirekisho silently.
Naoya slides the picture out first; pretty is the most basic of his requirements.
And you are pretty. There’s a hazy familiarity to you, too, especially with the way the silk of your hōmongi drapes over your form. The understated wisteria motif sweeps over your shoulder like a path, and he follows the soft cascade of flowers to the swell of your breasts. Perfectly accented, perfectly framed.
But it’s the sweet timidity to the tilt of your lips that snares his attention.
It’s easy to imagine you wide-eyed in his bed, being molded to his touch, his wants, his needs. He can shape you as a sculptor does clay.
Because Naoya knows you’re malleable. The promise of it is in the elegant positioning of your hands, the downward tilt of your shining eyes. He can press you into easy compliance, leave his fingerprints on more than just your skin.
“What clan’s she part of?”
The nakōdo straightens in his seat, his slender shoulders unknotting, just a bit. He names your clan with an expression that’s likely more hopeful than he means it to be.
“Tch. Not the best lineage,” Naoya grumbles.
The name serves to clear the fogginess, though, and the familiarity becomes a set of brief memories - you behind your father, your eyes hidden beneath the fan of your eyelashes, a soft greeting spilling from your lips with a perfect bow. The pearly sheen of your kimono glimmering as you step back to let the men pass, your hands elegantly folded. It’s the type of quiet obedience in a woman that’s harder and harder to find these days, to his disgust.
It doesn’t completely erase that your clan falls a bit short, but you’ve clearly been raised correctly.
He scans the rest of your rirekisho idly, pausing at your highlighted cursed technique. More powerful than he’d thought, and familiar, too. “That’s her technique? Yer tellin’ me that she’s got Threefold?”
“Yes, she’s one of the few to inherit it.”
“What a waste, a woman gettin’ that.”
“She’s a Grade Two sorcerer, and it’s likely she’ll eventually receive the recommendations for Grade One.”
Naoya raises a brow. “What’s that matter fer? She’ll be at home.”
“Yes, of course, Zen’in-sama.”
Naoya glances over the rirekisho again, taking in the rate of inherited techniques appearing, both yours and the techniques of clans that have married into your family. Higher than he would have thought. You’re fertile, too, if the birth rate in your clan holds true. You would give him plenty of strong sons.
He considers your stomach growing heavy with his child, rounding like ripe, sweet fruit, that same docile little smile on your lips. The idea of it coils hot in his chest, spreads beneath his skin like forest fire.
He brushes his thumb against the edge of your picture.
“She’ll do,” he says. “Tell her clan.”
The cicadas are calling.
Their song echoes through the courtyard, lingering melancholy in the twilight. An eerie, haunting choir. You stare out into the courtyard as it darkens, the heavy blooms of the luxuriant flowers going dusky, deepening into rich plum silhouettes as the shadows stretch.
Light spills around you, golden and without warmth. You listen to the cicadas, to the encompassing hum of them. Your fingers ache. They’ve gone wooden, stiffened around the fabric they’re knotted in. You pull in a soft breath as you let go of your yukata, flexing your fingers carefully. You smooth away the wrinkles you’ve left behind.
Your name rattles in your father’s chest.
The engawa creaks as you rise. Your uncles step out of your path as you enter the room, their eyes downcast; your cousin moves away to let you settle at your father’s side. The cloth your uncle hands you has the ocean’s touch in it, all deep, cold water.
“Father,” you say, laying the cloth over his clammy forehead. “You called for me?”
His gaze is cloudy, but it does little to reduce its strength. “I’d ask if you are prepared for this weight,” he says, “but I know better.”
He wheezes a laugh at your bluntness; the curve of his lips is unbearably fond. “Show the other clans those who have always been our backbone,” he tells you. “For all of the women who came before you.”
Across the room, your aunt’s eyes are dark, polished stone, gleaming in the low light. There is a hunger crackling beneath her skin.
“I will,” you tell your father, but it is your aunt’s gaze that you hold. “I will.”
Her smile is full of teeth.
“What will you do?” your father asks.
“The Zen’in clan’s offer.”
In the cavernous quiet, the cicadas’ song filters through the shoji.
When you close your eyes, Zen’in Naoya’s name is seared behind your eyelids, the kanji firework bright. He lingers in your memory too—the sharp cut of his jaw; the elegant swoop of his eyeliner, a bird’s wing curve; the gold of his hair, like the autumn wheat fields; the smug curl of his lip.
There’s a certain type of power in conservative propriety. If you’re quiet, demure, men shroud you with their dismissal. Blind themselves to you, until you can step wraith-like into their world, pulling threads of information close and spooling them around your fingers. You weave them together and whisper a tapestry of politics into your father’s ear.
It comes at a cost. In your quiet compliance, the softest parts of you are on display, and there is a reason that tender morsels are coveted.
You know what men like Naoya see in you.
He’d watched you once, as you’d silently poured tea for a meeting of the clans at your estate. You’d kept your hands steady even with the heat of his sly eyes tracing over your figure. He’d lingered at the arch of your wrists, the softness of your hips.
Was startin’ ta think that there weren’t any pretty women who knew to keep their mouths shut anymore, he'd said to the table. Good ta know some still know their place.
You know what you would lose to him.
Zen’in Naoya’s name sounds like teeth clicking shut around you.
You take your father’s hand in yours, press your lips against the blazing, papery skin of his knuckles. “I won’t let them swallow us,” you murmur.
Swallow me, you think.
He studies you. “I might have.”
“No,” you say, matter-of-fact. “I wouldn’t have let you.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, his laugh lines etched deep. “True,” he concedes. His voice cracks, like river ice breaking beneath spring’s unyielding advance. He turns his head, as if it hides the way his muscles go taut, cording against the pain. You blink away the tears before they can truly form.
Your aunt comes to kneel with you. She puts a hand on your knee, her touch heavy with tenderness, and part of you takes refuge in it.
Together, you wait.
Only a few hours later, your kinsmen bow low to you. The curve of their backs remind you of weeping willow branches: slender, flexible, durable. You allow yourself a single, unsteady breath.
You rise to your feet as the head of your clan.
“Zen’in-sama,” the manservant says, hesitating for a brief moment at the shoji. “We’ve received an answer regarding the clan’s offer of an arranged marriage, now that the new clan head has been confirmed.”
“Took ‘em long enough,'' Naoya scoffs. “Have the women start preparin’, then. I don’t wanna be bothered with it.”
“Ah,” the manservant says, his voice wavering. “Zen’in-sama, I’m afraid they’ve said no.”
“Zen’in-sama! Please, if you would just wait—”
“I ain’t waiting,” Naoya snaps, already halfway down the engawa. He’s waited long enough, hindered by begrudging respect for your clan’s mourning period. “Where is she?”
The servant hurries after him, sweat beading at his brow. “Zen’in-sama, please. Y-you can’t—”
“Where is she.”
The servant flinches, and shows him.
When he slams the shoji open, he spots you immediately, tucked away near the far wall. You’re settled on your knees by a low table, flowers strewn across it, a wildflower meadow all the brighter against the obsidian of your mofuku kimono. You’re plucking at the verdant leaves of a thin branch with careful intention, stripping them away to better frame the dainty clusters of pearly flowers.
Your kinsmen come to their feet. It’s a finely-honed reaction, a quicksilver slip into loose, defensive positions around you. Better than he’d expected from a lower clan. Absolutely worthless against him, but still of note, something to tuck away.
“Out,” Naoya orders, his eyes on you. They hesitate. “Now.”
“Leave us, please,” you say to your kinsmen, without even deigning to glance up at them.
This time, they do not hesitate.
It burns, seeing men respond so quickly to a command from a woman. To see them honor your command over his. The only balm is that your kinsmen bow to him first, and they bow deeply.
The shoji slides shut with a little click. You still haven’t looked up from your work, your fingers wrapped firmly around the thin, flower-laden branch as you use the heat of your hands to mold it. You are patient with it, soft with it, but there is iron to you. You do not yield until the wood curves. It bends to your will, forced beneath a gentle hand.
It’s spirea, he realizes. Victory.
Coincidence, maybe, but it sears through him anyway, twists ugly and hot beneath his skin.
“Zen’in-sama,” you say, and for all that your measured composure pricks at him, the deference of his title between your lips, sweet on your tongue, satisfies more than he’d thought. You set down the delicate foliage and turn your attention to him. “To what do we owe this honor?”
Like this, hands folded prettily on your lap and your voice a spring brook, soft and flowing, he remembers why he found you an excellent candidate to be graced with the gift of being his wife.
“Ya know why I’m here,” Naoya bites out. “Because ya seem to have misunderstood what yer answer is.”
You look docile. On the surface, you have all the delicate tenderness of a fawn on the verge of fleeing, aware of your place in this dangerous world.
But you meet his eyes steadily, coolly. A predator’s challenge.
“Zen’in-sama,” you say. “I think it may be you that misunderstands. No woman in my clan will have you, least of all me.”
It takes him a moment to register the bite of your words, cloaked as they are in the gentle cadence of your voice. He rounds the low table with a few quick strides. You don’t move. You gaze up at him from your knees, poised and unyielding. Part of his rage splits off into lightning, a bolt of heat that crackles through him.
“Have me?” he snarls. “No, you’ll serve me, and yer gonna thank me for it. Yer uncles shoulda taken ya in hand the second ya tried to make a decision.”
“I’m the head of my clan,” you say mildly. You rise to your feet with honeyed grace. “All decisions are mine to make, in the end. Including marriage offers.”
“Ya really think you can say no? To me?”
You blink. Naoya watches the slow sweep of your eyelashes, the soft curl of them like unfurling summer ferns. It’s demure, that little blink. And yet, beneath the fan of your lashes, the delicacy of them, your eyes are wintry. His fingernails bite little crescent moons into his palms, pinpricks of pain.
You’re his. You’ve belonged to him from the moment your name was written down as a prospect, since you were offered up to him like freshly plucked fruit, ripe and sweet. His for the taking, his to consume.
The only one who doesn’t seem to realize it is you.
“I don’t think I can say no to you, Zen’in-sama,” you say coolly. “I know I can.”
You look at him, and the silk of you unfurls to show the iron beneath.
“I already have.”
He catches you by the chin, long, heavy fingers splaying out across your jaw. The startled little noise you make—a hiccuping, breathy gasp—curls through him, sparks more heat to simmer beneath his skin. He tightens his grip without thought. Presses his fingers harder into the plump flesh of your cheeks, just enough to make your lips part.
You’re warm. Gently so, like early spring sun, and to Naoya’s frustration, he likes it. Likes the way the heat of you soaks into his fingertips as he forces you to look at him.
“Ya don’t wanna test me like this,” he snarls. “I’m being generous. Marryin’ me? Carryin’ my heirs? It’s an honor fer a nothin’ clan like yers.”
You laugh. It resonates against the pads of his fingers. A sweet, polite little laugh that slides between his ribs, a bone shard sound that’s sharper than any whetted blade.
“Yes, it is,” you agree. “And yet, my answer is no.”
“I can take yer clan apart.”
“It would gain you nothing.”
His fingers flex against your jaw. You suck in a soft breath, and he feels it, the flutter in your cheeks as they hollow out for a second.
Your breath is ghosting across his lips, heated little puffs of air. He’s drawn you closer without realizing it. Your lips are still parted, and there’s something about that little sheen of wetness in that tiny gap. The hint of the soft pink of your tongue.
“Yer mine,” Naoya growls, and then he’s pushing forward, catching you in a biting kiss. You make a little noise of surprise, and he swallows it down, greedy for more. He lets go of your jaw to curl a hand around the nape of your neck. He uses it to mold you to his desire, to make you yield to him. His kiss is devouring.
But you’re kissing back.
He’s unforgiving, even though you’re soft against him, your mouth lush and warm. Your hands knot in the front of his kimono. But you do nothing, as if you can’t even think of anything but clinging to him. He can feel the surrender in you, and the possessive thing lurking behind his ribs snarls.
You’re panting into his mouth now, all those polite, keen-edged words of yours trapped beneath his tongue. He’s silenced you. It curls hot in his chest and arrows down his spine.
He tightens his grip. He wants his fingerprints to sink through your skin, into the marrow of you, so that every inch of you is his. He’ll fuck that infuriating aloofness right out of you, until your lashes are clumped into damp spikes, until you’re whimpering for him. He’ll fill your pretty cunt with his cum, over and over again, until you’re dripping with him.
He’ll remind you what you’re made for.
Naoya pins you back against the wall, knocking your grip on his clothes loose. He pushes a hand beneath the heavy silk of your kimono to palm your tit roughly. You fit perfectly into his hand, your skin soft despite the raspy cotton of your hadajuban, the only thing still shielding you from his touch.
You catch him by the wrist.
“Enough,” you say, pulling back as far as you can with the wall behind you, your lips spit-slick and swollen. You’re panting, but even still, your composure holds.
Naoya wants to shatter it.
He squeezes at your tit, molds it in his palm. You make a quiet noise that nestles itself into his chest like an ember. “Ya don’t sound like you’ve had enough,” he sneers.
Your fingers tighten, compressing on his wrist like iron. You’re stronger than he thought; it aches, like a bruise being pressed.
“Tell me, Zen’in-sama,” you say, eyes glittering. “What do you think the clans will think of you, should they learn that a nothing clan spurned you? Wouldn’t even give you one of their daughters - you, the heir to the Zen’in clan?”
He digs his fingers into the softness of your breast. “They’d never listen to ya.”
“Are you sure, Zen’in-sama?”
He isn’t. The three great clans are always chasing the scent of each others’ blood, circling like sharks. And the exact reasons he chose you are what would make it believable—the power of your technique; the fact that three of your aunts and cousins have birthed children with the inherited techniques of their husband’s families; and you yourself, with your quiet grace and pretty features.
His answer must be on his face, because you drag his hand out from underneath your kimono.
You smooth the silk back into place. He watches the way your fingers press delicately into the black material, his own fingers flexing at his side as his mind races.
There is a quiet, reverent call of your title.
You turn towards the servant lingering near the shoji. The girl’s dark eyes flutter between you and Naoya, taking in how close you are.
“Yes?” you prompt.
“Ah,” the girl says, bowing low. “Please forgive my disruption, but the head of the Inumaki clan has arrived.”
“Inumaki-san,” you say, brushing past Naoya to greet the man lingering just beyond the shoji, ignoring Naoya’s quiet snarl. “Please, forgive me. I’m afraid we lost track of time. Come, please sit.”
Inumaki inclines his head to you as he steps inside. His attention flickers to Naoya next, and he bows low. Naoya pays him little mind, his focus on you and the way your obi is just slightly askew from his hands.
You turn your attention back to him, that cool, gracious serenity shrouding you like a veil. Naoya grits his teeth.
“Thank you, Zen’in-sama, for your condolences,” you say, as you dip into a shallow, polite bow. He itches to force you lower. “It was kind of you to come all this way. We are honored. Kimura will take you to your things.”
He clicks his tongue, all too aware of Inumaki’s presence. He gives the other man a short nod before crossing the room with sharp, menacing strides.
Naoya halts next to you, wrapping a tight hand around your bicep. Your warmth soaks through the silk, and something curdles sour in his chest. He leans in close, his lips hovering by your ear. “This ain’t over,” he hisses.
You peer at him through your lashes, your lips curving slightly, a tranquil crescent moon of a smile.
“Yes, Zen’in-sama,” you say quietly. “It is.”
And then you slip through his fingers, just as you have this entire time.
Naoya leaves your estate with fury brewing in his chest like a summer storm, dark and heavy.
He is not used to his possessions evading his grasp.
But you are young, a woman, and inexperienced. It will not take long for your clan to begin to collapse beneath you. Naoya is not a patient man, but he can recognize when time is on his side. You’ll kneel to him, and he’ll train that willfulness out of you, until you’re the perfect, pliant wife that you masquerade as.
In the end, it will be easy.
It is not easy.
Naoya grits his teeth as you sweep into the clans meeting for the first time. You’re clad in a silk kimono of exquisite make. It’s the soft color of the pearly dawn, tailored to you perfectly. It is not far from something he would have put you in. Feminine and elegant.
In this room, it is a statement.
It is you who goes to sit at the table. Not him. His father’s presence prevents it. And so he watches you, prim and pretty, settle between two of the other clan heads. The men acknowledge you quietly, inquiring politely about your recently received recommendations for promotion. You cover your embarrassed little laugh behind a manicured hand.
Your rise in jujutsu society has been meteoric. He’s heard it all—how you have threads of information spooled around your fingertips; how your sweet, sharp tongue spins them into shield and sword alike; the masterful way that you wield your technique.
You still fall short of the Zen’in clan’s political sway, but you are infuriatingly evasive.
Your eyes find his, and the small smile that curls across your lips cuts hot through him. It’s a sweet little curve, and it is full of teeth.
He sneers. Your smile grows sharper.
You only look away from him when the clan head next to you murmurs something. You turn your head with your usual grace. Naoya clenches his fists, his chest flaring white-hot as he sees it.
There’s a sprig of spirea tucked into your hair.
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I believe in girlboss x malewife supremacy
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I have another Rexanidala thing on the brain, specifically:
Transmasc Anakin and cis Padme get married, their biology means no risk of Accidents.... except then they invite Rex with them, and like... war doesn't make consistent birth control EASY, and Anakin's taking the pill because he hates the idea of any implants for Slave Trauma Reasons, but the clones are supposed to be mostly sterile and Anakin's been on testosterone for long enough that it's basically no risk, right?
...Anakin is really lucky that pregnancy is the LEAST dysphoric experience for him. It's very much "Well, this is inconvenient timing," but not triggering, thank the Force.
(Do not thank the Force. The Force is probably why you're pregnant.)
"Anakin's on T, the clones were supposed to be sterile, its fine!"
It was not fine.
If it’s not triggering then he probably gets caught up in thoughts along the lines of “Baby? Mine???”
But also there's a lot of. You know. "Oh god the Order is going to kill me."
With a delightfully awful little side of "what's going to happen to Rex if it comes out he's the other father?"
Anakin, to Obi-Wan: Heyyyyyyyyyyyy Master. I, uh... I fucked up big time. Help?
Obi-Wan: Did you kill someone you shouldn't have?
Anakin: Not recently.
Obi-Wan: Terrifying answer, thank you, what did yo--
Anakin: I'm pregnant.
Anakin: In my defense, we thought both of us were basically sterile.
(From an outside perspective, Rex being the father is also concerning as hell for power dynamics reasons.)
(I'm thinking it was a matter of "Drunk Rex hits on Anakin, is gently rebuffed because alcohol, Anakin brings it up when they're both sober like 'hey, so this is a thing you said and I'd just like to figure out how sincere that was? because, you know, if it was sincere I'm open to it, but if it's not we can pretend it never happened, no questions asked; you already know I'm married and perfectly happy with her so if it's not up your alley, there are literally zero consequences," because drunk confessions by the subordinate are somehow less "oh fuck, power dynamics" than most options.)
(But from the outside, it's uhhhhhhhhhh looks bad, Scoob.)
I think this might be an "everyone knows Anakin and Padme are together, but are assuming it's just a FWB situation where they hook up for stress relief instead of Actual Marriage" timeline so there's an added element to the rumor mill about, like, That Whole Situation because the assumption is that Anakin can't get pregnant from Padme, unless she's also...? Except, no, she's made statements before where she cited her own childbearing capacity as a way to press personal connection to a bill or law she was trying to get passed, so who...?
Rex is very excited about Baby and also terrified
Like. Magnitudes more terrified than Anakin.
Padme is worried for both of her idiot boys because hello they're in a war. If Padme got pregnant, at least the gravid partner wouldn't be the one that's entering battle fields near daily.
Anakin's panicking about getting kicked out of the Order, Rex is panicking about getting decommissioned and also about the babies, Padme's panicking about Anakin's reputation and Rex's safety and Anakin's safety and what this means for the Clone Rights bill and--
Obi-Wan's panicking about all of this. (He also tries to give Anakin another safe sex lecture but like. In Anakin's defense, Kamino said the clones were sterile.)
Ahsoka's being shielded from... most of the panic. All she knows is that Anakin is pregnant.
Anakin was already fairly motivated to end the war but all someone has to point out is that the baby is in danger and suddenly it’s like. Nightmare Man Determined To End War Singlehandedly
I just... whether it's transakin or magical mpreg or scifi mpreg or what, I really love Anakin getting pregnant, because he's just. He's a very specific collection of neuroses and nonsense that makes him Very Excited by the idea of Creating Life.
This is just another AU where I am indescribably happy with the idea of Rex holding a baby and being bewildered in the most delighted way because... he has a child. Somehow. He has a baby???
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Lilith hit her third trimester when out feeding the chickens
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pairing: dad!Sebastian Stan x mom!reader
summary: you and Seb welcome your baby girl earlier than planned.
warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of childbirth, mentions of preemie baby, mentions of pregnancy and labor.
a/n: I am absolutely terrified to post this tbh. this is based completely on my birth experience with my daughter, and it was insanely traumatic to the point where I can't stand to be in a hospital (I had to take her a few months ago bc she had covid 19 symptoms and I had multiple panic attacks). things might not be 100% accurate as im writing based on what I can remember and what other people (my mom, dad, grandparents) have told me because I don't fully remember. hope you enjoy!
when you woke up this morning, you knew something was wrong.
you felt weird. you were 32 weeks pregnant with your husband Sebastian's baby girl, and both she and you were perfectly healthy.
you checked your phone as you wandered down the hallway to the kitchen, trying to ignore the dread and anxiety seemingly filling your body for no reason. you looked at your calendar, and realized you had your 32 week appointment and ultrasound, and the dread was slowly replaced by happiness.
at least you'd get to see her little face today. you were so happy that you and Seb were able to afford 3D ultrasounds, and you couldn't wait to see how much chubbier her cheeks had gotten, and how her lungs were developing.
you went on with your morning, and everything seemed fine, until you got a call from your dad.
you had called your parents to inform them of who was allowed in the room while you were giving birth, and your dad was not happy. when you and Sebastian had talked about it, you two had decided that the day was about you, him, and your daughter, not everyone else, and came to the conclusion that while you were pushing and delivering the baby, only Sebastian would be in the room.
your dad however, did not agree with this at all. he said he should be allowed in the room, and should be permitted to watch his daughter become a mother. you tried to reason with him, and explain why you and Sebastian made that decision, but your dad was not having it. he ended the phone call after saying that if he was not in the room, he would disown you, and that sent you into a stress induced meltdown.
you dropped the phone onto the counter, and slid onto the floor. your hands covered your face as your heart became heavier and your sobs grew louder. you noticed your body started to feel weird as well. the happiness you felt from earlier had vanished quicker than Bucky did in Wakanda or on his fall from the train and the dread work its way through your veins and your nerve endings.
you felt the urge to throw up, and pulled yourself to a stand with difficulty. once you did however, you felt a rippling pain in your stomach, followed by warm liquid flowing down your legs.
your first instinct was that you wet yourself, but you soon realized that you couldn't stop the flow, and that it was your water breaking. your eyes widened, and you grabbed your phone to check the date, to make sure you were, in fact, 32 weeks. your heart dropped as the numbers and letters on the screen confirmed it, and you realized you were in preterm labor.
"fuck!" you cried, and scrambled to unlock your phone, and call Seb. thankfully, he wasn't actively filming a scene, and sneered on the first ring.
"hey baby what's-" he began but you cut him off urgently.
"you need to come home!" you cried, tears streaming down your face as you thought about the fate of the life inside of you.
"what's wrong? is it the baby?" he asked, and you heard him moving around his trailer, and felt a short burst of relief that he was heading home as soon as he could.
"m-my water broke!" you cried out, still unable to believe that this was happening to you. you and Sebastian were so excited when you found out about the little girl in your stomach, and you didn't know how you'd continue on if she was ripped from your fingers mere weeks away from her due date.
"fuck! okay, I'm leaving now, stay on the phone baby," he said, and you could hear the tears in his voice as he rushed from set and talked to the directors. he stayed on the phone with you as he rushed home through midday New York traffic, until he was standing just outside the door. he hung up and came bursting into the apartment.
he followed the sound of your cries and rushed to your aide. "fuck baby. let's-lets go to the hospital, okay?" he said, his voice shaking as he tried to hold himself together for you, because whenever he cried, you cried. you could barely get through an episode of Political Animals without sobbing at his sad little face, and he needed to be strong for you and his daughter.
you nodded weakly, and let him help you up and lead you out of the apartment. he got you into the car, and the next 30 minutes were a whirlwind.
you could barely focus on what was happening. the drive, the check in, the nurses helping you into a hospital gown, and then a bed, all of it seemed to swirl together as you thought about the little girl inside of you, and wether or not she was going to make it.
you were snapped out of your disorientation when cold ultrasound jelly was poured on your belly, and you could finally take a deep breath when your senses were filled with the sound of your baby healthy and steady heartbeat, and your husband whispering thank god, before pressing a reassuring kiss to your forehead.
you could barely understand what the doctor was saying, but you got the gist. the stress that your father had put on you had caused stress on your baby, and sent you into preterm labor. you were progressing quickly, and were past the point of being able to stop it.
tears flowed down your face as you realized you were having your baby. doctors and nurses were rushing in and out of the room, and your turned to face your husband as an incubator was rolled in.
"I'm sorry," you said, choking out a sob. his eyebrows furrowed, and his hands cupped your cheeks.
"baby, no. it wasn't your fault. I could never be mad at you for something like this. she's a fighter, so are you. we'll make it through," he said, his thumbs brushing away your tears as you nodded.
"d-don't let go of my hand," you begged, and he nodded. "never. I'm here." he said, and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, just as the doctor entered the room.
"okay, Y/N, you're fully dilated, and we need to get her out quickly. if she stays in any longer than necessary, we'll have to do an emergency c section. she is getting stressed out, and we need to bring that stress level down. I know you can't feel them, but on your next contraction, I need you to push like hell, okay?" she said, and you nodded. you glanced up at Sebastian who pressed a kiss to your forehead. he reached around your shoulders and grabbed your other hand just as another contraction started and the doctor told you to push.
you teared down as hard as you could, and pushed for what felt like 10 minutes, although it was only 10 second.
"good job, Y/N, you're doing great!" the doctor said. "I can see her head, you're almost there!"
Sebastian buried his nose and mouth in your hair, and encouraged you. "I'm so fucking proud of you, baby. you're doing so well." you relaxed your body against the pillows, more tears slipping own your cheeks.
you couldn't believe this was happening to you. you'd heard of this happening to other women, but you'd never thought that you'd be in this position. most babies were safe to be born after 35 weeks, but you were 32 weeks. 3 more weeks and you would have been fine. 3 more weeks and you wouldn't have to spend the unforeseeable future in the NICU while her internal organs finished developing. she was supposed to be fine. she was fine a week ago.
your doctor told you to push once more, and you did. after the 10 seconds were over, you relaxed back on the pillows again, and Seb pressed a kiss to your forehead, you realized you could feel everything. every movement she made down the birth canal to come out, every stretch, every pull. they didn't have time to give you an epidural, and you knew you were going to feel this. that thought almost scared you more than having a preemie.
"she's almost here, just one more push, and you're done." the doctor said, and Seb unraveled himself from you to look. his eyes widened in joy when he saw the dark hairs of his baby girls head, before coming back to support you.
"you're doing so well. I'm not leaving your side. she's so close." he said, just as another contraction came, and you pushed like hell, wanting to get her out, and safe.
a few seconds later, you heard Sebastian gasp, and a sob rip from his throat. you stopped pushing and opened your eyes just in time to see the doctor carrying your small baby girl, who was blue.
you wanted to scream. you wanted to cry. you wanted to, you needed to know that your baby was okay. you felt your chest constricting as you saw doctors and nurses surrounding your little girl. her umbilical cord was cut, and your vision went fuzzy just as she was placed into the intubator.
just before your whole world went black, you heard the mightiest little cry pierce the air.
you opened your eyes, and squinted at the harsh lighting in the room. you groaned, and felt the hair around your face being pushed back. you turned, and found Sebastians face. his eyes were bloodshot red, and his cheeks were puffy.
"hi baby," he whispered, a smile spreading on his lips.
your eyebrows scrunched. "w-wheres Olive?" you asked. you needed to make sure she was alive. you needed your baby girl.
Sebastian smiled, and rolled the incubator close to your bed. "right here. she's alive. the cord was wrapped around her neck, that's why she was blue. they had to give her some CPR, but she responded almost immediately, and she's okay."
you looked over at your baby girl, and you burst into sobs at the tubes. she had an oxygen mask on her face and heart and brain monitors covering her still red skin. she was tiny. the smallest baby you'd ever laid eyes on, but she was beautiful. you could already tell she had Sebastians nose.
"we're gonna be here a while honey." he said, and helped you sit up. your head fell forward onto Sebastian's chest, and he cradled you. "her lungs aren't fully developed, and she's underweight, but other than that she's perfect. hearing, seeing, all of it. nothing life threatening. she's gonna survive." he said, and you could hear the raw emotion in his voice as well.
you opened your eyes, and whimpered at the harsh lighting again. Sebastian noticed, and flicked the switch next to the bed, which darkened the room.
"you've done so so well. I am so proud of you baby." he said, and you shook your head.
"I'm sorry." you sobbed out, and Sebastian hugged you tighter.
"No. don't be. she's here, and she's healthy. she's perfect. the doctors say if there's any lasting affects, it will just be asthma. do you wanna hold her hand?" he asked, and you nodded. he took your hand, and put it through the hand window.
as soon as your skin brushed against hers, you felt a wave of love like you'd never known. she was here, and she was safe. she was perfect.
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Trump was pregnant and had twins. It was a nightmare.
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IF I CAN'T HAVE LOVE, I WANT POWER
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[Quit having babies]
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omg im love w your blog!!! 😭😭😭 (you won me the moment you said you like heavy angst bc i LOVE it. 👌🏻) can you write something angst with childe, zhongli, kaeya and diluc where the reader finds out shes pregnant and is happy and excited to tell her partner but he doesn't take it very well? as if the baby was going to spoil his plans or they were not comfortable with the idea. (and yes, please, you can exaggerate the sadness if you want)
> and as im a lover of sad and painful things, if you can skip a time later where the reader loses the baby and how they would react to it. (It's ok if you don't want it!! I'll love what you can give me!) anyways, have a nice day and be safe!! 🥺<3
Of course! However, I'm going to have it be AFAB!Reader, and using gender neutral language... not everyone who can get pregnant is a girl, you know? Plus gender neutral language can refer to anyone ever.
But ty for your kind words, and here you go <3!
[[ WARNING: ANGST, PREGNANCY, MISCARRIAGE, INJURY ]]
[[ Summary: You're pregnant! And you're so happy to be bringing a little bundle of joy into the world with your lover... but they aren't so happy. Worse still, it turns out that little bundle of joy never get to see the light of day, not even for a moment.
Total Word Count: 2'521
Childe Word Count: 680
Diluc Word Count: 809
Kaeya Word Count: 528
Zhongli Word Count: 504 ]]
When he had come home, there was a meal cooked, his favorite alcohol, and you were dolled up, dressed up to look perfect--He could tell you were preparing something. Seeing you standing there, back to him, he walked over and wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder,
"So, what's the occasion? Or are you just so madly in love with me you have to spoil me?" He teased. You grabbed one of his hands, pulling it down to your stomach, leaning back a little bit into him--his eyes widened before you spoke, and you confirmed the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind-
"You're going to be a father."
In a fit of excitement, he scooped you up, holding you close and pressing kisses to your face, nuzzling up to you in excitement--"I'm gonna be a daddy!" He chirped, "Oh, oh, if it's a boy we're calling him lil Ajax, promise me he'll be my little Ajax Junior?" He asked, excited.
Through the night, the two of you had already been gushing out with countless ideas, about names, about the possibility of twins, more than a few crass jokes from Childe, until the two of you went to bed...
And when you were sound asleep in his arms... he was given a chance to think.
And it hit him.
He was not only making you more of a target to anyone who despised the Fatui, or himself personally... But...
Was he ready to be a dad?
He was gone all the time.
Was he... ready...?
His excitement turned to dread. Only after the initial shock, did he realize that... no, no, this was awful.
As quietly as he could, he sobbed into your shoulder, desperately trying to not wake you up. He was... terrified.
He had not known terror before, because this was not something he could kill and be done with.
Desperately, he tried to delude himself into thinking everything would be okay, to keep a smile on his face. When you called him out for his oddness, he confessed only a fraction of the truth, "I guess there's just.. a lot of feelings going on, you know?" He asked, the shrugged to himself. "I just need a little time before I'm settled with the idea."
He wasn't sure if he'd be okay with it at all. He felt like a child himself... Could he raise anything without destroying it? Even his own siblings... he stayed away just to keep them sane. He was nothing but a danger to them. He couldn't neglect his own child...
One day, he came home...and you weren't there. Probably just doing something on your own, he didn't really care, just sort of minding his own business, doing some cleaning since there was always something he could at least polish up when trying to burn time.
And there was a knock on the front door. He opened it, and there was a panicked Fatui messenger.
"Your-Your, uh, partner. They-They got into a bad fight, and they were... hospitalized."
Never had he run so fast in his life to find you. When he saw you, you were covered in bruises, black and blue, and a few bandaged cuts. He sat beside your bed, holding your hand, "... Talk to me," he pleaded, unable to hide his cracking voice.
"It's dead," you said, weakly. He shook his head, not understanding,
"What do you mean?"
"I'm... okay. But... Ajax," you whimpered, looking at him, having already cried every tear out of your body, "Our baby."
It hit him.
"I got hit in the stomach."
"Oh... Oh no, babe, love... nono..." He tried to hug you as best as he could without hurting you...
But... was it bad of him to be relieved? He knew this would happen... he knew you were in pain, but... he'd rather have an unborn infant he had never met die compared to a child he held and loved.
He'd still stay there with you, but he only wished he could fix it. Not everything could be killed with brute violence.
"Diluc... I'm pregnant. You're going to be a father."
Diluc's face paled. The first thought that hit his head was his death, leaving you and your currently unborn child to suffer alone... or worse.
He couldn't be a father, he-he... He wasn't mean to be part of a family. He lost his father, his mother, Kaeya... Even the Knights, that at one point he could have called family, have left... Or he left them, knowing that he simply couldn't exist around them.
Your once ecstatic and happy face fell... Sure, the two of you only, idly, had spoken about the possibility of children... and you didn't mean to get pregnant, but you wanted a child.
It seems Diluc did not exactly share your feelings.
"I'm going to bed," he said, standing up suddenly, feeling like he was about to fall over.
"Is this news... really so horrible?" You asked, no small amount of pain... and he sighed.
"I... don't know how to deal with it. I need time to think."
You knew it was a big thing... you'd give him time. After all, in the end, Diluc was a good man. He did the best he could and took care of those he cared for, even if he didn't want a child, he would take care of them... and, of course, you.
The next day, he was no better, he looked at your sleeping form, your stomach, and from pure distress and terror, he had left to go to the bathroom, just to vomit pure acid, trying to hide how tears poured under the guise of being sick, of being in pain.
How could he be a father?
The next few weeks were tense, and his gaze would linger on your stomach...
By the end of the first month, he set his hand on your stomach... with a small, vulnerable smile.
"I'm excited," he finally said, rubbing your stomach that was barely any larger than normal... "I'm afraid, but... I'm excited for our baby."
You cried, and he did too, holding each other as you cried. Exciting, concerning... hopeful, there was so many emotions, but in the end, you slept happily.
Things would be okay. Diluc would make a family he couldn't lose.
Each month, Diluc would fuss more and more. He desperately tried to help when you were sick, from morning sickness, giving you massages when your body was aching from the new weight, the new life inside you.
Whenever he was sitting next to you, or lying beside you, especially as your stomach grew, he always had a hand on it. On the fifth month, when he felt the baby kick, he looked at you with a smile wider than you had ever seen before, excited like a young child getting its first toy.
He spent the next two hours pressing kisses to your rounded belly, whispering to the baby as though it could hear him.
By the sixth month, was when it happened. The two of you were talking, standing in the kitchen as you talked about what to make for dinner, and you felt it-Water flushing from you, soaking your clothes and making a mess on the floor. Diluc stared at you, shocked, and you felt the worst pain in your life--
"Diluc," You half collapsed in his arms, "I-I think I'm in labor," you said, with no small amount of horror.
It was supposed to be three months, but Diluc didn't question that, even if he was aware something very, very wrong. He brought you all the way to the Cathedral, and the Sisters, too, were in shock when you had told them. Moved to a back room, away from prying eyes, Diluc didn't let go of your hand as you tried to push...
For hours, you sat there, tears in your eyes, "Diluc," you sobbed, weakly, "I'm so tired."
"You can do it," he reassured, "I promise you, you can do it."
Finally, the baby was out. However, the sisters had taken the baby somewhere, you and Diluc sitting there, you exhausted, and Diluc terrified. Finally... Barbara walked in, tears in her eyes.
"... Your baby is dead." She said, "I'm sorry for your loss. Would you-Would you like to see them, or..."
You only began to cry, weakly.
"No," Diluc said, not wanting to look at the corpse of the child he failed to father, "But... can the Sisters arrange a burial?" He asked, trying to stop himself from losing it. Barbara nodded.
"Of course," She said, "I will leave you two be." She walked off, leaving the room as she tried not to cry for your loss.
He held you, and you both sobbed.
Once again, the Family that Diluc could never have, one he fought for with tooth and nail, was taken from him again.
At least he still had you.
"Fucking paperwork," he grumbled, detesting how everything had an absurd about of work to do. No wonder they were always overworked...
He'd rather be, who knows, hunting some monsters or getting some time off, sitting in the Angel's Share with you on his lap...
That sounded really nice right about now.
Just as he returned to his work, ceasing to think of you, you knocked on his office door and practically burst right in, an excited look on your face.
"Oh, what's got you so happy?" He asked, leaning back in his seat and he grinned, watching you walked around his desk, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"I have some news~" You said, in a singsongy voice, and he tugged on your hips, pulling you onto his lap. "So, tell me, don't make me wait with baited breath, I'll probably suffocate," He teased, sweetly.
You tugged him close, speaking in a low whisper right into his ear-- "I'm pregnant."
He was glad you weren't looking at his face, with the horror on his face. He was able to put on a mask of excitement, as fake as it felt, when you leaned back, looking at his expression, and he held you close, pressing his lips to yours.
"I'd say let's go celebrate, but I guess you can't have wine anymore."
You huffed, "We can celebrate in a different way."
In the end, the two of you went to the Angel's Share, the two of you deciding to keep it a secret for a little longer.
That night, while you cuddled up to him, he lie in bed, unable to close his eye, staring blankly...
As time passed, you had hit halfway through your second month. Kaeya still insisted that you keep it a secret-- "It's more fun if some people have a suspicious feeling, and then it's so exciting when you do tell them."
He was just too afraid to tell the world thus far. You had mostly agreed, but you were excited... you wanted to tell.
"I want to talk about this more," you admitted, "But I need to get a check-up for our little baby," you patted your tummy gently, and he pressed a kiss to your temple,
"Alright," he dreaded that conversation, "You go be safe."
He sat silently, on the bed, blankly staring forth. What was he supposed to do...? To even think?
He was so scared.
He was able to hear you before he saw you, hear the sounds of your sobbing, and as he turned to see you, you jumped into his arms, openly crying. Somehow--he could tell your stomach was... smaller. If only a little.
"You were right to not tell anyone," you whimpered, weakly. He gently rubbed your back,
"What do you mean?" He asked, softly.
"I... I had a miscarriage."
He felt elated, but also so, so terribly guilty.
But he knew, with everything... It was for the best.
"I'm so sorry," he said, softly, holding you close, "Tell me--what can I do to make this better?"
"I don't know, I don't know," you sobbed, broken and weak.
For now, he'd just hold you.
With a wide smile and bright eyes, you told him: "I'm pregnant!"
Zhongli gasped in surprise, for a brief second, he was only pleased, his hands almost touching your stomach... then he recoiled, pulling back, hesitant... And he looked down and away.
"... Love," he said softly, "You are aware I am still an adeptus." He said, gently. You didn't understand,
"Of course, but... there's Ganyu, and Yanfei, they're both half-adeptus, half-human... Isn't this fine?"
He was quiet for a moment, sighing. "Yanfei's and Ganyu's adeptus parents were mammals. I... Was not-You understand, I was one a dragon of the earth, correct?" He asked,
"Of course, I wouldn't forget anything like that."
"Normal half-adeptus children already have problems, but one who is a dragon..."
He looked away, thinking.
"Are you sure you're not just afraid? It's okay to be afraid." You reassured, reaching out and holding his hand.
He was not afraid.
He was simply certain. The idea-The idea of having a child, a little bounding bundle of joy that would giggle as he tickled them, seeing their beautiful, adorable little smile that held features of you and himself...
How idealistic. But he had endured tragedy before, and he will endure it again.
This will only be another agony. If, perhaps, he was in his original mating season, having gone through it delicately how it was meant to, rather than pure chance and accident... Then there was hope.
He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.
"Perhaps I am."
The days passed, and he would admit, he was shocked to see that your menstruation cycle had stopped--oh, period. People called it periods more commonly. Good to know.
And your stomach grew, you demanded him to touch your stomach, of which he would not argue, listening to your hopeful words.
You felt a pain in your stomach--naturally, you would be in pain.
You had left to go get it checked, to see why there would be pain, and what issue there would be for your child.
Alone, he curled up in bed and sobbed, unable to save you from this tragedy, sobbing pathetically in desperation, where no one, not, even you, could see his pain.
You did not come back that day, but you returned the second, pale and sickly, with bandages around your stomach. You collapsed into your arm,
"They... they had to do an emergency surgery," you wept weakly, too exhausted to sob, "It was... dead... and hurting-killing me."
He nodded. He knew this.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, softly, "I'm sorry, love."
"I just... I just want a family... Something to call my own."
Zhongli was quiet for a moment. Both of you had time before his original cycle would come in line...
Maybe-maybe, through an odd union of human and dragon, you could give him this family. But it would be a long, long conversation, and you would need to wait well beyond your wounds.
Oh, but your pain... how could he endure.
He would have to find a way.
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leighannepinnock: We've dreamed about this moment for so long and we can't believe the dream is finally coming true... we can't wait to meet you. ❤️😍
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yeah yeah yeah!!! sukuna who swears he’s only using you as breeding stock — except once he gets a taste of your tits and puts his hand on your swollen belly, talking about some “gonna keep you full of my brats just so i can keep these tits full” but whenever he goes to demons anonymous he talks about you like you’re a petty puny human, but he can’t help but fall a little bit in love when you’re teary eyed and begging him to breed you again, or to relieve some of the pressure in your tits because they’re /so swollen you can’t stand it/ and he makes you beg him until your throat is raw just so he can pretend like he’s not itching to put your pretty tit in his mouth and suck on it till his mouth is full and your cunt is filled with his fingers or his cock 🥵🥵🥵 - 🍓
i uh— i wanted to write something sksksk
pregnancy, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, and lactation below the cut! read wisely!
many women are sacrificed each spring, some virginal, yet all beautiful. little darlings gifted to the alpha king in hopes that he may bring mercy upon the villages. sukuna cares for them none, unfazed by their presence for most of them are betas who serve no purpose to an alpha. he pillages as he sees fit until a worthy sacrifice is made — beautiful and omegan — you.
sukuna doesn’t care much about whether or not you’ve been touched by another; these facts are all meaningless in the grand scheme of things. but you smell like sin incarnate, twice as pretty as eve herself and just as tempting. for the first time in the hundred years that he’s been alive, he’s intrigued by a village’s sacrifice. there are three women that stand alongside you, yet the others are dismissed without a second thought. from the minute you walked through his door, barefoot and dressed in the sheerest threads, sukuna knows he will have no use for anyone else.
his knowledge is only further reaffirmed when his seed takes root upon your first breeding. his scent grows strong on your skin, proof that you are with child, that life grows within you — confirmation that you will bear him an heir. as time passes, both your belly and breasts swell, sukuna becomes rabid— driven wild by the changes his child has brought to you.
his desire embarrasses you, heat in your face as you sit poised and pretty. your belly is prominent, nipples leaky and swollen, yet your king leers at you openly. a clawed finger traces along the underside of your breast and you try not to show your fear, connfusion is written clear as day on your face.
“how long,” he asks, gruff and demanding. “how long has this been happening?”
“i-i’m not sure,” comes your breathless stutter.
“my pups will only have the best,” he tells you, only adding to your confusion. his alpha brain rattles, urging him to taste. “your milk must be plentiful should they harbor my strength.”
“i’ll sample it,” he grits, red eyes not leaving the swollen, glossy peak of your nipple.
he’s on you before you can protest, lips tugging at your nipple, suckling roughly until sweet milk flows onto his tastebuds. the sensation makes your omega simper, woozy with lust and a sense of rightness that only your alpha can stir within you. your hands sift through the pink strands of his hair as you bow into the press of his mouth, pussy leaking and filling the room with the scent of happy, horny omega.
“th-that’s,” you stutter, gasping as he switches to the other nipple to afford it the same treatment, “for the baby!”
sukuna’s red eyes glimmer, milk staining his mouth as he grins sharply at you. “i am a king and i am your alpha. your milk, pup or no pup, belongs to me.”
your alpha leaves no room to be misunderstood.
©️delirium 2021; please do not copy, steal, repost, modify, or recommend on any other platform without my permission!
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This is kinda late but i think 2 other characters who would also give you chunky ass babies is Shoto and Keigo 🤧
I will stand by this statement for as long as I live, the Todoroki children are the cutest and the chunkiest children ever to exist... so if you don't think Shoto would knock you up with a fat one, you're insane.
Little bugger's got rolls and cheeks for days, born fat and healthy with a full head of curls and a gorgeous set of eyes, too...
And Sho's baby is so clingy, I just know it... such a mama's thing, crying whenever daddy needs to take them for whatever reason (though they settle down pretty quick once in Sho's arms), and clinging to your leg the moment they can stand.
And sure, baby can be a little fussy at times, but it's nothing either of you can bear to be frustrated with when they pull up their shirt to wipe their runny eyes and end up exposing their cute and chubby baby tummy.
Keigo's baby is so, so adorable, too... soft in the middle and shy, they most definitely outweigh most of their age class, and obviously enjoy their mealtimes the most; spending nights plumping up with you before Keigo starts making every dinner fun.
They're a quiet thing, sweet and good... only really brightening up at home, and always begging to sleep in your bed pressed between the skin of both of you... that is, until, raspberries start getting blown onto their chubby tummy just to make them giggle and squeal and try to get away.
And of course, their wings are also super strong, too... and Keigo swears that one day they'll be just as wide. Even so, this has no bearing on the way baby's feathers remain downy and soft, more fuzz than anything, despite how they often flap in joyous excitement when you pull them in for a perfect little cuddle and press your cheek right into the squish of theirs.
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