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prismaticfaery · 1 year

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Little Bunny

John Price x Fem!Reader

Summary: Never in a million years would Captain Price think that he'd have a chance at a family, but with how dangerous his profession was and his chances of becoming a father becoming a reality, you and him have to learn the hard way that moving on is the best you both can do.

**TW: Pregnancy, vomiting, swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol, labor, childbirth, anxiety, panic, angst, unrequited love. (Forgive me if I miss any!)

Rating: Mature

This is not short, it's 10K words! Also, don't expect too much of a happy ending!

Part Two

A/N: I was debating posting this for so long out of fear it was trash, please be gentle with me! To add, termination is always going to be your choice and it’s okay to consider that option!

Fluorescent lights hung overhead, your eyes poorly adjusting to the harsh lights as you fumbled with a pen nervously between your fingers. You had filled out a small packet of papers on a clipboard, the receptionist telling you that your doctor would see you soon and to make sure every bit of information was filled in. When you had initially told the receptionist that it would only be you when she asked if you were accompanied by a partner for a confirmation of pregnancy ultrasound, she gave you a look, and you knew she was silently judging you for your situation.

“Y/N?” You hear a nurse call out while propping a door open, breaking you out of your trance.

It was two weeks ago when you had realized your period was late, your work schedule and general hecticness in your life made you suspect that it was stress at first but when your period never showed even a week later, and with having a pretty normal cycle, you darted to the commissary on base and bought two boxes of pregnancy tests– two different brands to make sure. Yeah, you had been more tired lately, and you had lost your appetite more than a few times, but you knew that those could also be normal premenstrual symptoms.

With your uniform pants and panties down to your ankles, you held two different pregnancy test in your hands, the trembling in your arms and hands from fear only became worse when the test slowly turned positive. With a harsh breath in, you hold it for a moment, fresh tears stinging your eyes when you finally release your breath. Your body felt frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. Do you tell him now? Do you wait? You were on birth control and never missed a dose, but of course, it’s not always foolproof. You weren’t even with the baby’s father on an exclusivity level, only really depending on each other for comfort and pleasure when you both needed it– not to mention he was your Captain, your superior.

A hiccup leaves your throat, the metaphorical golf ball stuck in your throat nearly choking you as you place your head in your hands, those fresh tears gathering in the corners falling into your hands. You were active duty in the SAS and newly recruited into Task Force 141, though just a Sergeant, and you were living in the barracks, which was not the place to bring a baby up in, nor was it even allowed. You weren’t prepared for a baby to come along, and you knew that your Captain had no intention of having children while he always had a target on himself. You knew he wouldn’t take this news well.

“It looks like you’re reaching nine weeks, strong heartbeat at 168 bpm– see it here?” the doctor pointed to the tiny fluttering heart on the ultrasound monitor.

“I do,” you smile lightly, your eyes never leaving the small floating jelly bean that jerked and wiggled inside of your body.

“Do you have support at home?” The doctor asked, her eyes meeting yours with a certain softness, knowing that you checked your marital status as “single”.

“Well I have my mother, but as for the other half of the child, he won’t be very happy,” you say, sitting up and adjusting the paper blanket draped across your nude bottom half.

“Reach out to your mother, okay? Best of luck with everything,” the doctor takes her leave, giving you the privacy to clean up and put your uniform back on.

You sat for a moment, the silence deafening save for the nurses speaking at their station outside the exam room door. You peek over at the ultrasound monitor, which had been paused on a picture of your tiny baby. Your heart ached, and you found yourself struggling to turn your head away, until a knock at the door sounded.

“Here are your papers, there’s also a script for prenatal vitamins and some brochures,” the nurse smiles, handing you the small stack, “take care of yourself.”

The door closes behind the nurse and you decide that it’s time to finally get dressed. You wipe the ultrasound gel from your abdomen and lower region, and silently slip your clothing back on, your eyes never leaving the monitor until you notice a small black and white photo had been printed and attached to your after appointment papers. Your heart skipped, quickly tearing the photo from off of the stack to hold in your hands, your little baby’s side profile had been captured and you could see the tiny arms and legs scrunched up to its body.

Checking the time on your watch, you pick up speed, remembering that you had a debriefing on a Task Force affair with your Captain soon and you were definitely going to be late arriving at it. You knew he wouldn’t be happy with your lack of punctuality, but you had proof that you were tied up in a last minute affair.

Once arriving back at base, you could see the familiar form of Soap who was also a late arrival to the debriefing, but you knew it was because of his poor time management skills, or he was just waking up from one of his naps. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he spins around in a wild fashion.

“Good grief, ya scared the shite out of me,” Soap held a hand to his chest.

“Sorry, I was just curious if we could walk together to the debrief,” you question, your eyes pleading for him to agree as to save yourself from being individually called out by your Captain.

Soap nods, his longer legs falling into step with yours, “you’re not usually late to these things, something must have had you tied up,” Soap scratches his head, yawning into his unoccupied hand.

“Oh you know, women’s issues,” you shrugged, Soap wincing at your words.

“Ah, I don’t think you need to explain,” he chuckles, knowing damn well that he was treading into territory he was very familiar with, having to be around female soldiers– especially with being around you so much– taught him more than enough.

Opening the door to the small debriefing room, you could see Ghost leaning back in his chair, one leg over the other while his arms crossed against his chest, his usual black balaclava covering his face. Gaz was in the seat adjacent to Ghost, his face blank– an almost bored expression showing.

Price’s body language was showing very clear annoyance as he watched you and Soap enter, the awkwardness in the room causing you to fumble into your seat, the loud scraping of the chair leg against the tile floor made Price audibly sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You two are late, don’t let this happen again or I’ll have you assigned cleaning duty for a week,” Price points his finger first at Soap, then at you, your eyes casting downwards in embarrassment.

As the debriefing went on, you could feel the familiar crystalline blue eyes of your Captain steal glances of you. You make yourself small and scarce in the meeting, your arms folding across your upper body and your body slinking into your chair. You felt strange about having such a huge secret being hidden away from your Captain who was more than deserving to know about it, but you needed time to formulate a plan on how you were going to carry out telling him. It would be better to tell him sooner than later though because you could be deployed at any time and that would be a dangerous situation for you and the life that was growing inside of you.

“Ghost, you and Gaz will be going to Russia for some recon, I need intel– any intel on where they’re moving next,” Price nods his head in Ghost’s direction, handing Gaz a debriefing packet on his and Ghost’s deployment that they’ll go over together at a later time.

You feel your body tense as a very heavy wave of nausea washes over you, Soap noticing your eyes fluttering and your skin becoming ashen and shiny from sweat. Pushing his seat out with the back of his legs, Soap rushes over to the trash bin, knowing all too well you wouldn’t make it yourself. He shoves the bin into your lap where you attempt to shield yourself with your arms as you empty the contents of your stomach. Gaz winces, and Ghost is pretty much unbothered but keeping a watchful eye on you.

“You alright?” Price askes as he makes his way over to your hunched over form.

“No, I really need to go,” you heave a sigh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Leave that, I’ll have someone clean it,” Price nods, motioning for you to leave.

Long having discarded your uniform, you sat on your bed, staring at the white wall across the room. So many thoughts flooded your brain, and you felt like you were losing control of everything in your life all in the span of a few hours. You were young, and still inexperienced in life, halfway to reaching your thirties. The dried yet still sticky feeling of tears coated your cheeks and you felt like your heart would leap out of your chest every time you even thought of mentioning this pregnancy to Price. How the hell was he going to take it?

You knew that it would go two ways most likely– one: he’d walk away and break all contact, or two: he would tell you that he would support you and the baby, but would not be present.

A knock on your door broke you out of your thoughts, your voice cracking as you told the visitor to come inside. Price’s tall body stands in the doorway for a second before stepping inside and closing the door behind him softly. He knew it was risky coming into your room so early in the evening but he was willing to take that chance.

“Everything alright? Soap said you were dealing with something– didn’t know the pain got so bad for you during that time of the month,” Price sits beside you on your bed, his taller form making yours tiny in comparison.

“I’m alright, I just need to rest,” your voice is small with a tinge of exhaustion, playing into Soap’s assumptions of you being on your period.

“You been crying, love?” Price’s large hand caresses your neck, his thumb dancing across your cheek soothingly.

“A little, yeah,” you smile softly, leaning into his touch.

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Not really, if that’s okay?” Your breath catches in your throat, you knew damn well you should tell him, but fear froze you in place.

“I understand, hormones and all that lot can be difficult,” Price sighs, the hand that rested on your neck falling back into his lap.

You suck in a breath as his words repeat in your head. Did he already know? Or did he have an inkling of an idea? No, that wasn’t possible.

You feel the familiar burn of bile rising into your throat, your legs making a mad dash for the bathroom across your small barracks room. Heaving what little was left in your stomach, you could feel your Captain’s cool hands gather your loose hair from your sweat covered neck and forehead. As you breath in and out heavily, a soft cry escaping your lips from the horrifying nausea pounding through your body, you feel Price’s free hand rub soothing circles along your back.

“You’re alright, sweet girl, let it out,” the deep gravel in his voice was soothing.

You gag and heave one last time before you begin to feel like the nausea is subsiding, Price’s arm reaching over to flush the toilet and then bring your body back to lay against him as he leaned back against the tub. Your shorter legs are pulled up to your chest as his thick arms engulf you.

“I’m pregnant,” a sob escapes your throat, a trembling hand brought up to your now teary eyes, wiping away any stray tears that escape.

Everything goes silent around the two of you, and you could tell John was formulating his response and keeping himself from reacting in a way he would regret. His arms go slack around you and you begin sobbing even harder at his action.

“Did you not take your pills?” Was all he could muster asking.

“I did, I did-!” you cry, turning your body to face him now.

“Y/N, you know what this could do to us– to me, right?” Price’s voice was dangerously low now, a look of pure anger painted on his face.

You knew all too well what this situation could do to you both. Demotion, dishonorable discharge, enemies who had a target on both of you– but more specifically him, would know that there is something precious and innocent that could be easily taken away.

Price goes quiet, his eyes downcast as he thinks to himself for a moment, “I think you should consider your options.”

“So that’s it? You’re putting all of this on me?” your heart begins to sink into your stomach, knowing damn well that this was his way of telling you that he wanted to cut all contact and act like this situation never happened.

“What will you have me do, Y/N, hm?” He points a finger at himself, the tip poking into his hardened chest.

“At least consider options with me– it takes two-!”

“No, Y/N. No,” Price rises to his feet, leaving you in a puddle of anxiousness on the bathroom floor, your eyes frantically watching his hand swing the bathroom door open.

“Please don’t–,” you reach an arm out to him, but he’s gone so quickly from your sight.

You find out the next day that you were pardoned from work, formation, and PT for a full month, knowing that Price did this to allow you time to think about what to do with the pregnancy. You hardly left your room, and when you did, it was usually just to eat and do laundry. Soap tried to stop you a few times to catch up and ask how you were doing, but you instead offered a smile and a quick, “I’ve gotta go,”. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried out of his mind for you, sad eyes watching you disappear down the hallways. He was often your partner in missions and would offer a helping hand if and when you needed it. Maybe he just needed to wait for you to come to him? He would always wait for you.

You stared at your discharge papers for days, the blanks filled out neatly, and the pen you used sat atop the thin packet. You were sure that this is what you wanted, and this would save John from the possibility of having everything he worked so hard for to be snatched away. No one would know he was the father of the baby, and you weren’t going to make him be something he didn’t want to be. You wouldn’t inform him of the gender, due date, name– anything, if he didn’t want to know, in which you knew he wouldn’t.

You wanted to make this as easy as possible– slowly cutting off your military life, and going back home to make a new life for yourself and for your baby. Your mother was in agreement, telling you to come home and to get yourself back on your feet, that she’d be happy to watch over the baby while you worked. You would have your childhood room back and your mother’s cooking, and that was enough to put a smile on your face even for just a moment through the rough patch. She knew that having support was the most important thing for you.

You gather the papers in your hands, tapping them on the counter to even them out. Taking a moment to think one last time if this was truly what you wanted, you let out a shaky breath, leaving your room and making your way to John’s office, your fingers grasping the papers tight enough to wrinkle them.

You knock three times on Price’s door, waiting for him to call out an answer for you to enter, “come in,” you finally hear him say.

He straightens in his desk chair, the air in the room becoming thick and tense. He looks to be stressed out, his hand soon covering his forehead as he attempts to relax. You sit in one of the two chairs across from his desk, sliding your filled out discharge paperwork over to him. Price’s vascular arm reaches over to grab the papers, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. At first, he thinks that these are adoption papers for the baby, in which he would sign the parts that said “father’s information”, but he soon realizes that’s not what he was given.

“You’re leaving the military?” his eyes darted up to look at you.

“I won’t make this difficult. You don’t need to know a thing if you don’t want to, you won’t need to be present, just sign those papers and we’re gone.”

“The Task Force needs you,” Price’s voice falters, his usual soft tone you were so used to is back.

“I want to raise this baby, John– our baby,” you feel yourself spiraling, your hormones making it difficult to keep your composure.

You could see his eyes flutter closed, his body shaking as he releases a large huff from his lungs, “you’ll be discharged immediately. I don’t want to see a trace of you left in that room.”

“Yes, sir.”

You had very little to pack up in your room, your mother having come from London to help you carry anything heavy. Soap had stopped by your room after hearing the news that you were being discharged. His thoughts soared wildly as he watched your mother pack away your things as you carried out items to her car, thinking of how sick you must have been to have to leave the military immediately. You must have been in need of serious medical treatment to just drop everything and leave. His form standing outside your door caught your mother’s attention, making his entire body tense. Turning on his heel, he prayed to whatever or whomever that your mother hadn’t seen the stray tear fall down his cheek.

Your civilian clothing felt a little tight around your lower abdominal area, your belly poking out slightly, bloating from the pregnancy hormones and constipation since the baby was still very tiny to make an appearance quite yet. You were half tempted to keep your jeans unbuttoned but with it being so hot out, your shirt was cropped right above your belly button. You had to keep cool somehow and you weren’t sacrificing your style for your growing belly. You and your belly bump can be stylish together.

“Is this the last of it, darling?” Your mother questions, placing the last box in the trunk of her sedan.

“Yes,” you answer, looking around one last time before opening the passenger door of the car and slipping inside.

Your eyes caught a glance of Price, who was outside on the training field with a group of soldiers. He was looking right at you, and it sent a flood of different emotions to wash over you. Tears stung your eyes, your throat swelling as you tried your best to keep yourself from falling apart. You were prepared to do this whole parenthood thing alone, but you were hoping that you would at least have him present for the sake of the child– not even for the sake of you because you weren’t what mattered in this situation.

You had fallen madly for him but your job had made it very apparent that feelings for your superior could be a whirlwind of repercussions to pay. You had to play it safe in the shadows. John would have been a liar if he said he hadn’t also felt the same feelings as you, but kept it no more than a hook-up every once in a while. This was the most difficult decision you could ever make– deciding to walk away.

It had taken you weeks to acclimate to civilian life after being in the military for so long. You were freshly 18 and had just graduated secondary school when you joined the Royal Army, just entering your mid 20’s when you passed selection for the SAS, Price was the first to congratulate you, shaking your hand and offering you a warm smile, the creases in the corners of his eyes sending you into a tizzy– goodness he was so handsome. His face was shaved then however. You loved his chops when he started growing them out, your eyes catching his own as he carefully combed through the thick auburn beard hairs with a sandalwood comb in the middle of his debriefings.

You sat at the dining room table of your childhood home, scanning over the words on your laptop screen. You had gotten a new job and you were going to start working remotely from the house, which was perfect because of the baby coming around February. You had since gotten into a new doctor’s office, your mother accompanying you for support. Her face lit up when she saw the baby floating around on the screen, their little arms covering the front of their face. You had cried more than you liked and your nausea had increased dramatically once leaving the base. You thought it may have been from the stress of leaving your old life behind intermingling with the pregnancy hormones.

Your mother was a huge support, telling you that you could take time to yourself before you found a civilian job. You waved her off however, saying that she had no business having to pick up the slack for her adult child. She had already taken to knitting small items for the baby, and your favorite was the small floppy bunny beanie that was a light cream color, the inside of the ears a dusty pink.

“Have any of your military friends contacted you since leaving?” Your mother asks, peeking up from the cream colored blanket she had started days previous.

“Soap has, but he ended up being deployed before I could answer. He probably thinks I’m dying with having left so suddenly when I was experiencing morning sickness during debrief,” the sigh that left your lips was a sad one, as Soap was someone you had grown quite close to over the years of being in the same barracks and then being on the Task Force together for a short period of time.

“Well hopefully you can remain friends,” the nimble fingers of your mother placed a stitch marker into the blanket.

“One can hope,” you lie.

You were entering your 20th week of pregnancy– halfway to the finish line is what your mother said to you that morning. Her excitement was easy to spot as today was the day you would find the gender of the baby out. Your belly had grown some, but not enough for it to be immediately recognized as a baby bump. Maybe you just ate an entire pizza?

Drinking the last bit of orange juice, to which your mother swore would make the baby more lively in your belly during the ultrasound, you look over the texts in your phone, Soap’s name popping up suddenly. It catches you off guard when you open the text, seeing a picture of Ghost and Price out on the firing range, Price’s hat sitting on top of Ghost’s head as he lay prone on the ground with a sniper rifle. Price had his arms crossed and was seeming to refuse being in the photo, his hand covering his face. Soap hadn’t sent so much as a “hi” in weeks, and you had hoped that he just moved on from the thought of you staying in touch with your old roots. Closing out of the text app, you place your phone face down on the kitchen counter, your heart dropping. You just won’t reply, just like you had been doing before.

Patiently waiting in the exam room at the midwife’s office, you placed a hand on your belly, hoping that soon you would finally be able to feel movement. Your midwife said it’s normal to not have movements until now or even a little later but you were so impatient. Once entering the room, the midwife went over her routine questions, and took your blood pressure.

“Your blood pressure is a bit elevated, are you getting enough water and rest?” The midwife asks, placing herself on the stool next to the ultrasound machine.

“Mum wouldn’t let me live it down if I weren’t,” you answer.

“I believe it,” the midwife chuckles, looking over at your mother who had taken a seat next to you on the exam table, “I would like for you to continue what you’re doing, and if you’re feeling any strange symptoms like dizziness, faintness, seeing stars in your vision, or pains in your chest or ribs, go to the hospital immediately.”

You nod your head, and the midwife starts setting your ultrasound up, helping you lie back on the bed as soon as she’s done. Unbuttoning your jeans, she places a flannel over the top of your jeans to keep the gel from staining them. The lights are then turned off and you begin to relax and clear your mind, ready to see your baby after weeks of waiting. Squeezing a large amount of gel onto your abdomen, the midwife places the transducer of the ultrasound machine onto the mound of gel, rubbing it around to find where the baby is positioned.

“Look at those little puckered lips,” the midwife smiles down at you.

“Oh darling, look at that sweet baby,” your mom was in tears, her emotions always outmatched yours.

As the midwife continues looking at the baby through the monitor, she takes her time going through all of the anatomy of the baby, noting it on the keys of the machine. Your hand was being squeezed so hard by your mother, you thought that your circulation might be cut off after so long. The tiny fingers of the baby were by their mouth, their legs stretching out and scrunching back up.

“What were your bets on the gender, mum?” the midwife asks your mother, the two smiling at each other.

“That’s a little girl in there.”

“Mum is correct,” the midwife points her finger to the wiggling baby, a clear picture of the baby’s gender boldly displayed.

You’re going to have a little girl, Captain.

Squealing with delight with fresh tears coating her cheeks, your mother squeezed your arm and kissed your cheek, “I’m so proud of you. I’m a grandma to a baby girl.”

While there was downtime, Price often grabbed drinks with the Task Force, his usual military uniform shed and his dog tags resting on his bedside table. The black jumper he wore had gotten a little loose, his appetite scarcely there since you told him about your pregnancy. His anxiety made his mind wander more than he liked. How were you doing? Was your belly finally popping out? Did you start purchasing baby items? He would always ground himself after some time, his internal voice telling him that this was for the safety of himself, and the safety of you and the baby. His baby. But not his baby at the same time, he made that clear with you all those weeks ago.

Clutching a rocks glass in his hands at the bar, Price took a quick swig of the amber liquid as Soap sat to his right, scrolling through his social media timeline. Ghost was at the pool table across the bar, talking with Gaz, who had just taken a shot at a cue ball. It had been raining for days straight, the cool air flowing into the bar with each time the door opened. Were you also experiencing this weather? Or had you gone countries away to escape staying in the same country as your former friend with benefits with whom you now had forever ties with?

“You know, Y/N’s social media was deactivated and she never answers my texts. I wonder if she’s okay?” Soap mumbled, unable to put his mind at ease as to where you went or what happened to you.

“She was honorably discharged from the special forces, she’s probably cutting ties with her old life as much as possible,” Price’s voice was grim, however Soap didn’t quite catch on.

“That’s not like her though– she used to post everyday–!” Soap gestured his hand to his phone, his social media app still open.

“I think it’s best to allow her to move on,” Price slammed the rest of his whiskey, placing the glass back down on the bar with a loud clunk, “she’s been shot, wounded, seen death, caused death, stayed in hospital for weeks altogether in her career– she deserves peace.”

“She was ill, Captain,” those baby blue eyes of Soap’s were now filled with worry.

“You said it yourself: she was experiencing her time of the month.”

“You’ve turned cold recently Captain–.”

“Move on, Soap. That’s the best you can do, for her sake and yours.”

Soap’s emotions were crushed, his heart sinking to the very bottom of his belly. Price knew Soap always cared too much, and that’s what set him apart from many people who had grown a bit cold and cynical while in the SAS– like Ghost for example. It was time for everyone to move on, it had been many weeks since your departure, and the only one who seemed to hold on the most was Soap… at times. Price struggled too but he was a Captain, he needed to be a leader and offer guidance to his soldiers, even if it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but needed to hear.

Holding his glass up to signal the barkeep for another pour, Price sighs, watching Soap scroll some more on his social media timeline, hitting the search bar and typing in anything and everything he could think of just to find you. He then sees him type in your mother’s name, his body language picking up in relief when a profile popped up, he just hoped your mother’s timeline wasn’t completely private.

“Shite,” Soap mutters, disbelief flooding his tone, “she’s fuckin’ pregnant?”

The Captain’s heart might as well have stopped beating right then and there when he heard Soap. Looking over at Soap’s phone, Soap adjusted the phone to show Price the screen, a post from two weeks ago exclaiming that you had just found out about the gender, a picture of you attached with a pink cupcake in your hand.

“It’s a girl,” Price stared at the photo of you for way too long, his eyes softening when he saw that pregnancy glow, your cheeks becoming more filled out, and the swell in your lower belly being caressed by your hand.

“Lucky lad, the father is,” Soap locked his phone, placing it face down on the bar, soon cradling his head in his hands. Soap is now trembling, a relieved yet saddened sigh leaving his mouth.

Yeah, a lucky lad he would have been in a different world.

Lying in the bath, the bubbles that had been added to the water thick and covering most of your body, your hands rested on your belly, rubbing the soft and stretched skin gently. Twenty two weeks along and you still hadn’t felt movements, and it was starting to worry you. Most people felt movement already. Sinking lower into the warm bath water, you feel the tension in your shoulders release after having worked all day. Come to think of it, your desk was still in a disarray with papers and pens and you had no energy to clean it up at the moment.

Stilling yourself in the water and staring ahead at the faucet, you notice your stomach twitch, thinking that at first it was just a reflex, until it happened a few more times. You place the tips of your fingers where the twitches were happening, flinching when you could feel little taps.

“Is that you in there, trying for your mummy’s attention?” You whisper, and another tap could be felt.

Tears escape your eyes, quickly rolling down your cheeks when you think about how John is missing out on these moments. He would never be able to feel his little girl’s first movements. You wanted to imagine him being right there after you called out his name, his large hand reaching down into the tub, brushing softly against your swollen belly. He would wait patiently, at first discouraged that he missed those little kicks. Until finally, those little taps started up again, his baby blue eyes lighting up as he felt the tiniest movements against his palm.

Wiping your tears away with the butts of your palms, you let out a shaky breath, attempting to ground yourself as much as you can in this moment, knowing that tears and sadness were not going to help get yourself through this. But it did feel good to cleanse your soul with a few tears after they built up for so long.

When John had gotten to his room back at the barracks after downing three glasses of whiskey, he could feel his body give out from under him as soon as he shut the door behind him. His back slides down the door, his bottom meeting the cold tile, hands cradling his face as he chewed his bottom lip raw, the dull sting of the open wound radiating on his mouth. Hot torrents of anxiety begin to course through his body, tears stinging his eyes as he feels like he might crawl out of his skin. Clawing at his jumper collar, he feels like he’s suffocating, his breaths uneven and raspy.

He missed you– missed those nights where he crawled into bed with you, your limbs entwining in a warm and comforting embrace after a hard day of work. His hands would search for the feeling of your soft skin in the darkness, only to feel an empty coldness on the sheets where your body should have been. You weren’t even his and vice versa but his attachment to you was obviously present from the beginning. His eyes always sought you out in the room, always scanning the battlefields to make sure you were safe. He should have pulled out all those times, knowing damn well that no birth control was 100% effective, other than abstinence or sterilization. He had gotten too comfortable with you, too lost in the warmth, the comfort you brought him. The smiles and the joking, the playful smacks you would give him, the wrestling and tickling matches that very often turned into that hot and heavy sex that left you both breathless and in a heavy daze.

John knew he needed to move on, and to allow you the opportunity to live a happy and safe life with the baby, away from the military, the SAS, and the Task Force, but he was stuck on the idea that things could have been so different. If his duties weren’t so important– ridding the world of everything ugly and scary, meaning that his daughter wouldn’t have to one day live in fear, he would do it a million times over. No matter how much it hurt– no, how much it killed him, or how difficult it was to go day after day not knowing who or what she might be when she finally came into the world. How he’d never be able to see you become the mother you talked about being one day, holding a brand new baby while coming down off of the adrenaline, sweat still clinging to your forehead and cheeks. How he wanted so badly to witness that ecstatic yet exhausted “I did it,” come from your mouth, your tired eyes peering up at him. Being your support system while you struggled to nurse, changing the baby’s first nappy, letting you rest while he gently rocked and soothed the fragile bundle, whispering how much he loved her already.

“Fuck–!” Price shouted, throwing his car keys across the room.

At 32 weeks, your baby shower took place, friends that had kept in contact with you over the years came, as well as family members that you hadn’t seen in some time. You were in a comfortable maxi dress as your belly had gotten too big and it felt like the skin on your belly was always itchy so the soft fabric of the dress played a part in keeping that feeling away. There was a mountain of gifts that sat around the recliner in the den and you were overwhelmed with how much people cared to spoil the baby this much.

As you sit in the recliner unwrapping the gifts, you smile for the pictures your mom begged to take so she could show you off, holding up each and every item you received. Blankets, nappies, outfits, baby gear, necessities, and even postpartum kits sat in a corner neatly. You were crying, feeling so undeserving of the kindness, but as your family and friends saw you, they all offered their comfort in the form of words of affirmation and bone crushing hugs. That you were loved and supported in this particularly difficult and confusing time. Your friends and family would have loved John.

Your mother brings in another gift out of nowhere, her arms barely able to wrap around it, let alone carrying it over to you. Confused, you make her drop it, your body lifting from the recliner to help her set it down, her hand waving you off to not help her with something so heavy in your condition. She gives you a look and shrugs, saying there was no name on the gift. Tearing the wrapping paper off, you see a beautiful bassinet pictured on the large box. No one had fessed up to getting the gift for you, so you sat confused for longer than you would have liked as everyone else mingled.

It had taken days for Price to figure out what he wanted to do for your upcoming baby shower. Your mother had posted an event, not realizing it was a public post, and fortunately for John, he knew your address from your paperwork and files. He found the sweetest bassinet, a cream color with a lacey pink border. It had a little storage area at the bottom so that you could keep any baby items at arm’s reach. Once he had put his payment and your address in, he hit the confirm button. He just hoped it would arrive on time.

Sitting back in his desk chair, he listened to the busy hallways in which soldiers congregated and conversed while on their down time. His mind wandered to the most recent pictures your mother had posted, and your belly had grown bigger and you smiled so large. He imagined lying in bed, shirt removed, sweatpants on, your warm body next to his in a night dress that had become too short on you with your bump, his hand caressing the bottom of your abdomen, whispering sweet words. You were pressing your lips to his own, lingering for a moment and breathing in each other’s breath.

“God, I hope you’re doing alright,” Price’s voice came out in a near whisper.

Work has become a distraction of sorts, the meeting on your screen with several of your coworkers becoming something like a white noise as your mind wanders, your pen hanging loosely between your fingers as you stare into the void. A plate of biscuits and a cup of tea had been placed on your desk almost an hour ago by your mother, but they hadn’t been so much as even touched. You had a pretty significant headache that had gnawed away at the back of your head for the past few days that not even a paracetamol here and there helped. Thinking that the hormones had everything to do with it, you brushed it off without a second thought.

“Y/N, what do you think about this?” Your coworker asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“I think it’s a great idea,” you answer, nodding and smiling into your webcam.

Catching the fully set up bassinet that had been put in the other corner of the room in your video feed, you smile, placing your hands on your now nearly full term belly– 36 weeks to be exact. Your coworkers dismissed the meeting after agreeing to start the new project that had been outlined for a few weeks now, the small details and start date finally figured out.

You stand from your desk chair, a hand placed on the underside of your belly to keep your center of gravity balanced and to keep your pelvis from hurting from the weight of your belly. The dress you wore swayed as you waddled over to the corner of the room where all of the baby’s things had been set up. Grunting as your knees bend to the floor, you drag the hospital bag you had been slowly putting together over the past few days. There were folded onesies, and knitted cardigans that you still had yet to pack away, as well as a small bag of toiletries. John would have chewed you out for being so carefree on such important things such as the hospital bags. He would have had his bag packed for weeks and sitting at the front door.

Wincing from a twinge of pain in your chest, you stop what you’re doing for a moment to wait for it to subside. It could have been a trapped gas bubble– pregnancy and all of its little quirks. When the pain doesn't subside, you attempt to get onto your feet, but cry out when the pain worsens.

“Mum–!” You cry out, bracing your hand on the bassinet and clutching your chest.

Hearing your mother stomp up the stairs quickly, she barges into the room, rushing to your side and helping you up, “what happened, sweetheart?” she questions, eyes wide.

“I’m having really bad pains in my chest,” you begin to cry, hot tears pooling in your eyes, scared out of your mind for the baby.

After little to no convincing, your mother packed you and the bags into the car. It felt like the longest drive to the hospital ever, the diaper bag sitting in your lap and your own hospital bag at your feet, the baby kicking the wind out of your lungs, so you thought that she was hopefully doing just fine with all of her movements. There was a fresh sheet of snow on the ground and icicles formed on the trees, the freezing January air nipping at your skin.

A nurse brought your mother and yourself over to triage, hooking you up to a non-stress test, the nodes placed cozily around your stomach, and wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your upper arm that was inflating and squeezing the life out of you. You knew that 140/90 was not where a pregnant person’s blood pressure should be, and you were certain the nurse was going to have you pee in a cup to check for proteins.

Sure enough, you had to pee in a cup, handing it over to the nurse when you were finished and it was a hard enough feat to reach under your belly. Thankfully though, the non-stress test wasn’t alarming, the baby’s heart rate staying in a normal range even with the issues you were facing.

“I think it’s safe to induce you right now, I’m not liking the looks of your blood pressure and labs,” the midwife sits in a stool across from your bed.

Everything started off manageable– the pains, you were able to breathe through. Your mother stood by your side the whole time, clutching your hand when you needed it. You sat cross-legged in a hospital gown, the bed placed at the highest position, and an IV placed in the crease of your elbow. It was five hours later when the pitocin had started causing the most excruciating pains you had ever felt, and you had been shot many times in the SAS.

Crying out and grasping the handles of the bed, your breathing became ragged and your mouth dried out and you were so happy when your mother applied lip balm to your mouth to keep them from cracking. Each time your progress was checked, the pain worsened, the labor pains feeling like a searing hot knife was dragging across your lower abdomen. You wanted so badly for John to be here, sitting across from you on the bed, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders while you groaned through your pains, but it was your mother who stood in his place, her tender touches breaking you out of your swimming mind.

Hours later, your water had broken on its own, and now you were in the home stretch and the anxiousness began to flow throughout your body, knowing that your little girl was to make an appearance by the beginning of the next day.

John’s body was wired, sleep not taking him this evening, his hand resting on his bare stomach as he splayed out on his bed, the blanket barely covering his waist. He scrolled mindlessly for hours on his phone when he finally decided to browse your mother’s social media, hoping that she had updated with anything that had to do with you. He shot up from his pillow when he saw a photo of you sitting up in a hospital bed, and IV and wires hooked up all over your body.

“Posted three hours ago,” he mutters to himself, tapping your photo and zooming in on your face– you looked so angelic.

His baby would be here so soon and it made his heart skip beats, anxiety flowing through his veins. He could be there right now in place of your mother, whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear, rocking with you and helping you breathe through the pain. Even when on the battlefield while injured, he knew you were terrible at controlling your breathing, often passing out and waking back up with him chewing your head off.

“Make sure to breathe, sweet girl, you’ve got this,” he spoke almost silently– a whisper off his lips.

Lying back down, he knew immediately that he was not going to sleep until he knew you had delivered safely and that the baby was okay. Knowing how much your mother posted updates about you, it was surefire that she’d post a picture of that sweet baby as soon as she arrived. What were you going to name her? Would you give her your surname? Of course you would, he doesn’t have that badge of honor– of his kid taking his name, when he wasn’t present. What would his daughter look like? Hopefully like you because you were the most beautiful creature on God’s green Earth.

The smallest hand was wrapped around your finger, swaddled in the cream colored blanket your mother knitted just for her. The baby came out kicking and screaming after almost two hours of pushing. You cried out for John, wanting him by your side more than anything. To hold your hand, to kiss you so deeply when the baby came and was placed on your chest. Your mother knew how much you missed John, your forlorn looks never fooling her, and so she felt great sympathy hearing you scream out for your past lover.

“Look at you, Bunny,” you whisper, stroking the soft cheek of your little girl ever-so-softly.

“Oh, you did such a good job, my love,” a kiss was placed on your cheek by your mother, her hand resting on the back of the baby’s bunny hat covered head.

You would go through the pain of carrying her and bringing her forth a million times over, your heart swelling so much it might have exploded when your eyes caught the looks of her face. She was so perfect, so tiny. The moment she was placed on your chest, her eyes peered right into yours– those same crystal blue eyes she shared with her father.

It was late morning the next day. John hadn’t slept a wink, his eyes heavy and Soap was late to debriefing– like that was a new thing though. He decided to sit at the table instead of the podium at the front of the room where the projector screen hung behind it, too exhausted to stand for more than needed. Gaz was away on deployment, leaving Ghost and Soap to sit in the seats to the right and left of him. Ghost’s eyes peered at his newest deployment papers, flipping through the pages pretty quickly as he was a fast reader. Soap had his head down, phone hidden under the table while there was a moment of silence– a break of sorts, in John’s meeting.

“She had the baby, bonnie lass she is,” Soap says out loud, Ghost looking up from his papers with a quiet hum.

John frantically dug his phone out of his pocket, searching your mother’s name on social media. There you were, holding the tiniest bundle in your arms, swaddled inside a knitted blanket with her hands tucked under her chin. He had to leave, he needed a moment. The chair screeches when he stands, Soap’s attention snapping to his Captain, who started rushing out the door.

Sharing a confused look with Ghost, Soap stood from his seat and left the room. Why did he leave in such a hurry? Why did he react like that in general? Soap was searching his brain for the possible answer. Come to think of it, Soap never noticed a gentleman by your side during your pregnancy and your mother had mentioned in posts how you were so strong and she was lucky to be by your side during this new adventure. Was John that baby’s father? Why was he not there with you? But then it all began to make sense the longer Soap thought– the SAS and Task Force were always keeping themselves hot on the tails of dangerous people, and those dangerous people would stop at nothing to take everything away from them. Maybe this was a mutual decision– and exactly why you left the military.

John’s breathing was heavy as he shut the door to his room behind him. He felt unstable on his feet, nearly tripping on his way to sit on his bed. Your photo was zoomed in on his phone, your hair was disheveled, your hospital gown hanging from your shoulders– he was guessing you’d already attempted to feed the baby with how lazily it had been tied back up. John’s eyes focus on the baby, his heart skipping a beat when he looks at her sweet button nose and wispy little hairs poking out from her knitted bunny hat. Oh how beautiful his girls looked after all of their hard work. Pride swells in his chest, he knew this must have been so difficult, but you did it and looked even more beautiful than before as a new mother.

The nights were long, the days melted together, and you found yourself lost. Though your mother lent a hand when she was available, you had taken on so much so quickly and had no adjustment time, as having a baby would do. Between nursing the baby and running on less sleep than you had gotten on some of your deployments, you were ingesting more caffeine than you liked, and you often found yourself nodding off at random times. But that little girl had been the easiest to please so far. As long as she got milk, had a clean nappy, warm clothes, and cuddles, she was content.

John would have been the one to wake up at the first signs of movement in the bassinet– he was an incredibly light sleeper and would often rise earlier than most of his team. He’d say how much of a waste it was to sleep the morning away when you could be productive and get more important things done before the day actually needed to start. You weren’t much of a morning person and would often tell John to let you sleep in until the last possible minute if you stayed in his room for the night, but you always managed to slip out of his room before anyone came into the halls.

Your mind wandered more during your maternity leave, often you questioned what John was doing, if he knew his daughter had arrived safely and if he knew how beautiful she was. Did he have any deployments in the time you were discharged to now? You were sure he was busy, as he always had been.

A few weeks passed and John was on leave for three weeks, visiting home and executing plans he made with Soap for the day, who was taking a leave around the same time as John for a wedding. While walking the streets of London, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Soap to his side, the two talked about quick bite options nearby. John had a cafe in mind, mentioning that they had great coffee and sandwiches.

The late winter air nipped John’s nose, the tip dusted a light pink. He had a black beanie placed atop his head and a black peacoat over his jumper. Soap’s outfit resembled the outfit John wore, save the beanie, but add a scarf. Soap had attempted to reach out to you on multiple occasions since having the baby, but of course, you didn’t answer. Soap knew that he shouldn’t keep trying to pry and answer out of you, but he also knew that you needed the support of a friend, even though he wanted to be more than a friend.

Price felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, telling Soap to go on ahead and order for them both– Price wasn’t picky. Opening the door to the cafe, Soap felt an immediate warmth wash over him and the heavy smell of coffee filling his nose. Taking a spot in the short line, he stared at the menu above, until he became distracted by the woman in front of him, kissing a very small baby on the head, cooing and rocking her body as her hands caressed the sling that held the baby to her chest. He knew your voice anywhere.

“Y/N?” He places his large hand on your shoulder, spinning you to face him.

Your eyes were wide, a scared look on your face until you noticed Soap’s familiar face. Barely able to string words together, Soap took you by the arm and dragged you to the side, his arms engulfing you in an embrace, careful as to not smoosh the baby’s head between your two chests.

“Why didn’t you answer my messages?” Soap’s low voice vibrates the side of your face as your arms wrap around him.

“I didn’t want my old life to follow me because of her,” your voice trembles.

“But you didn’t have to face this alone.”

“I do though,” you pull away, looking at Soap with watery eyes.

Feeling his heart sink, knowing that what you said was true, he didn’t want it to be. He wanted to be the one to hold you– support you, and keep you safe. Even though what Price was doing was carrying out the same purpose.

“She’s a beauty,” Soap nods to the sleeping baby covered almost entirely inside your sling, her little face settled against your chest, lips puckering as she stirs to get more comfortable.

“Thank you Johnny,” you smile, stroking her cheek softly, then adjusting the knitted bunny hat to sit closer to her eyebrows.

Johnny– he hadn’t heard you say his real name in so long, it was like a treat hearing it leave your soft lips.

“Reach out to me from time to time, just so I know you’re doing okay?” Soap pleads, his hands resting on your shoulders, squeezing them lightly to get his words through to you.

Nodding with a soft smile, you could hear your name being called by the barista. Grabbing your coffee, you turn to exit the cafe, offering Soap a soft “bye,” as you pass him. You wrap your thick shawl around the baby tight, holding onto her with one hand while you balance your coffee in the other. You were only minutes from your mother’s house, and the fresh air was something you needed after being cooped up in the house for so long.

Then you see him– John. He was ending a call on his phone, placing it back in his coat pocket before setting off on his walk to the cafe to meet back up with Soap. Your heart was pounding, and almost as if the baby senses your unease, she begins to stir and whimper. You walk closer and closer to where John’s position is by a lamp post. His eyes spot you and his body freezes in place. You keep walking, shushing the baby softly, your hand placed on her back to let her know her mother was right here.

“You’re alright, Little Bunny,” you say into her hat, softly kissing the crown of her head as you pass John.

His daughter was right there, cozily pressed against your body in the chilly climate. The baby wore a cream knitted bunny ear hat, one ear flopping over the side of the sling. She looked so much like the both of you, it almost scared him. He wanted to hold her— hold you. It ate away at his insides, turning his guts to liquid as he watched your eyelashes flutter down to the ground, watching your feet.

Tears were falling like mad down your face as you passed him without a word, John watching you in disbelief– he didn’t think he would be able to rest his eyes upon you again, not after going this long without contact. But it was for the best, you both knew this.

His eyes followed you until you were no longer in sight, making sure you were absolutely safe with the baby. Life could be different, he could run after you and grovel on his knees for forgiveness. To beg you to forget he was ever cold to you and to start fresh. But he couldn’t, especially not after how things ended and with knowing he’d jeopardize yours and the baby’s safety.

It was days later that you had run into Soap and John while out in London. You hadn’t slept right in days and it was a mixture of having a newborn who needed your attention and the anxiousness of seeing your old lover and not being able to think about a thing other than him.

Your mother’s footsteps can be heard ascending the stairs and she soon appears in the doorway with a small parcel. Handing it to you and planting herself on your bed next to you, she waits for you to open it. As you tear into the parcel, peeling the tape and opening the box, you look inside and see a knitted bunny, the yarn pink and soft. Pulling the bunny out, you notice a note attached to it, neatly folded and taped shut. As you carefully open the note, your eyes scan over the words written on it. You knew that handwriting— John’s handwriting.

“For Little Bunny.”

#cod mwii #cod fanfic #cod imagine #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mwii #call of duty imagine #call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you

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pyode-luar-ke · 2 years

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carnation | part i | poly!yautja x reader

A/N: this is sooooo self-indulgent, i almost didn’t post lol. but it turned out really good, and i’m proud of it so fuck it, y’know? also, i take sooooo many creative liberties with yautja lore and canon, so if anything like... doesn’t make sense, lmk and i’ll try to clarify LOL 💀

i have part 2 outlined, and it’s probs not gonna be as long as this one, so it should be out soonish. 💕

summary: you have a baby with your mates.

word count: 7,005

content: 18+, smut, fem!afab!reader, polyamorous relationship (F/M/M/M/M/M) (good lord lmao), reverse harem, pregnancy, mention of abortion, lactation, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, lactation kink, body image issues, a whole lotta love, public sex, voyeurism

part ii → (out now!!)

—

No one really anticipated you getting pregnant. Not really.

Sure, it was a possibility, but an incredibly improbable one. Human and Yautja DNA held some fundamental differences, in spite of being surprisingly similar in some regards. Thus, if the laws of biology and physiology were to be true, it dictated that procreation was exceedingly rare, if not entirely impossible to achieve.

Yet, here you were, against the odds, a testament to the universe’s principle of: If there is a will, there is a way.

—

Bhu’kei goes completely silent, not even a stray whicker or growl escapes him. He’s deathly still too, his only movement coming from his clawed fingertips as he taps at his gauntlet, again. This is enough to notify you without words that he’s rerunning the pregnancy test, confirmed when a green light scans over your midsection.

A part of you wants to stop him, to sit up and place a palm on his black-scaled arm, to say “It’s true, Bhu’kei, and it’s okay!”— but you don’t. There’s a small part of you that still reels from disbelief, that wants to recoil in shock and gasp, “It’s not possible!”

A small beep echoes in the dead quiet yurt, and Bhu’kei is still silent. And then he meets your gaze, the expression in his eyes paradoxically unreadable and completely decipherable. He looks apologetic, almost— like he’s waiting for the gravity of the situation to dawn on you, for you to realize just how rare and dangerous and life-threatening this is for you.

Yautja females are larger than their male counterparts; taller, more muscled, and sometimes even stronger. They are built to withstand the 12-month gestation of a Yautja pup, and the entirety of labor and delivery, with ease— an evolutionary gift bestowed upon them due to the fact that most approach childbirth completely alone.

Your disbelief morphs into raw terror— How the Hell do you expect your body to survive this?— and as quickly as that occurs, the raw terror morphs into absolute elation— Well, damn it, you’ll sure try. A smile so big and bright— one you didn’t even know you were capable of doing— splits across your face before you can stop it.

“I’m pregnant!”

—

Announcing your pregnancy to the rest of the camp was initially met with some pushback. Ap-tui, for one, argued that an oomani-di carrying a Yautja pup would be detrimental at best and fatal at worst. True to his blunt nature, he encouraged you to terminate the pregnancy, which probably should have upset you more than it did, but you saw his point.

You had considered abortion, but the thought was fleeting. Despite the potential (and possibly fatal) consequences of carrying a Yautja pup, you rationalized that due to the little to no information on interspecies breeding between humans and Yautja, that your pregnancy was somewhat of a miracle of nature.

Yautja document their history, they transcribe what they learn and all their knowledge about other planets and species and races into databases accessible to all. They have been hunting humans (a morbid thought to you, but one you’ve learned to reconcile with) for hundreds of years, ever since Earth made a blip on their radars.

There is nothing on interspecies breeding. It simply hasn’t happened yet.

That thought partly fueled your decision to keep the baby. More so, however, you wanted the pup— Children were always a desire of yours, and with the development of gaining a handful of Yautja males as your significant others, you had thought the dream had turned to complete fantasy.

Not anymore, you finally got your wish, and you wanted to see it play out, to be the first. Not so much in a selfish, glorifying way— But to stick the finger to the universe and say “Look what love can do.”

Your decision may have also been influenced by your very human strain of curiosity— Something that Van’chaa once told you Yautja lacked in spades.

So, with your mind dead-set on growing that fetus inside you, you shook your head and said, “No, I’m keeping it. It’s my pup.”

Ap-tui was not pleased with your response. Nor was Van’chaa and Th’chi. However, they did not try to press you further. Bhu’kei had already told them that while yes, it was dangerous; It was clearly a risk you were willing to take. And it was not a decision any of them could make for you.

Ultimately, their begrudging support was because you were still female. The Yautja males could do nothing but yield to your wishes. You may be of a different and much less capable species, but honorable and respected Yautja males obeyed their females. So, they would pay that same regard to you.

Thankfully, Ta’kaa’s propensity to celebrate the good in situations garnered a positive reaction that distracted you from the overall dour moods of his hunting brothers.

—

You break your glare with Ap-tui when you hear Ta’kaa whicker in excitement. He meets your gaze, molten eyes cheery and bright, and all the negative emotions leak out of you in an instant. The moss green Yautja scoops you up in his arms, all the while clicking happy noises from his mandibles. You can’t understand a word Ta’kaa says, so far gone in his elation the full Yautja tongue took hold.

Your arms wrapped loose around his neck, tears prick hot at your eyeballs as you watch Ta’kaa growl and clack and nuzzle his mandibles against the soft of your cheek. His body is like fire, and his touch is so tender, so you lean into his affections, smiling.

If there was one Yautja you could rely on for some positivity, it was Ta’kaa.

He is the youngest of the hunting party, and it shows. Ta’kaa acts far more on emotional impulse than the rest, but sometimes it makes him feel a little more human, so you don’t complain. Sometimes though, you have to remind yourself that Ta’kaa passed his Chiva and was Blooded decades before you were born. That often makes you remember that he is a Yautja, born and raised to be a hunter.

But you take his enthusiastic clicking and nuzzling with open arms, offering him kisses to his fluttering mandibles in return.

His elder brothers and cousins click and grumble amongst themselves, allowing their frustrations to air before they silence their grievances for good. Yautja are blunt and direct, so they know to speak out once and then never again. Issues of a more diplomatic blend tend to resolve quickly in Yautja circles.

Off on the sidelines, Ap-tui smothers his concerns deep inside his chest. He opts for watching you joyfully play with his younger brother, absorbing the way your strange, beautiful ooman face contorts with emotion. It took him a while to recognize that when you bare your teeth it means that you are happy, not attempting to threaten.

You are happy now, happy because you carry a pup in your womb, happy because Ap-tui remembers nights when he’s mated you, after which you’ve shed wetness from your eyes because all you’ve ever wanted was children. Another strange ability that oomans have: Crying.

He sees you’re crying now, but he knows it’s not from sadness.

A fairly important question arises in Ap-tui’s mind.

“Who is the sire?” He asks Bhu’kei, who pulls one of his daggers from its hilt at his shin. Bhu’kei doesn’t regard the hunt leader for a moment, instead opting to flip the blade in his hand, looking for impurities. When he finishes, the ink black Yautja glances out the corner of his eye at his cousin.

“You are.” Bhu’kei replies simply.

Ap-tui freezes.

—

“Bhu’kei told me that you’re the sire.” You murmur, coming behind your mate and placing your chin on his shoulder. His inky, blood red tresses tickle your cheek and neck, smooth and warm against your skin. He grunts in response, not moving from his stiff meditation pose.

Ap-tui had distanced himself from the group not long ago, escaping to his private yurt out of the corners of your peripheral. You had asked Bhu’kei what happened, as he was the last to speak to him, and the Yautja had told you then that the hunt leader was the biological father to your unborn pup.

Apparently, it was a semi big deal, as Ap-tui is the Firstborn of his bearer’s bloodline. Bhu’kei explained that, essentially, Firstborns split from their bearer’s clan when they bear or sire a pup of their own. This results in the Firstborn creating their own clan, one adjacent to their bearer’s, and in Yautja culture the position holds some weight.

It also surprised you to learn that, up until now, Ap-tui had not sired a single pup. Strange, considering he’s an elder Blooded warrior, not quite as old or experienced to be considered an Elder, but certainly no Youngblood. He should have already had many sucklings since accomplishing his Chiva, and learning that he didn’t— and that yours would be the first— filled you with a sense of pride.

Your baby with him would begin his clan with strength and status. Arrangements would need to be made, certain rites and bureaucratic agreements, but those could be saved for the future. You would give him his clan.

For now, you simply wrap your arms around Ap-tui’s torso, his corded muscles hot and strong under your arms. You kiss his shoulder.

“He also told me that’s very important.” You continue, and you kiss his reptilian-like mahogany hide again. This time, Ap-tui turns his head to look back at you, mandibles relaxed but set. His eyes look troubled.

“I am… conflicted.” He admits, and it must take all his strength to swallow his Yautja pride, if only for that little confession. You hum, and take a couple steps around him to settle yourself on his lap. Your hands rub at his broad pectoral muscles, fingers purposely catching on the twine-like string of his netted outfit.

Ap-tui looks away, jaws flaring and pulling tight rhythmically. You stare at his face, then at the scar he has that runs jagged across the crown of his head— One he received on a hunt when searching for a gift for you. The kiande amedha th’syra sits on the trophy wall in your quarters back on the hunting party’s ship, as do other gifts from the others.

“Mm. I could tell.” You reply, placing one of your hands on the side of his face. Gingerly, you turn his head so that he faces you directly, thumb rubbing lazy circles on the bone of his eye socket. A slow smile pulls the corners of your mouth up, and Ap-tui watches with hawk-like precision as your cute pink tongue wets your bottom lip.

He meets your gaze, your ooman eyes half-lidded and hungry.

“What troubles you?” You murmur, leaning in and kissing the scales above where his quad-rhythm heartbeat resides. He can tell you are trying to seduce him to wheedle out his deepest concerns. Ap-tui shivers a growl, heat settling in his bones, and he has to resist the urge to flood the yurt with his dia-shui.

“I do not want to risk you.” He confesses, running a gentle claw down the side of your face, admiring your soft, plump flesh. Ooman faces have always been captivating to him: The way you wear your emotions— blatant and raw and unforgiving.

“You’re not.” You kiss his palm as it comes to cup your cheek, and smile, “None of you are.”

Ap-tui is still hesitant and stubborn.

“Gestation may leech you.”

“Maybe— Who knows?”

His large paws trap your waist, claws brushing your skin, causing goosebumps to pepper your flesh.

“Birth will be disastrous. Perhaps fatal.”

“Isn’t it always?”

You cling to Ap-tui like he’s your lifeline. His dia-shui permeates the air, honeying it. The glaze of your arousal drives him wild. His pupils dilate to eclipse his fiery irises. He cannot help himself when he asks,

“Would you do it again? Bear our pups like a lou-dte kale?”

“Yes.”

You did not leave Ap-tui’s yurt for nearly two days.

—

The beginning months of pregnancy really only made your body fatigued and your mind sluggish. You found yourself sleeping far more often, usually clocking out well before the sun set past the horizon. This was usually in tandem to sleeping in until Ta’kaa or Th’chi awoke you to either let you know your mates would be going on a kv’var, or to just get you out from your bed of furs.

The latter usually resulted in them receiving the brunt of your sour mood and cold shoulder— A feat genuinely impressive, considering the lengths you’d go to shirk them.

Until, of course, you came to them in near tears, apologizing profusely and requiring many assurances. They would purr for you until all the wetness from your eyes dried. Th’chi especially did not like seeing you cry.

It was another can of worms pregnancy hormones opened: Mood swings.

—

You’re sure that this may be the angriest you’ve ever been.

The day could not be going worse: Th’chi wakes you at the asscrack of dawn, he doesn’t even bother helping you fix a fire for your breakfast, and then teases you to no end like he usually does, but this time he’s crossed the line.

Fury— molten hot and rising— boils under your skin. Such an intense anger you have to clench your hands into fists. You’re shaking.

“What. Did. You. Say. To. Me?” You growl through grit teeth, each word holding a venom that Th’chi is surprised you have within you, but he pays it no mind. It’ll take more than an angry oomani-di to threaten him. So, he only chortles, lilting his head. His eyes are mirthful, and you want to bash his face in.

“I said: You are rounding out impressively considering it’s only your forth month of gestation.” Th’chi says simply, poking the swell of your belly. Truly, despite only being four months along, you easily look as though you may be six. A side effect of carrying a fetus that’s almost too big for your womb.

That doesn’t dispel the fact that Th’chi is standing before you, a shit-eating look in his eye, and telling you that he thinks you’re fat. You already have been struggling with your changing body and self image. Th’chi only confirms your fears.

“I must also say, your thighs are fattening nicely as well.”

Th’chi must know he’s digging his own grave. He’s not this stupid. Or maybe he is. You’re starting to not care either way.

Bhu’kei has enough sense to stay put on the opposite side of camp.

Ta’kaa, Ap-tui, and Van’chaa have made themselves scarce. Faintly, you recall Van’chaa muttering something about an impromptu kv’var and cursing his younger brother’s name.

This is Th’chi’s mess.

You take a deep breath.

And then Hell breaks loose.

—

By the time you’ve finished your rant, you’re panting, hot in the face, and immediately regretting every word that came out of your mouth. Th’chi looks shocked, his shoulders set, and your heart breaks further when his eyes go stony and hard. He growls lightly, then pivots on his heel and stalks off, clearly upset.

Bhu’kei is looking at you, incredulous, but he only snorts and shakes his head. A pang of regret makes your heart clench behind your ribs. Oh God.

Salvaging whatever remaining anger you have, you turn on your heel and wander off to Ap-tui’s yurt that is halfway across camp. You don’t look back.

The second the yurt door closes, the heat of your anger completely dissipates and leaves you cold with shame and regret. Embarrassment, almost as liquid hot as the wrath before, comes crashing down on you. Immediately, you want to run back out and jump into Th’chi’s arms and tell him over and over how much you love him.

“Oh my God.” Your head falls into your palms, hot tears finally breaking through and wetting your lashes and hands. You said some absolutely heinous things to your mate, words that you made sure would sting. Sniffling wetly, you lower yourself on the edge of Ap-tui’s nest, wringing your fingers in the fibers of the fur beneath you.

Part of you wonders if you should just stay here until the situation blows over. Another, louder part of you screams to tell you to suck it up and go apologize. A few minutes pass as you let yourself cry some more and ponder. The louder part wins: Shame is a powerful beast.

You rise (an action becoming harder and harder with your swelling middle) and make your way out Ap-tui’s yurt.

—

Hesitant steps take you to Th’chi’s personal yurt that sits adjacent to Bhu’kei’s. Said Yautja is where you last saw him, his midnight hide blending him into the dark metal of his yurt. He dips his head when he sees you and whickers in support when you stall in front of Th’chi’s door. His golden eyes are soft when he says, “Go to him. He needs only your presence.”

You smile sadly and nod, placing one hand atop the door’s biometric scanner and the other on your belly. The door opens and you step inside the yurt. His space smells like home.

When you spot Th’chi lounging on his bed, tears bubble up and spill over again, and he only clicks and opens his arms to you. You bound over as fast as you can, practically tossing yourself into his arms. He’s warm, and his chest begins to rumble with purrs— Calming, like the way that Yautja males do for distressed females.

“‘M sorry.” You mumble against Th’chi’s chest, “I dunno what came over me.”

He chitters, smoothing a palm down your hair like he’s petting you. His hand cradles the back of your skull and holds you close. Th’chi has dealt with the wrath of Yautja both in combat and in mating— Your spat was nothing short of amusing to him. Sure, your words had been hurtful in the moment, but he knew that none of them reflected your true intentions.

“Such fire, little mate.” He teases, tusks tickling your tear-stricken cheeks, “Our little sain’ja.”

Thankfully, his disregard for your outburst and comforting words lends to your tears to stop so profusely flowing. One of his rough thumbs smooths across the arch of cheek and wipes away the tears. Th’chi has never understood why and how oomans leak from their eyes (seems incredibly inconvenient) but he hates when you do.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.” You can’t help but say again, kissing his sternum. Th’chi only purrs louder, the velvety rumble beckoning your now exhausted self to sleep. You press closer to him, shifting in his lap as he grabs a fur to toss around your shoulders.

“I forgive you. Words spoken in the heat of anger often lack substance.” He replies, mandibles quivering when you place kisses to his chin. Th’chi will never admit it out loud, but he loves and desires your kisses like no other. He especially loves when your weird fleshy lips press against his face.

“I said such terrible things, Th’chi. I don’t know if I can forgive myself.” You murmur between soft pecks you leave on his slate blue skin, around the quills that grow from his collarbones. The hand he has on the back of your skull trembles almost imperceptibly before moving to grip your chin. Th’chi holds you as if you are glass.

“A Yautja female would never even entertain the thought of apologizing to a male. Even if she’s wronged him. Little mate,” Th’chi guides your eyes to look up at him, “You are more precious to me than the kv’var. You show yin’tekai in being here, with me, sharing my yurt and bearing my kin.”

Th’chi’s canary yellow eyes bore into yours. They look like twin suns.

“I love you, you big dope, y’know that?” You blubber after a stretch of silence, tears falling down your cheeks again, and this time Th’chi understands this wetness to mean you are happy.

He still doesn’t like it, so he purrs even louder to calm you down. You fall asleep only minutes later.

—

The mood swings began to taper around the time other parts of your body began to really feel the pregnancy. It was difficult to be distracted with your haywire emotions when your back started to hurt at all times, you were thirsty and hungry at all times, you peed a lot, and your ankles and hips were sore (and not the pleasant sore from having sex with one or more of your Yautja).

Not to mention the bowling ball that sat in your belly. The pup was big, heavy, and it was active. Your organs started to feel like punching bags. Especially your bladder, which is what your pup seemed to favor jabbing a foot into. It also liked squirming around when you slept, so the lack of sleep was fun.

And then there was the debacle with your breasts. It seemed that your human pregnancy hormones went into hyperdrive to compensate for the Yautja pup growing in your womb. The pup would need thrice the amount of milk as a human child once it was born, and the moment you entered your approximate second trimester, your already tender breasts ballooned to sizes you thought unimaginable.

At first, it was difficult to reconcile your new, curvaceous bosom— Often you found yourself weeping at the sight of your engorged chest. Your swollen, flush tits hung nearly to your waist on either side of your round belly, nipples darkened and pointed straight to the floor. You missed your old breasts, and mourned the fact that they’d never be the same again.

Not to mention that they were awfully heavy, like two pendulous dumbbells that pulled at your upper back muscles. It was enough that your ankles, hips, and lower back ached, but your breasts added your shoulders to the list too.

—

“I can’t look at myself!” You sob into Van’chaa’s netted chest like a baby, blubbering about how much you hate your new figure, and that it makes you feel and look ugly. Van’chaa doesn’t say anything, only patting your head with a gentle paw as you weep against him.

He is desperately confused— Yautja do not suffer the same body issues as oomans do, and he thinks that the near-obsessive paranoia that you display about losing “your figure” is ridiculous. Of course, he would never tell you that directly, especially in the... tender mindset you’re currently in.

You are pregnant, carrying a Yautja pup— a future hunter to an apex predator race. Not to mention a Firstborn of a strong clan. That should bring you honor and respect. It should not bring you despair.

“Little mate,” He decides to coo, nuzzling your hair with his tusks, “No tears. Pregnancy is honorable, and it gives you status. You are like Paya.”

You sniffle, listening to his words and recognizing that Paya is the Yautja deity, and that any form of comparison is a big deal, but your self-image has still been utterly shattered. Confidence that you once had in your body has fallen to the wayside. You tell this to Van’chaa, and he chuffs, then stands up. He looks expectantly down at you, offering his hand, which you take to stand with still a lot of effort.

“Come.” He replies simply, and he starts walking off in the direction of the common yurt, the biggest one in the center of camp where your hunters store miscellaneous goods or shared objects. You walk after him, slowly and with a hand planted on your aching back, ignoring (for now) the hungry look Ta’kaa gives you from across the clearing.

Van’chaa stops at the yurt’s door, opening it and gesturing for you to step in first. You do, keeping your wary gaze on your mate as he strides to the opposite side of the hut, pulling from a wall compartment a sleek black box. Van’chaa strides just as confidently back to you, placing the box in front of you. He opens its top with a click of its latches, like a chest.

The direction of the box prevents you from seeing what Van’chaa is digging for, and you’re about to walk over and see for yourself when the midnight blue Yautja reveals four silver items in his paws. They look like mini gauntlets, obviously made for your human body, but they don’t seem to have any weapons or fancy technology attached.

“Remove your coverings.” Van’chaa rumbles, and the request has you recoiling. The simple white cotton dress you’re wearing really has no special connection to you, but it was one of the few articles of clothing you had. Plus, it was flowy and loose enough for your seemingly ever-growing body and covered up your Problem Areas quite effectively.

“Why?” You ask, shuffling on your feet and Van’chaa can smell your apprehension. He clicks and tilts his head to the side, his long, rubbery black tresses falling past his shoulder.

“Do you trust me, little mate?” He asks, his low, gravelly voice is tender, like the way it gets when he reminisces to you about his bearer on nights when you’re both tipsy on c’ntlip. It’s the same voice he uses when he confesses his love for you under the blanket secrecy of midnight. Van’chaa reaches and cups your cheek in his palm, marveling at how his hand dwarfs you, purring.

“Yes.” You whisper, smiling softly and turning to kiss the palm of his hand. Van’chaa trills in delight, and withdraws his hand to pick up one of the metal cuff-like objects. He holds it out towards you, clicking.

“Then remove your coverings.” He says simple, and with a long, somewhat shaky sigh, you undo the tie at the front of your dress and bare yourself in one swoop. Van’chaa sees the apprehension and disgust towards your own body flash on your face, and once again he is so confused as to why you think so poorly of your own flesh.

He can’t help but marvel— Ooman physiology has always intrigued him, though he’d never admit it out loud. There’s something about the way your oomani-di body is so close to a Yautja female, similar in its curves and decidedly female traits.

And your specific ooman-ness draws him in further. Van’chaa always secretly admired your even, smooth skin, the softness of your plush flesh, your legs and thighs… Admittedly, it had taken him some time to get used to your strange, and by Yautja standards, ugly face, but now he looks forward to it each morning he wakes. He cannot imagine life without you.

Pregnancy does nothing to change his mind on this. If anything, watching your belly swell with pup and your breasts become milk-laden has been… titillating. It arouses some deep intimate, primal fire in his core— One that drives him to the edge (and sometimes over) of desire and back.

Van’chaa wants to lick the taut dome of your belly. He wants to feel you squirm and pant below him, wants to watch those bloated tits of yours bounce in time with his thrusts. One day, he wants to mate you until his seed takes hold. Then he will watch you swell again with his pup. The thought has him relaxing his mandibles.

“Van’chaa?” Your quiet pry pulls him from his reverie and makes him realize that he’d been flooding the air with his dia-shui. You’ve taken notice, as you’ve come to recognize the earthy musk, and your eyelids are now drooped halfway, lustful.

“Wrists. Ankles.” Van’chaa growls, ignoring (for now) the heady scent of your arousal that permeates the air around you. If he glances down, he’ll surely see the slick ambrosia dripping from your cunt. Van’chaa decides today is an exercise in self control. He all but tosses the cuffs to you.

—

The strange cuffs lock around your wrists and ankles firmly, yet gently. When you test one by flexing your arm, the metal seems to have some uncharacteristic give. It feels breathable and acts more like leather than steel. You go to ask Van’chaa why exactly you’re wearing them, when he presses a button on one of the cuffs.

You yelp as netting flows from all four cuffs, racing over your body like water on rocks. It’s very similar to what the Yautja wear beneath their armor, the same black thread-like material. But you can tell it’s stronger, more durable, and somehow it even provides you with some warmth. It must be temperature regulated in some way.

In addition, the net outfit must work in a way that provides support, as the usual pull on your back from your breasts and heavy belly is noticeably lessened. For that, you are eternally grateful.

... However, the net bodysuit— like your mates— acts more like a birthday suit than much else and does very little in the way of modesty. It practically leaves you half naked, though the netting over your crotch does seem to be a bit denser. The same can not be said for your breasts— the netting on your bloated tits and puffy nipples is exceptionally light in comparison.

“Van’chaa, what is this?” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest and internally wincing at how much squishy yield your rack gives. He only chitters, those deep-set blue eyes of his shining in what you can only describe as mischief. You watch as his paws disappear back inside of the box, reappearing with a tiny, bird-like skull in hand.

You don’t recognize what animal it may be from— Earthen or otherwise— but you watch with bated breath as Van’chaa, in a way that can only be described as sacred, attaches the skull to the netting at the center of your chest. It sits atop the shelf of your cleavage, a centerpiece for what’s to come.

Van’chaa continues to decorate you, lining bones of all sorts on your hips in alternating patterns, always using sterling white ones. Before he pulls away from you, he adorns your neck with a bone necklace, clicking softly as he does. It’s like he’s whispering prayer, like the necklace of ivory and claws is as if you’re being bestowed a crown.

“Van’chaa...” You breathe, still taken aback at how tenderly and religiously your mate dressed you in items that his people would wear. He secures a leather-like cloth around your hips that ties below the bones on either side. The fabric covers your crotch and backside, giving you at least some modem of modesty. It’s not much, but at least you feel less nude.

Van’chaa pulls away from you, trilling. He’s elated, eyes bright and proud of his handiwork. Then, he visits the box again and this time pulls out a larger, thin item. He sets it in front of you, the glint of its surface catching the light— and your reflection.

It’s a mirror. A long, full body mirror that captures you in all your fat, pregnant glory.

Body covered in fishnet netting, adorned with bones, dressed in leather; You honestly believe this is the most beautiful you’ve felt in a while. Your new body is complimented and spotlighted in this outfit, belly and breasts and all. The slopes and curves of your figure are hugged in a way that doesn’t make you want to look away.

You also notice, for the first time, how beautifully glossy your hair’s become. And the healthy glow on the apples of your cheeks. You look at the strange, bird-like skull on your sternum.

You look like a Yautja.

Van’chaa chuffs beside you, and you break your gaze from your reflection to see him offering you a pair of tiny sandals. The soles look to be made of thick leather, but the ties seem to be a softer material. When you take them from him, it all clicks in your mind.

“Van’chaa... did you make this all for me?” You ask softly, staring at the shoes in your hands before glancing back up at your mate. Van’chaa dips his head once in response, his electric blue eyes alight like lightning. His dia-shui is unavoidable and unignorable.

“Thank you.” You breathe, sighing in content when Van’chaa sweeps you up into his arms and deposits you onto his bed. The plush furs are soft and support you well. Your core is so hot at this point you nearly whimper. The air is glazed and thick and it’s like breathing in honey. Van’chaa situates himself above you, his tresses fall on either side of your head and he leans in close.

“Would you like me to show my thanks?” You coo, kissing the pink flesh of his flared mandibles, meeting his eyes when you lick up one of his tusks. Van’chaa growls in warning. He sees your coy play and calls you on it. One of his paws grips your thighs and spreads you for him. The leather flap is easily moved out of the way and it’s then you notice there’s an opening in the netting at the base of your core.

Easy access, you suppose, and all other thought escapes you when your mate snarls and presses the tent under his loincloth to your aching pussy. His other hand slides up your belly, then cups one of your breasts. Van’chaa squeezes, and you moan.

“Please fuck me.” You gasp, gripping his bicep when his claws toy with your nipple. The bones you wear click together like wind chimes. You say again, desperate and horny and feeling beautiful:

“Please.”

Van’chaa happily obliges.

—

Another milestone you pass during the duration of your pregnancy also has to do with your breasts. Seemingly, they just don’t let you catch a break. Aside from being heavy and bouncy and literally swaying while you walk (despite your new clothes), they’ve also begun to leak.

You lactate for the first time in front of Bhu’kei, right as he’s about to perform the routine health screen on you. Just as the light flickers over your belly (where the pup had been doing flips as of late) you feel... wet. A dampness made itself very known on your chest, then spread.

“Oh my God!” Bhu’kei’s attention snaps back to you at your incredulous remark, and he is met with the sight of you pinching your nipples between your fingers. Thick droplets of milk still leak past and he notices the trails on your belly. Your face has gone ashen and hot at the same time. Bhu’kei recognizes this as mortification.

“You have started your lactation. This is good.” Bhu’kei states with a swift nod of his head and turns back to your scan. Speaking of good, all of your vitals are also stellar. The pup is stable as well. Bhu’kei is content at this knowledge.

“I’m fucking leaking!” Your voice raises an octave and Bhu’kei watches as you scramble to find a cloth to press to your bosom. When your fingers leave your nipples, a white spray occurs that has you yelping and pinching them again, Bhu’kei clicks in amusement, but you shoot him a withering glare.

“Not. Funny. I can’t go around dripping milk everywhere.” You frown, skin feeling moist and sticky from your milk that’s left trails on your belly. You want to wipe it up, but your fingers can’t leave your nipples. Though... the longer you’re pinching to stop the flow, the more your breasts begin to feel... tight.

More so than usual. Like the pressure’s building. Experimentally, you release one of your sensitive nipples and the torrent of milk is powerful enough to spurt from you like a faucet. Your jaw drops.

Bhu’kei whickers, impressed.

The pressure cedes, and when pinch them again, it begins to grow.

It seems your stuck between a rock and a hard place.

You look to Bhu’kei, and your eyes are pleading. You pout, “What do I do now?”

—

The solution Bhu’kei ultimately recommended was unorthodox.

Usually, pumping milk would’ve been an affair saved for after the pup was born, but you started lactating and profusely leaking so early on that it needed to be done. Plus, you and Bhu’kei did not want you to risk developing mastitis, which would be just the cherry-on-top to your pregnancy.

The issue was, the Yautja didn’t have any suitable equipment to perform the duty of pumping, so it had to be done manually. At first, you were able to squeeze your breasts rhythmically, draining milk into large glass vials that would be frozen and stored for later, but your hands soon tired.

So, with the help of your mates, you pumped milk.

—

“Bhu’kei! Bhu’kei! Bhu’kei!”

The only word your mouth seems to know is his name. Your pussy throbs with need, clit aching for contact. Bhu’kei is planted firmly behind you, but he won’t concede and fill your dripping core with his cock. Instead, he rests the hot rod between your ass cheeks, teasing you by thrusting lazily.

It’s all so much. You can hardly breathe. His dia-shui is suffocating in the best way possible. Bhu’kei’s hands are working magic on you.

Large paws alternate the respective tit they squeeze, drawing long streams of milk from your chest. He tweaks and pinches the stiff peaks of your nipples like he’s toying with them. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced— Strange, yet natural, yet absolutely dirty.

You hazy mind and glossy eyes focus enough to process that the glass vial is nearly halfway full. The session is far from over. You don’t want it to end.

It’s almost humiliating. You’re being milked like a fucking cow. But you have Bhu’kei, nearly rabid with horniness, all-too-enthusiastically rutting wildly between your thighs as if he’s experiencing his rut. Hell, maybe he is. You might just be tempting enough to speed up the waiting time.

It became apparent very quickly that lactation did not sway any of the hunting brothers from gladly warming your bed. They fought over who got to help you pump, and the winner, often bloody and bruised, would be bolstered enough to claim you in the middle of camp.

You whine and moan, and Bhu’kei finally relents and on the next thrust the tip of his cock catches on your weeping slit then sinks home. You wail with pleasure, eyes rolling back as Bhu’kei stretches you in one fell swoop. You grip his wrists, feeling the tendons beneath your hands work. Milk is drawn from you. Your face is flush with heat, your hair sticks to the nape of your neck and temples, sweat gathers beneath your belly and the junctions where you are propped on a pile of furs.

“Bhu’kei!~” You bay his name like a wounded dog, high pitched and airy, and he starts to thrust with fervor. He snarls and growls, gripping your tits firm, but remembering to perform the job. Bhu’kei won’t admit, but it’s becoming harder and harder to focus on aiding you with pumping when your tight, hot cunt is stretched around his shaft.

Mating you is always like this: Soft, raw, and wet like the humid jungle around you. Bhu’kei doesn’t even consider taking you to his yurt like he did earlier, the low growling and pointed glares of his hunting brothers around him is far too satisfying.

He catches the stare of Ap-tui and purposely gives you a sharp thrust that has you gasping just to spite him. His cousin flares his mandibles, his own dia-shui flooding around him. The same can be said of the others as well, all the Yautja males bristle and pace like ravenous wolves wanting a bite of the ripe flesh before them.

Bhu’kei understands fully. You are beneath him like prey, spread out and whining and quivering... How could anyone not find you tempting?

“Her cunt is sweet. Tight and soft and wet. My cock is blessed.” Bhu’kei teases the hunting party and a chorus of roars and growls lifts the air. You’re too far gone to comprehend it. Bhu’kei slides the blunt of tusks down the side of your cheek, trapping you beneath him. His cock works in tandem with his hands.

“Come for me.” He urges you, whickering into your ear. Tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks. It’s all so much. Bhu’kei draws back, then thrusts and hits the special, spongy part inside your cunt.

You orgasm so hard you pass out.

The pumping session had to come to an end.

—

In general, your pregnancy had relatively few hiccups along the way. Most of the time you and your mates spent preparing for the upcoming birth, stocking enough food to last so that none of them had to leave your side until well after you’d given birth. It was something you wanted, just time with them and your new pup for a little while.

Thus, the days were often long and unexciting. You and your mates either fucked or slept or ate. They would take turns leaving for a couple days to replenish more food. The Yautja would sometimes fight one another for entertainment, and to keep their abilities sharp.

In the waning months of pregnancy, however, something eventful did occur.

You were nearly nine and a half months along when your party received a visitor. A Yautja ship appeared out of the blue, snapping your mates into action. They suited up in full armor, on edge.

Apparently, it’s bad form to intrude on occupied hunting territories without an invitation (which your party never gave) or asking first (which they never did). So when the ship landed, your already peeved Yautja were downright hostile towards whoever was bold enough to invade their space.

Ap-tui was particularly pissed, being the hunt leader and all. You had never seen him that bristly before.

But then the most curious turn of events happened.

The ship's docking bay opened to reveal a very tall, very tough looking, very female Yautja.

—

yautja translations

Chiva → the trial of which a Youngblood Yautja is Blooded should they succeed in killing a kiande amedha (Xenomorph) c’ntlip → a Yautja alcoholic beverage dia-shui → musk, specifically that of a male lou-dte kale → child maker (derogatory) ooman / oomani-di → human / human female Paya → Yautja creation goddess sain’ja → warrior yin’tekai → honor

#the predator #predator #aliens vs predator #avp #yautja #predator x you #yautja fanfic #yautja x reader #yautja x you #predator x reader #yautja x human #yautja oc #predator oc #predator x human

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yuujispinkhair · 9 months

Note

Imagine how feral True form!Dadkuna would go during your pregnancy. At first, he thought of termination because he was convinced no spawn of his can grow in your fragile body. But he was wrong, he was so so wrong. You look healthier than ever: your skin glows, your hair shines under the sun, the only differences are those of normal physical changes during pregnancy and even then, you’re radiating.

We know this man is possessive and territorial but hands are always flying around the household when some curse user or curse doesn’t know better than attempting to touch your belly. He doesn’t even give them a chance to back off, its on sight. At this point you’re used to your husband’s antics. He would hide you deep in the heart of his Domain if he could (and if it didn’t scare you sksjsjs). But he is also a proud creature, of course. Sukuna will have you sitting on his lap as he traces tender and soft patterns on your tummy, the place his heir grows, safely, surrounded by his mother’s love and warmth.

Also, Sukuna didn’t realize how alike his unborn son and him are until Uraume caught you eating chunks of raw human liver because you started craving Sukuna’s food. He felt his cock harden at the sight of your bloodied face arguing with Uraume not to cook your food

AWWW I LOVE THIS 💗💗💗 The thought of him being so protective but also wanting to show you off makes me SO weak 💗💗 And I can practically feel how proud our dear King is when he can already see that his child is going to be like him!!

Thank you so much for sharing this with me!! It's beautiful 😭💗

#tw cannibalism #tw pregnancy

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leggerefiore · 8 months

Note

Hey, I saw that your requests are open so I wanted to ask how Maxie, Archie, Cyrus and maybe some other characters of your choice would be like as dads, if you want to write about that ^^;

anon don't let me make more pokemen dilfs.

uhhh took this as a /reader thing since that's how my blog is.

cw: afab reader, light mentions of pregnancy and birth, mostly focused on villains being dads, mentions of termination for a second in cyrus's part,

characters: Maxie, Archie, Cyrus, Volo

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 When you first told the Magma Leader the news, he had nearly fainted. He was certain he had been careful, but his mind instantly drew a few times such a thing could have occurred. Maxie actually needs to be supported by how limp his limbs go. Truly, he did not know how to handle the idea he was going to be a father. For some reason, his brain recalled the child who had opposed his team as he debated his next move. Being a dad did not sound awful to him. He just was completely unsure as to what to do.

🪨 Somehow, he managed to get over his immediate hesitations and considered the positives. The redhead was not getting any younger, after all. He had felt a strange uncle-like care for the child who had stopped him. It was not so bad having a child to look out for, he thought. Plus, he had beaten Archie in something again. He soon found himself pouring countless hours into guides and information related to parenthood and fatherhood. Being well-informed was the first step he felt.

🪨 He had his ups and downs throughout the pregnancy before finally having a full-on breakdown during labour. His practised stern expression gone with his sanity. They had to give him a bag for his frantic breathing, and he had to be removed from the room. He would later apologise for his behaviour, but it was all too surreal for him. But, in the end, he stares in wonder at the newborn. The small boy's weight in his arms was so light, yet so heavy. Tufts of red hair decorated his head as Maxie took in another shaky breath.

🪨 It was a struggle actually adjusting to parenthood. Reading was one thing, a screaming baby at one in the morning was another. Still, he powered through it all. There was something enchanting to watch as the baby grew more and more aware. His son seemed to grow an affinity for grabbing at his hair or trying to take his glasses while making interesting coos and gurgles at him. He was not sure just what kind of person they would grow into, but he was determined to help try to raise them into a person who would be mindful of the environment and kind.

🪨 As they grew, Maxie found himself seeing too much of himself in his son. They could be just as stubborn and unyielding as he was, while being oddly fascinated with geology as he was. He even had to stop his son from eating dirt at one point, which stirred unfortunate youthful memories out of the Magma Leader. Despite how they would butt heads, Maxie felt strangely in tune with him. He loved letting his son read his reports and explaining the different meanings held within.

🪨 He felt especially cocky when he introduced Archie to his boy, smirking at how the pirate seemingly was lost as to how the redhead actually reproduced. Before he could rub his life achievement in his face, Archie knelt down and ruffled the boy's head with a friendly grin. He bit his tongue. The Aqua Leader congratulated his counterpart genuinely and told the boy to keep an eye out for his old man. All Maxie could do was grumble in return.

🪨 He tries to be fair, but he knows boundaries are important and healthy for children. The effects of being too permissive with children often led to the creation of troublesome people, after all. Though he does not want his son to feel rejected and like Maxie does not care for him, he makes sure to have actual discussions with his son about why and how with things. He does feel like his child has a good understanding of these things in the end but feels like he accidentally imposed many of his mannerisms onto his son.

🪨 Team Magma ends up talking about the so-named mini Maxie frequently. The obvious resemblance between their leader and his son is just so fascinating. Even Courtney wishes to coo over an almost perfect clone of her leader. Tabitha just nervously laughs whenever the boy follows his dad in to watch the Magma scientists work. He is very well accepted, no matter his age. Grunts even nervously act as properly as they do when their leader strolls in.

🪨 Overall, Maxie ends up as a slightly overbearing parent who tries to understand his kid and have them understand him back. He goes from being nervous about parenthood to being deeply grateful for the change. His son brought an odd new purpose into his life after everything that had happened with Groudon. He truly enjoys every moment spent with his family.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 When you told Archie about the news, he scooped you up like you weighed nothing and spun you around excitedly. The Aqua Leader had been feeling like something was missing from his life, and he feels like you just answered it. There is no hesitation or doubt from the man — No, this must be his destiny. The little scamp that had been his odd rival while he tried to awaken Kyogre made him realise how nice being a dad could be. He instantly begins to ramble off assorted ideas and plans while you can only stare at him.

💧 Honestly, he probably had been unconsciously trying for a child. Archie thought back on his own youth with both happy and confused feelings. Having a kid could be really difficult, he realised. Shelly came in to save him by gifting him a bunch of parenting books and reminding him that it was a genuinely serious change in his life. He suddenly felt more grounded, for lack of a better word, in his thoughts. Plus, he had beaten Maxie in something! Not that he really thought his rival wanted a kid, though.

💧 He does simply everything for you during your pregnancy. Archie proves just how dedicated he can be to a goal with his attentiveness to you. Even during the birth, he stood at your side with a bright grin and endless support. Though, internally, he would admit he was panicking just a bit. This was still a dangerous process, even if he treated the doctors and whatever else. Though, when everything calmed down and a small infant was laid in your arms, his heart just felt full. A little girl was now the newest and most important member of his crew.

💧 His adjustment to life with a baby is something amazing. It seemed he really took all the advice in those books to heart, as he just accepted his sleep schedule was going to be ruined until the poor girl found a schedule. Archie did not mind, simply happy to see more and more of the little thing. He even found a good nickname for her when she held a small death grip on his beard. His little Clamperl. She was quite fond of laughing and giggling, too, which made his heart feel even warmer. However, sadly, everyone around him stuck down him wanting to try infant swimming classes.

💧 As she grew, Archie was a bit amazed about how she seemed to be just like him. A strong affinity for water and loving to just be around people. Both of them could just spend all day on the beach and in the water playing around, making Archie think back to his own youth. He had loved the ocean then as much as he loved it now and is glad to pass his love on to his daughter. The Aqua Leader adored teaching her all about marine life and the many creatures that lurked in the waiting waves. She seemed to absorb the information like a sponge.

💧 He felt smug when Maxie saw him and his daughter in Slateport. The redhead stood stunned at the little girl holding his rival's hand tightly. The Magma Leader approached with careful steps. The girl just beamed up at him. Maxie actually smiled back at her. He shot a glance at Archie. He carefully listened to the little girl excitedly telling him about the Chinchou she saw. The Aqua Leader's feelings changed. Maxie almost seemed proud of him. Before Maxie departed, he congratulated Archie and told the girl to keep her dad in line. She just grinned up at him.

💧 He is a bit too lenient with his daughter, he knows. The girl simply deserves everything he feels, and he struggles to tell her no. Of course, he does know the importance of setting up boundaries for kids so they do not get all out of control. Though, he absolutely struggles with punishments, sadly. His softness, thankfully, is not taken advantage of because his daughter is just as oddly good-natured as he is.

💧 His team is just eager to have his daughter around. She loves playing around with the grunts, even when it ends with her horribly beating them in a pokemon battle. Everyone just sees her like another Archie, almost. She is just less likely to give out orders. Shelly simply adores the girl and loves dressing her up or just hanging out with her while Archie is too busy to be with her. Matt, on the other hand, is overly protective over her. The poor guy is terrified that his bro's daughter is in danger because of how small she is. Granted, she is very safe because the entirety of Team Aqua would hunt whoever hurt her down.

💧 In the end, he is quite excited to be a father and eager to do everything he possibly can for his child. He struggles a bit when it comes to pushing back on her and is probably too permissive for it to be good, but his example of bring redeeming himself from his past actions and genuinely caring for pokemon and the sea sets a good example for her. She quickly adopts many of his interests in protecting the environment, and he feels certain that his change of heart after Kyogre was all for good with that.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ When you told Cyrus of the news, he froze. His entire world seemingly paused, and the only thing he could hear was the sound of his heart racing. Father… Him? No, he could not. What a terrifying thought. His own childhood creeping up his back as he debated how to most kindly ask for a possible termination. Your immediate refusal shook him even more. Losing you was not something that he believed he could bear in this world, so sickeningly consumed by spirit. Could you not just wait for his perfect world to start a family?

☄️ He relents after his initial panic. Your joy is apparent with how you speak to the unborn child and loving place a hand over where they should be. Was twenty-seven an appropriate age to start a family? He supposed there was little time to consider. Immediately, he found himself drowning in guides upon guides upon books and informational videos until he felt somewhat confident in what being a parent entailed. He absolutely dreaded every coming minute of it, but he refused to make that apparent to his future child. Cyrus would not dare even imitate his parents.

☄️ Amazingly, he managed to stay by your side during the stages of labour. While he almost constantly wanted to leave the room, horrified but what he could only blame on spirit, he remained and forced his feelings down to support you and advocate when you were unable to. You seemed grateful for his unfaltering support in the end, smiling as you held the infant girl in your arms. Cyrus felt amazed by her very existence. Soft blue tufts were on her head, while her face seemed frozen in a familiar expression. You called her a mini Cyrus. He could only feel awestruck.

☄️ He struggled immensely in the shift after bringing her home. Thankfully, it was less due to the constant awakenings (as his insomnia made that easy enough to deal with) but more so how she simply existed in his space. Her cries broke his heart, making him fear he was already falling into the ways of his parents. Yet, he found that she was straightforward to comfort, simply craving to be held and softly spoken to. Her eyes, the same colour as his, adoringly stared up at him, and he suddenly felt warm inside.

☄️ Her growing up was both a relief and torment to him. She proved herself just as reclusive as he could be and not interested in any other kids for the most part. Cyrus felt strange seeing his daughter hidden in her room and burying herself in whatever hobby she had decided to indulge in. It was like staring into a mirror that reflected one's younger days. He found himself being someone she could talk to about her hobbies, happy to listen at any time. Cyrus felt even more stunned whenever she followed him to his office and watched how he worked on his machines. It slowly turned into him explaining everything to her and her wishing to help him.

☄️ He flinched at how Cynthia caught him out at the Veilstone department store with his daughter one day. The champion stared in silence at them for a moment before falling into her unusual polite grin and waving at the small girl. Cyrus knew that the blonde would not do anything to her yet still felt strangely nervous about how she had gazed at him specifically. The babbled quietly to Cynthia about her interests, and she could only smile more at the girl. When the woman finally left, her final glance back at him spoke too many words. “You accepted this world, didn't you?” Had he? Cyrus forced those thoughts away.

☄️ He, truthfully, is quite soft as a parent. What he has been through has made him terrified of ever inflicting such pain onto a child. Cyrus is much too weak when it comes to his daughter and folds into himself for what she asks for. He strangely finds her already perfect. In fact, he dared to even say her spirit was somehow complete. He does make sure she understands social norms and boundaries, still, but she seems to come to understand on her own all the same. The only downside is that he struggles to be affectionate with her, only allowing himself the rare hug and mostly relying on petting her head.

☄️ Team Galactic is oddly obsessed with their boss's mysterious child. How she just showed up one day after Cyrus took an unexpected few weeks off. They all found themselves engaged in watching how she mimicked her father unknowingly. Mars and Jupiter love playing with the little girl, seeing a need for a more feminine touch in her life and finding her fun to dress up. While Saturn seemingly finds himself on babysitting duty whenever Cyrus gets busy. He secretly enjoys these moments and shows her games on his computer. The grunts are constantly getting jumpscared by her accidental glare.

☄️ Overall, he struggles quite a bit with his own childhood, but desperately does not want his beloved child to ever go through what he had. Cyrus leans probably strict in some ways, yet extremely permissive and passive in other ways. At first, the idea of parenthood nearly makes him ill, but he somehow moves past it into deeply enjoying the connection he has with his daughter. While he still has not accepted this painfully incomplete world, he feels his daughter is leading him to another possible answer to his inquiries and wishes to see what she thinks when she is at an age to understand. Perhaps he would even dare let her make the new world herself.

💫Volo📜

⭐️ When you told him the news, he sincerely debated fleeing and hiding again. Being a parent was a terrifying concept to him. He simply was not someone who had much interest in establishing a family line. After all, he had made very obvious his intentions to continue pursuing Hisui's myths to one day finish his goals. While he may have relented to whatever kind of relationship this was, he was not sure a child was something he needed. Then you mentioned that his child would come from one chosen by Arceus, and he suddenly gave in.

⭐️ He supposes that a child from both his blood of the ancient Sinnoh people and yours from that of one chosen by Arceus sounded too good. Besides, he had begun to wonder what should happen if he failed in his endeavours. A descendant could carry on where he left off, even possibly creating the world he so desired and bringing him back should he die. His acceptance is quiet and subtle. He finds himself listening to men and women about their experiences of being parents as he wanders around Hisui. Bravely, he even questions Cogita about what is entailed, intriguing her.

⭐️ He could not be at your side for any process of the delivery since he was very much wanted for his crimes in Jubilife, but he was somewhat doting during the pregnancy. He attempted to get whatever you requested, though he felt like he was going a bit mad when you sent him out hunting for seemingly endless leeks out in the wilds. Volo was mostly following Cogita's instructions here. It was about a week after the birth when you finally managed to sneak out of the village with the infant for him to finally greet the child. He could only stare at the sleeping face of his daughter in mild bewilderment. Soft golden tufts were across her head as she nuzzled into his warmth. His heart felt oddly heavy.

⭐️ When you finally escaped back to his home, he felt distressed by how needy the child was. Crying nearly relentlessly and needing attention more than he expected, yet before he could complain, he realised how he felt about those thoughts. Quickly, he shut them down and took to intently caring for the child. How could he have even thought such a thing about his child? He felt ill. Her confused coos and giggles at lease forced the pain out of his heart. She always seemed so entranced with his hair and desperately tried to grab it. Her grey eyes held pure adoration as she turned her head to find him whenever he was not holding her.

⭐️ As she grew, he became worried. His own youth was extremely difficult and lonely. The only person he felt he could turn to was rarely around, so he always found himself alone and ruminating on his complicated feelings. It all seemed pointless with how easily she spoke with other people. A bit like him, he supposed. Her intrigue with his investigations of ruins and myths drew her in, too. The girl listening to her father go on and on about history and stories of myths. Volo felt oddly eager. It seemed his legacy would inherit his interests. She began joining him to look over ruins and learn the culture of the ancient Sinnoh people.

⭐️ Cogita seemed smitten with his daughter, he had noticed. The older woman had often been there for him in his youth, and now it appeared her intentions remained the same for the girl. If his partner was busy while he was, too, he found her more than willing to babysit. She shared just as many myths to the girl as he had. The girl seemed utterly fascinated with everything, just as he had been. Though, he could feel the slight glare Cogita would give him when he listened in. It seemed she was more than aware of his darker plans.

⭐️ Volo is not really sure how to parent. He tries to be supportive towards his daughter, but struggles to understand if what he is doing is right or wrong. His parents were not exactly around him enough to help him even now by an example. He almost ends up treating her like a pokemon. Firm boundaries and obvious things you do and do not do. She has many moments of frustration towards the blond, which he entirely understands. Though, he does find himself overly protective of her. He feels she is in danger as the hero of Hisui's child alongside being his own, not mentioning the general danger of Hisui alone.

⭐️ From what he hears, the Galaxy Team simply adores her. Laventon cannot stop himself from going on and on about pokemon behaviours to the girl, and even bravely offering her another one of the pokemon he brought from his home region. Cyllene seems to fret over her wellbeing whenever you take her out of the village to his home, claiming she is too young to explore the harsh wilderness even while being monitored. Even Kamado has a strange soft spot for the kid, probably trying to make up for what he did to you. Volo can only sigh at all that.

⭐️ Ultimately, he has many shortcomings as a parent. It is a difficult change for him, but he forces himself to be at least more supportive and caring than his own parents were towards him. He honestly can be a little too harsh with his words, but somehow, his daughter seems to get he is trying his best. Her love for history and mythology makes him feel confident she will pick up where he left off should anything ever happen to him. After all, he plans to take her to the Temple of Sinnoh and explain to her his ultimate goals. She is already being trained in battling as a wielder by him. But, somehow, he wonders if she really will. The look in her eyes is much like his own yet different.

#pokemon x reader #volo x reader #cyrus x reader #maxie x reader #archie x reader #pokemon/reader #volo/reader #cyrus/reader #archie/reader #maxie/reader #pokemon volo x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon archie x reader #pokemon maxie x reader

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coochiequeens · 1 year

Text

'There are wonderful surrogates but the system is also allowing others to take advantage.' Says a woman who exploited another woman

Twins? No, but this couple's baby boys were born just five months apart after a terrifying tale that raises grave questions about modern-day surrogacy

Cáhan and Cómhan Kilgannon look to the outside world like they are twins

But pair from County Fermanagh, Northern Ireland were born five months apart

Parents Kiara and Stevie conceived naturally just after using a surrogate mother

By JENNY JOHNSTON FOR THE MAIL ON SUNDAY

PUBLISHED: 17:16 EST, 18 February 2023 | UPDATED: 17:16 EST, 18 February 2023

Snug in their double buggy, peeking out with matching, adorable blue eyes, Cáhan and Cómhan Kilgannon look for all the world like twins as they enjoy a stroll with parents Stevie and Kiara.

'When we are out in shops, people assume they are twins,' says dad Stevie. 'When they were younger and the size difference between them more noticeable, we'd explain that there was actually five months between them.

'But you could see people doing the maths and getting confused.'

Cáhan (it means 'little battler' in Irish) is 15 months old, while his brother Cómhan (meaning 'twin') is ten months.

And there is a fascinating and heartwarming reason for the age discrepancy.

Biologically, Cáhan is Kiara's and Stevie's child, conceived through IVF using her egg and his sperm, and born via surrogacy after Kiara had been told she would never carry her own child.

The couple opted for an increasingly common surrogacy route – delighted to find a stranger who effectively offered them her womb.

Stevie says: 'We explained it to family and friends as 'our bun, her oven'.'

Yet five months into the surrogate's pregnancy, the 'impossible' happened – Kiara became pregnant herself. Entirely naturally.

'The doctors – we'd been to them all, even an expert in the US – said it simply wasn't possible for me to carry a child,' she explains.

'When it happened, we couldn't believe our double miracle. The boys will be in the same class at school, so we have years ahead of having to explain why they appear to be twins, but aren't.'

At their home in County Fermanagh, Northern Ireland, this couple's joy is palpable

So too, though, are more complicated feelings. It turns out their 'surrogacy journey' was anything but joyful.

Indeed, they're speaking out today because they want to warn other couples – 'who may be as desperate as we were' – that the whole experience can push you to the edge.

The reality of their situation is that the relationship with their surrogate broke down during her pregnancy.

They even feared she would abort their child.

'It was a real worry – later confirmed when she posted on social media that she'd considered a termination,' says Kiara. '

At another stage she threatened to keep our baby if a whole list of requests that had never been mentioned before were not met.'

It sounds as if everything that could go wrong with the surrogacy agreement – 'a piece of paper that is legal but not legally binding', says Stevie – did.

Petty disagreements, mostly about money, escalated to the point where they were consulting lawyers and trying to get mediation.

'In the process, she cut us off, blocked us from messaging her, refused to allow us to go to scans, which she'd previously said we could attend.

'She told midwives and hospital staff – who deal with surrogacy arrangements all the time, and had been wonderful about making us feel part of it – not to include us.

'In the weeks coming up to the birth, we had moved over to England, where she lives, to be in place for the birth. Yet for that full four weeks we had no contact with her.

'We had no idea if she would even hand him over when he was born. We discovered – the hard way – that biological parents have no rights,' Stevie recalls.'

Kiara – pregnant during the latter stages of this delicate process – was distraught.

'My pregnancy was deemed high-risk and the doctors said I must I avoid stress.

'But I could not have been more stressed. I thought I was going to lose both babies.'

It is very rare for a couple to be in this situation – and also uncommon for a couple who have had a 'successful' surrogacy journey to talk about the pitfalls.

They can share their story now because, in December, a court granted them a Parental Order, giving them full legal responsibility for Cáhan.

In any surrogacy situation, there is a period of some months when the intended parents are in a legal limbo.

Although Stevie was eventually named on Cáhan's initial birth certificate – they had no birth certificate at all for him for several months – Kiara was not, as the surrogate is always the mother, by law, until a Parental Order is granted.

Issues such as who is authorised to make medical decisions can be contentious – but in amicable surrogacy arrangements, these things can be agreed and made workable.

The frustrations were made all the more difficult with two babies in the mix.

Kiara says: 'It meant we were in this ridiculous situation where I could get treatment for Cómhan, but with Cáhan, Stevie had to do everything.'

It has long been accepted that the law surrounding surrogacy in the UK, which has not been changed in 40 years, needs to be updated, but a much awaited review by the Law Commission has been delayed.

Meanwhile, the number of couples using surrogates has quadrupled over the past ten years.

Commercial surrogacy is banned in the UK, but surrogates can be paid reasonable expenses, which Stevie and Kiara believe has 'led to commercial surrogacy under the table'.

Stevie, who works in the justice system, says: 'It would be more transparent to allow commercial surrogacy because, as it stands, there are no rules about what constitutes reasonable expense. We came to feel we were cash cows.

'Our surrogate alerted us to a chipped windscreen on her car, and we paid for a replacement tyre.

'She charged us £1 for an envelope to send a scan picture and refused to post it until the money was in her account.

'It all got incredibly petty, but when we asked for documentation for expenses over the agreed figure, she cut contact.

'We discovered surrogates advise each other about how to push their expenses up.

'One couple even paid for a gardener to mow their surrogate's lawn – then learned she had no grass.

'Surrogates even discuss charging for slimming club memberships, spa treatments, even car valeting after vomiting in the car because of morning sickness.

'This is not about money – we paid our surrogate expenses of about £15,000 but we'd have paid much more from the off if the process had been fair.

'Our point is that we felt held to ransom.

'There are wonderful surrogates but the system is also allowing others to take advantage.'

See rest of article

#Anti-surrogacy #Anti exploiting women #Anti turning babies into commodities

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emeritus-fuckers · 6 months

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How would the papas react to an unplanned pregnancy?

Papas and unplanned pregnancy

Primo

First of all, he's surprised.

He knows he is old, so he's mostly surprised that it took.

But, he is more than happy to sit with you through the pregnancy, or if you decide to terminate, he's also happy to pay for it.

He's kinda chill about the whole thing, tbh. Just wants to make sure you're comfortable.

Secondo

He is calm for about.. two seconds.

Then starts freaking out. He's a party man- He doesn't know how to deal with a kid!

Is probably more freaked out about it than you.

Don't get him wrong, he is happy if you decide to keep it. And he would likely clean up his act a little bit, and calm down from all the parties.. at least a little bit.

If you decide to terminate, he is also happy to hold your hand through the appointment, and help you afterwards.

Extremely freaked out, but going along with what you want.

Terzo

Immediately starts screaming.

At first, it's scared, Then its happy.

He loves kids!

He would be more than happy to keep the kid, and would be there the entire time. Treating you like an absolute god/goddess.

And if you decide to terminate, he will also understand. Make's sure you have the best doctor and you have the best pampering when recovering, if you need it.

Just very supportive.

Copia

"Oh amore!"

He is extremely happy. He love's kids and has always wanted one. He is so happy, immediately starts talking about names and how he can decorate the nursery, about how the ghouls will love the child.

If you decide to keep it, he is over the moon, hugging you and immediately looking for pregnancy vitamins.

If you decide to terminate, he understands. He will hold you and smile as he say's he will make the appointment. He cannot be pulled off of you for the entire appointment, and makes sure you're comfortable if you need anything after.

Just wants whatever makes you happy, a smile on his face the entire time.

Old Nihil

Completely flabbergasted.

Don't get me wrong, he knows he's fertile. He did make four sons (well, he doesn't know about one of them being his son, but that's a different story) and probably some... other unknown children.

He did not expect to make a kid at his current age, though!

Everything's up to you, really, but he will point out that he's... well, too old for a baby.

But if you decide to keep the kid, he's gonna try to at least help you out... somehow.

He's not very good at it, though.

Young Nihil

He is... not very happy.

It's not so much that he hates his kids (despite what it seems), there's just... a shit ton of trauma that nobody ever cared to deal with. (Please send him to therapy)

His first reaction is demanding you get rid of it and storming off.

He finally comes back the next morning, completely wasted.

He sees you crying and breaks down, too, finally opening up.

You talk for a long time before making a decision together.

If you keep it, he'll try his best. He will fuck up a lot, but he'll try.

If you terminate, he's gonna be with you and he'll hold you as long as you need afterwards.

Papas I-IV written by Zenith/Jasper.

Papa Nihil written by Nosferatu.

Taglist: @charlie-is-a-menace @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @randodummy @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @randominstake @callmeicaro @dio-niisio @firefirevampire @mybotanicaldemise @emo-mess @natoncesaid @sirlsplayland @ouijaboardemo @lightbluuestars @igodownjustlikeholymary @thatoddboy @strawberriiblossoms @dark-angel-is-back @choco-meow69

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storiesforallfandoms · 2 years

Text

the toughest decision ~ eminem

word count: 2119

request?: yes!

@girl-toxxic “AHHHHHH I AM SUPER HAPPY, I went crazy when the notification appeared that you reopened the requests, since I have saved so many ideas for you ... Well this idea is something different from the ones I have asked you before ...eminem x daughter! reader

Well it's like that, as we know Marshall has 3 daughters, but what happens if one day he finds out that he has another daughter (between about 14 years old and looks a lot like Marshall physically) and he discovers this, either the mother of his daughter has a terminal illness and goes to Marshall and tells him that they have a daughter and he is the only relative he has (their relationship was toxic and when Marshall discovers that she was pregnant he tells him to abort but he does not mean it but he was angry and he thought she had miscarried) or someone close finds out and tells Marshall ...At this point I leave it to you, now how will Marshall and his daughter face this situation, since their lives took a 180 ° turn ...This idea came to me while listening to River and watching a movie with a similar plot hahahaha

Sorry if there are mistakes, english is not my first languageI love your writing and I send you a lot, a lot of love♡♡♡♡♡♡”

description: in which he comes face to face with the daughter he didn’t know he had, and he has to decide what to do in this situation

pairing: eminem x daughter!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of illness and potential death, mentions of toxic relationships and drug use

masterlist (one, two)

Marshall looked over at the teenager sat at his dinner table. A million things were running through his mind, but at the same time he felt completely speechless.

It had been years since he last saw Sue; 14 years given the age of the girl sat before him. The relationship had been extremely toxic and resulted in a very messy break up. The last time he saw Sue, she was tearfully screaming profanities at him as he grabbed his stuff and ran from her place after ending their relationship. It was safe to say things did not end well between them.

When Sue showed up on his doorstep, a 14 year old girl in tow claiming she was his daughter, he couldn’t be more shocked. Marshall would’ve loved to say Sue was lying. He had no recollection of her being pregnant when they broke up. Not that it wasn’t possible, but she was very clearly not pregnant when she was drinking wine every night before they broke up.

But when he saw this girl’s face, he saw his own looking back at him. There was no denying this was his daughter.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Sue was saying, bringing Marshall out of his train of through. “I’m sorry to just dump this on you, but I had no other way to contact you.”

“Why now?” Marshall asked. “Why didn’t you tell me when you found out you were pregnant?”

“Well, we weren’t exactly on good terms when I found out. It was days after we broke up. I was still upset, and then there was the added shock of the pregnancy. I wanted to keep her and raise her myself. And I did. But now...well, look at me.”

Marshall had been trying not to look at her since she first arrived. Sue didn’t have to tell him she was sick. He figured it out the moment he saw her again. She was so thin you could see her bones, her face was flushed, and she had a beanie on to hide her lack of hair.

“You’re the only family she has left,” Sue continued. “And I want her to know you and to have someone when I...”

She trailed off, but Marshall understood what she was trying to say.

“Let her stay for the weekend,” he said. “We can spend the time getting to know one another, and then we can do joint custody until...she needs to stay with me permanently.”

Sue nodded. She turned to her daughter - their daughter - and sat down across from her. “I’m going to go home and get you some clothes and stuff for the weekend. You stay here, I’ll be back soon.”

The girl glanced at Marshall before looking back at her mom, shrugging in response to what she had said. Sue gave her a small smile before getting up to leave. She and Marshall shared one last look before Sue went to get the girl’s things.

Finally left alone with his daughter, Marshall felt speechless again. What do you say to a teenager you’ve just met who is apparently your daughter? One that you’ve missed all of her life up until this point, and now suddenly you’re about to become her main legal guardian.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked her, realizing Sue hadn’t properly introduced the two yet.

The girl looked up at Marshall again before looking away just as quickly. “(Y/N),” she responded so softly that Marshall almost didn’t hear her.

“It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he said. “Do you...you can watch TV in the lounge or something if you want. Or anywhere, really. The place is...it’s a big house.”

(Y/N) shrugged but silently got up and went out to the lounge. Marshall heard the TV flicker on and some show that (Y/N) had chosen to watch started to play. He sighed and ran his hands over his face.

This is going to be a difficult weekend.

~~~~~~

When Sue returned with (Y/N)’s things, Marshall showed her which room she was staying in and left her to unpack and get settled away. He didn’t see her for the rest of the night, and he didn’t want to bother her given this had to be a big change for her as much as it was for himself, so he left her alone for the night.

The next morning, Marshall got up early enough to make breakfast for the two of them. He hadn’t done it in years since his three children were all grown up now. It was bringing back memories for him. He was starting to feel somewhat excited despite the strange circumstances.

(Y/N) came down from her room shortly after Marshall had plated their food and put it on the dinner table. She didn’t make eye contact with Marshall as she sat down and began picking at the food in front of her. When Marshall offered her something to drink, she just shrugged again instead of responding. He tried not to sigh so obviously as he poured her a glass of juice and put it in front of her.

“Uh...did you sleep well?” he asked. She nodded. “Okay. That’s...that’s good. Is the room to your liking? I mean, you’ll get to change it however you want, it is your room now.”

(Y/N) didn’t respond. She just looked down at her plate and pushed the food around.

“What - uh - what are you interested in?” he asked. “Music, sports, any hobbies?”

“I don’t listen to your music,” she said pointblank. “Mom never let me.”

“Yeah, I imagine she wouldn’t.”

(Y/N) stopped playing with her food and finally looked up at Marshall. He still couldn’t get over how much she looked like him. She had her mother’s eyes, but everything else was all Marshall.

“Why did you and mom break up?” she asked.

It wasn’t a question he was prepared for. He figured Sue had already told (Y/N) about her relationship with Marshall, or rather about her version of it.

“I’m sure your mom has told you about me before.”

“Not really. She actually didn’t even tell me you were my dad until a few months ago. She claimed she just didn’t like your music while I was growing up and banned me from listening to it. I didn’t believe her when she sat down and told me the truth. I kind of still can’t believe it now.”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m having a hard time grasping all of this, too.”

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

Marshall shook his head. “No. She never told me. She found out after we had broken up and decided she wanted to raise you on her own. I don’t blame her. The relationship didn’t exactly end too well.”

“Why?”

She was looking at him expectantly. Marshall wasn’t sure if it was his place to be telling her about his and Sue’s relationship, but he also figured she would have to know eventually. If he was about to become her sole guardian, she deserved to know the truth about why he hadn’t been around the first 14 years of her life.

“Your mom and I...we just weren’t right for one another,” he started. “We started dating back when I was struggling with drug addiction. I had already been in a shitty relationship years earlier, and I guess I just didn’t see the signs that things were going to be the same with your mom. We dated off and on for a couple years. We’d break up and then get back together a day or two later. We were always fighting, rarely ever had a nice thing to say to one another. I thought that was love at the time because that’s what my previous relationship had been like and that’s how I was raised by my mom. But, here’s a piece of dad advice: that’s not love. Even if you think you love the person, if you’re always fighting and you’re always insulting one another, just end the relationship.”

(Y/N) nodded and gestured for him to continue with the story.

“So, eventually, I got sober. I needed to. I have three other children, two of which were still really young when I was struggling with addiction. I realized I needed to be there for them, both in the figurative sense that I couldn’t be high all the time and the literal sense that I needed to...well...I needed to be alive for them. I went to rehab, I got sober, I started working on myself. I came to this realization that, while I loved your mother, I wasn’t in love with her. Those are two completely different things. So, when I finished my treatments in rehab and came home, I went to her place and I told her that I was breaking up with her for good. No more on again, off again, no more fighting, no more us at all. Obviously, she didn’t take it very well. She yelled, she threw things at me, she called me every insult in the book. I just grabbed my things and got out of there. Never saw her again. Until yesterday, that is.”

Marshall sighed. “I don’t blame her for not wanting me to meet you. To her, I probably really broke her heart. I mean, we both thought we loved each other. We both thought it was a good relationship. But it wasn’t. It was best for us to be apart. And maybe it was also best that we took time to grow and mature before seeing each other again instead of trying to be civil for your sake. As much as I would’ve loved to know about you when your mom found out she was pregnant and be there while you were growing up, I also wouldn’t have wanted you to have to witness us fighting or have us ruining your big moments because we couldn’t put our differences aside. I did that with my first daughter, Hailie, and I know it was tough for her."

“It was tough not having a dad, either.”

Marshall nodded. “I know. My dad left when I was a baby. He didn’t try to get in touch with me until I got famous.”

(Y/N) made a face of disgust. “That’s awful.”

“It is. So, I guess we have a few things in common.”

Silence fell upon them. (Y/N) took a sip of her juice and finally took a mouthful of the food in front of her. Marshall began to eat as well, hoping to end the tenseness in the room as soon as possible.

“My mom’s sick,” (Y/N) finally said.

“I know.”

“And I don’t really have any other family. My mom was an only child and my grandparents passed away years ago.”

“I know that, too. I was with your mom when your grandma passed away, actually. I didn’t get along with her very well, but I think she would’ve loved you if she got to meet you.”

“That’s what mom says, too.” (Y/N) looked down at her plate. “She told me about you because she said she wants me to have someone after she’s gone.”

“She told me that too.”

“So,” (Y/N) looked back up at him again. “I do want this to work out. I don’t want mom to have to worry about me while she’s sick. And, honestly, out of anyone who could’ve been my dad, I don’t think there could’ve been a cooler pick.”

Marshall chuckled, which caused (Y/N) to smile. It felt like the tension has lifted from the room the moment the corners of her lips turned up.

“I don’t expect you to want to spend every waking moment with me,” Marshall said. “No teenager ever wants that. But we do have 14 years of catching up to do.”

“Well, you have years of catching up with me. I Googled you, so I know basically everything about you.”

He laughed again. “Fair enough. Do you like video games? I own basically every console there is. We could start the father-daughter bonding by kicking each other’s asses.”

(Y/N) jumped up from her chair so quickly it took Marshall by surprise. “Bring me to this amazing gaming place you speak of.”

He laughed and stood to show her to where all of his gaming consoles were hooked up. He knew it was going to be a trying process to get used to having another kid in the house, but so far, he was definitely enjoying getting to be a father all over again.

#eminem #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #eminem x daughter!reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers x daughter!reader #daughter!reader #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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jessnotfoundd · 1 year

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how many kids does the boys want to have? any specific age gaps? i wanna know everything

Dream

He wanted to have two, after Dylan, your son, he begged you to please start with a baby trying so they won't be so different in age, but you decided to wait a year, and then try again because you would be super tired having to take care of Dylan and be pregnant. At least a year to get used to the parenting life. He was okay with a year.

What he didn't expect, after that year, and you got pregnant again, the very big surprise was when at one appointment, the doctor told you both that you were having twins. Istg he almost passes out there.

Sapnap

He wasn't sure how many kids he wanted to have, but after Ashley, he was sure to want another one, but he didn't want to pressure you.

But 3 years later, you tell him, you're pregnant. He's shocked. The happiest man standing on earth.

-Hope this time's a boy, so we can play basketball together.- he jokes and both of you laugh. Ashley sleeping, and you both sitting in the kitchen.

-I'm super lucky to be with you.- I lean my head to rest it on his shoulder.

-Yeah, I'm the reason these kids are gonna be the prettiest at school.- he whispers and he goes again.- We should be tagged as "the hottest people alive"- he left a kiss on your head and drinks his last bit of coke so he could throw the can.

And yes, the baby arrive, and Ashley was obsessed with her little brother. You couldn't happier. You both formed a perfect family.

George

Well, he was so happy to be a father, he wanted a girl so you tried three times, and she finally came. Aaron and Isaac were 6 and 4 when she was born. Madison was the princess of the house, and George was always telling the boys that they have to protect her at all costs. The boys would take this very seriously and would try to be with her all the time. They would be so gentle when playing with her. The British were proud of them.

-So, you're telling me, this- you point at the broken cup- was about to hurt Madison?- the two boys have their eyes on his feet.

-Okay mom, we broke it, and not, he was not gonna hurt madison, we are really sorry.- and it's there when you realized you both did a good job.

-It's okay, I was worried about you two getting hurt with the broken cup, I'm glad you're both safe, go play with your dad.- they run straight to George.

Karl

Only one, a little girl, Sarah Anne Jacobs. He was terminated because he was okay with only one, and the fact that you had a dangerous pregnancy. It was hard for him when the doctor ask him aside when labor started if in any case, who should he save, you or the baby.

He couldn't decide, both were terrible and left him shaking in the waiting area. When he saw both of you he knew it was a miracle, and he didn't want to go through that again.

Quackity

Two girls, Olivia was 4 when Victoria arrived, she was a little jealous, but he made sure to let her go that none of you would love her less just because you were gonna have another baby.

-plus, you'll have someone to dress as a princess- he says smiling.

-Uncle Karl is not gonna dress as a princess with me anymore?- she pouts and you admire how pretty she is, so like Alex.

-You'll be three then.- he pinches her little cheeks and she smirks.

Punz

A girl and a boy, Matthew was 2 when both of you got the news, Luke was happy, but he drive you crazy about he wanted to have a girl.

-If it is not a girl, well keep trying- he has you seated on his lap, Matthew just fall asleep like a minute ago.

-This is the last pregnancy ill go through.- you smirk.

-Fine.- he sounds offended.

When the baby turned out to be a girl, he was all over you, super proud of saying that he manifested it.

-You can't manifest a baby's gender- you insist.

-Then how do you explain?- he looks at you with a smirk and then his eyes are on the road again.

You just rolled your eyes and let him think he manifested the baby's genre.

Foolish

Angela was enough, he was happy with the baby girl and you, so the baby's factory was momentarily closed. Not wanting more kids.

At least for now, she's 5 months old and she's calm basically perfect.

Wilbur

Jessica was 6, Emily was 5, and Lily was 2 when you both settled down and decided to be 5 members of a family. Wilbur was in love with her three girls. Four actually.

Tommy was proud of both of you and he was the funny uncle the girls would run every time you say no to something they asked.

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floral-force · 1 year

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Hi! I love your work and I have seen that you are looking for Frankie Morales requests. So I'm here.

I was thinking about post break up Frankie and the prompt "i was made to love you." Maybe he fucked up, but they have kid so they have to see each other often and he just can't make himself love somebody else. So maybe getting together again?

ok so fair warning this is very angsty (but it has a happy ending I promise). I was in a mood while writing this, but I'm happy with how it turned out. this was a great way to practice frankie, especially since I love soft!frankie. I hope you enjoy this, nonnie! ♥️

requests are open! send me an ask!

I Was Made to Love You

francisco "catfish" morales x f!reader

summary: Frankie’s mistake cost him your relationship and your love. You remain connected through co-parenting your daughter, but you never forgave him for what he did. Despite it all, something still remains, waiting to be discovered.

words: 2k+

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY/NO MINORS, infidelity, angst (with a happy ending), soft!frankie, mentions of pregnancy and labor (nothing graphic/detailed), brief mention of sobriety/implied past addiction, mother!reader, I'm bad at titles

read on ao3 | fic masterlist

You got up from your spot on the couch to answer the door. As soon as you opened it, you were greeted with a squeal from your smiling daughter, Isabella. You crouched down and scooped her into your arms with an oof.

“Hmph—Baby girl, you’re getting so big! Mommy won’t be strong enough to hold you soon,” you laughed, running your finger across her small, soft cheek.

She pouted and your breath caught in your throat. She had Frankie’s mouth, and her little pout was nearly identical to his. It always threw you off and reminded you of one of your first dates, back when you were both young and in your mid-twenties. You’d gone to the aquarium together, and he threw that look your way to get you to buy something dumb for him—a goofy fish plushie that made him smile like a dork. You were going to get it anyway, but you couldn’t resist when he gave you that puppy dog face.

Sometimes, in the pictures he sent you of Isabella, she was holding it.

You dated for four years, and he proposed just a month before you showed him a positive pregnancy test. Isabella was definitely not planned, and both of you always thought you’d live a childless life, but something must have changed. Frankie became a different person after you both discussed whether to continue the pregnancy or terminate it and chose to keep it. He’d been sober for a few years at that point and made even more of an effort to stay committed to it.

“For you, and for my little girl,” he’d said, placing a calloused hand on your bump.

“How do you know it’s a girl, Frankie?”

He’d shrugged and gave you that sly smirk you adored. “Just do.”

Frankie was right and made sure you never forgot about. He’d let out a cheer at that appointment, getting a stern glance from you that instantly cracked when you saw how joyful he was. You’d never seen him that happy. It had brought tears to your eyes, and it still did when the memory randomly crossed your mind.

He built her crib, saying he’d tell her one day about how her mom was constantly pulling splinters out of his hands. Frankie read all the books he could. Went to every appointment. Comforted you when everything hurt, got you whatever you were craving, told you how much he loved you and how beautiful you were. Frankie was there the entire time you were in labor, never leaving the room unless you—not the doctor, not the nurses, you—told him to.

“What if I’m a bad mom?” You’d asked one night, still catching your breath from the orgasm he’d just coaxed out of you.

“Don’t say that,” he’d murmured against your neck, pressing hot kisses into your skin. “You’re the most incredible, beautiful, and caring person I know. You’re going to be a great mom.”

Frankie was a fighter, a protector, and stubborn as hell. You loved him dearly for it, and loved the way he made you feel special and adored. Around others, he was quiet, but you didn’t mind. His hand was always holding yours or on the small of your back. He wasn’t afraid to show you his intense enthusiasm and endless affection for you—not just during your pregnancy, but throughout your relationship. That made it even harder to accept what you saw on his phone that night in December.

You’d called off the engagement when Isabella was just a month old; she’d been asleep in her crib when you confronted him about the woman who was texting him nudes—and why he was responding. You asked him why it’d been going on since your second trimester, why he did it, how he could hurt you like this. He’d begged for your forgiveness, but it was too late. He sobbed when you told him he had 3 days to pack up his stuff and leave. In an act of mercy, you told him he needed to remain in Isabella’s life. You refused to let your daughter grow up without her father, even if he’d crushed your heart under his boots.

To his credit, Frankie was a man of his word—when it came to Isabella, at least. He always picked her up when he was supposed to, made sure to get a two-bedroom apartment and fill her room with toys and books, and spent as much time as he could with her now before co-parenting became difficult with preschool on the horizon. She had just turned 3, and in the spring, you were going to start looking at programs.

For now, though, you planted a kiss on her forehead and smiled at her adorable giggle.

“Isabella, why don’t you go up and say hi to your stuffies?” You set her down and she nodded, her eyes twinkling up at you.

You watched her climb up the stairs, then turned to face Frankie. He’d set her small duffel bag down inside the door, his feet still planted on the cement of your porch. You saw his Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, noticed his fists clench. His ratty green shirt complimented the golden skin you used to run your fingers over, the mossy shade one you’d always loved on him. You had a sneaking suspicion this was one of the shirts you’d gifted him all those years ago. He stared at you with big doe eyes, adjusting his navy blue ballcap and disturbing his dark brown hair with a shaking hand.

“Thanks for taking care of her this week,” you said, breaking the tense silence. “I know it was really last minute, but my mom needed me home.”

“Of course,” he replied, that gravelly voice that you used to love hearing whether it was whispered in your ear or moaning it into the night tugging at something within your chest. “Anything for her.”

You nodded and looked at your feet as you rocked back and forth, crossing your arms. Defending yourself from him. There was something brewing inside of him, and it was about to spill over—you could see it in his nervous swallows, the way he cleared his throat, how he shifted and hunched his shoulders forward. It was never good news when he got anxious like this. He always complained about your intuition, but you told Frankie that he was just easy to read. You loved that about him.

He said your name, his voice cracking. You looked up at him, meeting his glassy gaze.

“Listen, I—I—” he groaned and clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked back up at you with watery chestnut eyes, and you inhaled sharply. Goddamn, those eyes. “Fuck, I—I don’t know how to say it.”

“Hey,” you said softly. “Just say it, Frankie.”

He took a deep breath and looked straight into your eyes. “I can’t live without you.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “You didn’t have this epiphany before you traded pics with that—that—” you shook your head and lowered your voice. “I don’t have the fucking time for this. I’ll see you next week.”

You went to push the door closed, something tightening in your chest—sadness? Anger? Grief? You didn’t want to keep looking at him, you knew that much. Before you could even move it an inch, his large palm slapped against the wood and stopped it. You glared at him and clenched your jaw.

“Please, listen to me.”

“And why should I?” you spat.

“Because I love you, dammit!” He raised his voice, something he rarely did. He didn’t even do it when you confronted him that snowy night. Frankie rubbed the back of his neck and his voice wavered when he said your name. “I never stopped loving you.”

You felt your body shaking, your eyes watering. You gripped the edge of the door and looked him dead in the eyes, hoping he could feel the anger radiating off you.

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have broken my fucking heart. You wouldn’t have cheated on your fiancée while she was 20 fucking weeks pregnant.” You felt your lip begin to quiver. You hissed, “I was carrying your goddamn baby while you were fucking her over the phone, Frankie!”

“And I’ll never forgive myself.” He stated. You saw tears slide down his cheeks, both red with emotion. “I think about it every fucking day. I think about you every day.”

You looked up at the doorframe and gazed out at the sunset sky, clouds painted in oranges and reds with splashes of golden yellow. You chuckled in disbelief and put a fist on your hip. “Should’ve thought about that before you got her number at a bar.”

“Do you really think I’d do half the shit I do for you if I didn’t love you?” he snapped, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. The sight of it made one roll down your hot cheek. “I don’t have to come over and fix a leaky pipe or help you negotiate at the dealership. I could just fuckin’ tell you to ask your dad or call a plumber.”

Frankie sighed and slumped his shoulders forward in defeat. A part of you liked seeing him hurt like this, like you had—but another part of you ached with him, yearned with him. When you remained silent, sniffing and wiping your nose and cheeks with the sleeve of your cardigan, his face broke and he looked exactly as he had three years ago when you’d railed into him. Broken, anxious, uncertain—something Frankie never was.

“Frankly, I don’t think you hate me if you still text me and ask for my help.” Frankie’s lip shook and he rubbed his hand across his scruff-covered jaw. “I think a part of you still loves me, too.”

You clenched your jaw and snapped, “I’m polite with you because of Isa—”

“No, no.” Frankie interjected. He waved his hand and gave you a somber shake of his head as he said your name. “I know you. You can’t hide how you feel, even when Isabella is in your arms.” He chuckled, something sad underneath it. “You never could.”

You hated that he was always fucking right. It made you straighten and purse your lips. “Then what, Frankie? What do we do?”

“I have no damn clue,” he admitted with a shy smile.

It reminded you of the one he’d given you on your first date. He didn’t know it then, but he’d had your heart from the first smile he sent your way. Boyish and sweet but rugged at the same time, hardened and aged beyond his years. Charming without trying, whether he knew it or not.

“All I know is, I was made to love you.”

Your sob got caught in your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut and felt tears start to stream down your face like waterfalls. Frankie’s rough thumbs wiped them away, just liked they had so many times before. He still remembered that you loved it when he stroked them across the top of your cheeks, his other fingers gently laying over the lower half of them and gracing along your jaw. You didn’t push him away or ask him to stop.

Why was he always right? Maybe you were easier to read than you thought. Or, maybe, you were made for Frankie, and he was made for you. You opened your eyes to see his only inches away, the corners of his crinkled with a gentle smile. Those soft lips, that sweet voice speaking your name, those crying eyes—they were yours as much as they were his. That tight string in your chest snapped, and you realized that although you may not forgive him for what he did, you still loved him. And you wanted to start again.

When you nodded and smiled through your tears, Frankie grinned like he had when you found out you were having a girl. Joy at the thought of starting something new and from the thrill of being right about something you doubted. Joy only you could ever spark within him. The thought of that made you warm inside. It would take time, that was for damn sure. But you were willing to try. You were made for this man as much as he was made for you.

reblogs and comments are so appreciated! I love hearing what y'all have to say <3

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