Chapter Text
I remember that time. Hate. Loathe. Despise. I can’t think of any other words that describe him better than those three. He took my freedom. My youth. My time. And here I am, lamenting my fate as I stare down at this beautiful creature, squirming in my arms. His tiny fingers curl and squeeze tightly—like the soft little paws of a kitten. And that mouth of his, healthily pink, is urgently searching for milk that hasn’t come yet.
Sorry, little one, the milk isn’t there yet.
My hair is disheveled, and my shoulder slips out of the gown, exposing my breast. The pain from my lower abdomen, right where they cut me for the Caesarean, hasn’t kicked in yet, though I know it will soon. The anesthesia is still numbing me.
I look pale, even paler in contrast to my bright orange hair. That’s what my mother told me. Despite everything, I feel great. The excruciating pain of contractions that I endured for the past two days has finally ceased. All that’s left now is bliss. Well, except for the hungry little mouth constantly searching my breast.
The gynecologist said I needed rest. Lots of it. Even though I’m an Omega, my primary gender is still male. We’re built tougher than females, but when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth, our hormones aren’t on par with theirs. And it’s well known that recovery takes longer without the support of a partner—our Alpha partner.
To hell with them!
Mom and lil’ sis—Natsu are here to support me, lending a hand.
I hold the baby tighter, closer to my chest, as my thoughts wander. “Oh, he’s got it,” I whisper. Somehow, that tiny accomplishment feels like a victory for both of us.
The little creature has stopped squirming. He latches on perfectly, sucking as if his very life depends on it. I watch his tiny throat bobbing up and down as he starts to swallow. Maybe it’s milk, or maybe just colostrum—that early, nutrient-rich milk I read about. I may be an idiot—Kageyama used to call me that all the time—but I don’t want to be an ignorant mother…or father. I may hate the father of the child, but I can never hate this innocent soul. How could I?
Just look at him—
Well, I expected to see myself in him somehow, but… it’s just his mouth. That little mouth is the only thing he gets from me, apparently. Still, after nine months of carrying him, of us spending every moment together—countless bedtime stories, my late-night whining, sometimes…crying—the bond we share is monumental.
I don’t know if I can love him, not when his arrival cost me so much. But he’s here, and he’s mine—that’s a fact. And as I hold him, I know this much: I’ll do anything to protect him from this world.