“Doth Your mother Know You Weareth Her Drapes?”

How slow they came, their horses at a mere trot. Their white flags with red crosses waving in the wind. Everyone crowded before them. One officer dragged forward your father, the Governor, and forced him to kneel. 

You stood nearby, your mother hugging her arms around you, to shield you, protect you. You could hear the faint, worried murmurs of the crowd all about you. Wondering what would happen. You heard the king of England was making a conquest of France, but how distant it all seemed until he was here. 

You looked up at the king in front and center on his white horse. You had never looked at a king before.

You could not deny he was a handsome man. Young, but not boyish. Virile. He was tall and lean, with auburn-blonde curls and a short, cropped beard. High cheekbones. The most piercing blue eyes you have ever seen. And bedecked in his armor, one would think him a knight from a story. Except for the crown.

“Do you understand what happens when an army goes through and sacks a city, governor? What will happen if you do not let us through?” He asked. 

There was silence from your father.

The king then spoke, his voice rising.

“Houses will be destroyed, lives will be taken. We will pull your old men by their beards. Your daughters will shriek when they are handed to soldiers. Hungry for their viriginities. Your infants we will set on spikes as their mothers scream. That is what will happen.”

You heard sounds of worry and shock from the crowd. Mothers looked down at their children. 

The king looked over. He noticed you. You felt your eyes on him. Growing warm in your face, you lowered your eyes in timidness. Not daring to glare at a king. 

 It felt like one was at the edge of a cliff and dreading the gust of wind that would fall. One word from the king would release chaos and horrors of all unspeakable kinds. Upon your family. And you. 

“But…all this we will avoid, on two conditions…” the king announced. His voice softened.

“Two?” asked your father.

“One, that you let us pass….” began the king.

“And the second?” asked your father. 

The king’s eyes fell on you again. 

“Who is this woman?” he asked.

“My daughter.”

The king paused a moment before he spoke. 

“You offer your daughter to me for the night.”

You felt your heart race. Your stomach began churning. Already, you were trembling all over your limbs. No, you thought, no, no, no, no…

Your mother pulled you in tighter.

“She will not be yours!” she blurted.

The king silenced her with a look.

“You will let us pass. And your daughter will be in my bed. Or I will set my soldiers upon the town,” repeated the king. 

But…what choice did you have? If you refused, if your father refused…then how many more women would be raped? How many lives lost or ruined?

“My…my daughter’s honor…” muttered your father, still on his knees.

“Will be compensated, with a wealthy dowry,” assured the king. He nodded at one officer beside him, who pulled out a bag of coins.

“She is not a whore! My daughter is worth more than any of your gold can buy!” your father spat back.

Pulling out of your mother's arms, heart racing, you stepped forward. You walked over and kneeled next to your father.

“Mon pere…let it happen,” you whispered. 

Father looked at you, his jaw dropped.

“Tell the king you accept,” you assured him. “I will go to him. It’s only one night, and it will be over. I’ll have a dowry worth more than the one saved up for me. Afterwards, I can marry whoever I want.”

Father turned his head back to the king. He then spoke.

“Your soldiers may pass. And you may have her.”

A deep exhale went throughout the crowd. Your mother put her hands over her mouth, tears in her eyes. Soon enough, Henry took the reins of the horse. He looked over to the man on the horse next to him. An older man with long, grey hair. 

“Tonight, we stay here as guests. Grant them mercy,” he ordered.

The older man nodded. He then turned, and word trickled down to the soldiers.

A path was formed among the crowd as the people stepped away, and the king and his horse and army rode through it.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later, the older man approached you at the door in your home. 

“My lady, the king has summoned you,” he announced.

Your mother got out a handkerchief and began to weep. Your father hung his head down in shame. You then walked outside and followed the gentleman through your city of Harlefleur.

You knew already where you were going. Your father may have been the governor, but the Dumont’s were the wealthiest family in town. Their mansion in the center was the largest. So it was there that the king stayed. And it was there that the older man, who was the lord of Exeter, escorted you.

The lord of Exeter walked you through the front door. He guided you upstairs, past the servants of the house. He then led you to one separate room. It had a fireplace and a cream four-poster bed. Inside was a large tub and female servants with cloths and soap. 

“The king ordered you to bathe.”

“I’m not dirty,” you said. You were still a lady who took care to always appear proper, especially in front of men. And in front of kings.

“Still, you must be clean before the presence of his majesty,” the lord of Exeter declared. He then closed the door.

They set you in the tub, already full of water. Making sure not to make your hair too wet, they scrubbed all over your body until you were truly clean. You then got out and dried with a towel. 

One of the servants, an older woman with wrinkles and grey hair, brought forward a golden dress.

“The king said he would like you to wear this,” she announced.

The maids helped you step into the dress and secured it in the back. They gave you a jeweled belt. They then took care of your hair as you would have liked it. At least you had a little say in these matters.

It was a dress even more beautiful than the ones you owned. It had long sleeves and a small train. The jeweled belt flattered your figure. There was an ample cut square collar that flattered the top of your chest. You were then given a jeweled headdress placed on top of your head. 

How did they get this? Was it stolen? From a common woman attacked by a soldier? No, for these were not the clothes of a common woman. From the lady of the house? You didn’t know.

There was a knock on the door. The older woman opened it and revealed the Lord of Exeter. 

“Now…it is time,” he announced. 

You followed him out, holding up your skirt so you wouldn’t trip. Heads of servants turned towards you, eyes curious. He then led you to a large door. He knocked on it.

“You may enter,” came the king’s voice.

He pushed open the door, and you stepped inside.

Inside, it was lit with candles. There was a table with chairs. Chests here and there. And a great, large bed in the center of it, with thick red blankets and feather pillows. A crackling fireplace. There, dressed in red leathers and his crown in front of the fire, was his majesty the king of England. He was leaning against the railing, but straightened himself once he saw you. 

You dipped into the lowest curtsy you could.

“Thank you. You may now leave us, uncle,” said the king. 

The lord of Exeter closed the door behind him. Your heart picked up again. You stood still and folded your hands. 

“Do you speak English?” he asked.

“Like my mother tongue, your grace,” you answered. 

The king walked forward. You kept your eyes down as he circled you. He then stopped in front of you. Hands gesturing forward to the table. 

“Here, sit.”

You walked over and sat down. The table was bare except for a bottle of wine and two goblets. 

“Would you like some wine?” asked the king.

You did not answer, eyeing the bottle with nervousness. 

“Rest assured, there is nothing in it. Only wine,” replied the king. 

“Yes, of course.”

He poured out some in a goblet and handed it to you. Inside it was a deep, dark red. It looked almost black. The taste was dry and bitter, but it was strong.

“What is your name?” he asked.

You gave it to him. 

He poured his own cup and took a deep drink. He then set it down. You could feel something in his eyes. There was a stillness. As if he was doing everything in his power not to reach out and grab you at once. No, he was showing restraint.

“Do you like the wine?” he asked.

“Yes. It is good, my lord.”

“Would you like any food?”

“No, no thank you, my lord.”

You took another drink, deepening it. If the wine affected you, this would be more pleasant. You could drink your way through this. The king leaned forward, his hands together. He looked all over you.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you replied.

“It pleases me when you say that. You may keep calling me ‘my lord.’ And your majesty.”

“Of course, my lord.”

You took another sip of wine. You were already getting to the end of your drink. You felt your body warmed by the fireplace. Outside, one could hear an owl.

“Why did you make this request, my lord?” you asked.

He was still. Then he spoke in a soft voice.

“My lady, because I want you beyond what words can describe.”

He then stood up and walked to you. He held out a hand, and you accepted it. He led you to stand up. His hands traced over your sides, then up to your face. He even tipped your chin up with his hand.

“Look at me,” he said.

You obeyed.

“Promise me one thing?” he asked.

You looked up at him.

“Never stop looking at me.”

He then leaned forward and kissed you. It was…warm, his lips were soft. Already, you could feel yourself melting in, giving away. It was a sweet kiss, far sweeter than anything you expected would happen tonight.

His hands wandered to your back, supporting you as he gave you another kiss. He leaned down further. His hands clutched onto you. 

You let go, already trying to catch your breath. His hands went to the top of your head and took off your headdress. He then went to your belt and undid it as it fell to the floor. His hands then went to the back of your dress, and began to undo it.

You let him. Something in you was growing.

Soon enough, the dress fell to the ground before you. You wore only a shift. Your own breathing was deep. You looked right at him. He took his hands and went to the sleeves on your shoulders of your shift. It was already loose with an open collar. 

He then pulled it down by the sleeves.

Soon it fell, revealing your breasts, then the rest of your body as it fell in a circle around your feet.

He looked down at you. His hands grazing your breasts.

“Beautiful,” was all he said.

He took you in his arms and picked you up. You wondered how strong he was; it was as if you were nothing but air. He carried you over to the bed and laid you down.

He took off his own doublet and the shirt beneath it, revealing his chest. You wondered at his muscles. He then removed his codpiece. You could see he was already hard. You wondered how hard he had been the entire time. He took off his boots in a hurry. You leaned forward to have a look. He then removed his pants. Already, his large manhood was reaching high, leaking precum.

He joined you on the bed and hovered over you. You could feel his cock graze your stomach. Hearts racing, you saw him reach his hand and use it to part your legs. 

He tested you. He plunged a finger inside your core. Already, you could feel yourself getting wet at his touch. You moaned at it, feeling him inside, digging around.

“Are you a virgin?” he asked.

You gave him your answer. And he nodded.

He prepared you, his finger spreading you open, and then found a spot and teased it. It swirled around you, making space. You then felt him add another finger.

“My…my lord…”

“Spread your legs wider, your king commands it,” he breathed.

You obeyed, going as wide as you could. He set himself between them. He then pulled himself forward, his face meeting your own. His cock at your entrance.

He then thrust forward.

You let out a small sound. He was quite large; there was a pinprick of pain. He pulled out, and then he entered again. And again. He then began a rhythm. 

“Oh…oh God…” you moaned out.

He then took your legs and hooked them so they were around his waist. He was breathing in deep. He plunged, this time further.

“Oh!” you cried out.

“Sweet lady-yes- dear, sweet lady,” he panted out between thrusts. “Yes-yes-keep-don’t be quiet. Don’t be timid-oh-just-just keep telling me- let them know, let them all know how the king pleasures you.”

He dove in again, letting out a grunt. A sound you never knew you could make flew out of you. His hand then dove into you. It found your bud and began to strum you as he continued to thrust in and out.

“Does-does your king give you pleasure?” he grunted.

“Yes-yes, my lord!” you began to cry out. 

It began to speed up. Something in you was spinning, spinning up. Your voice was starting to rise; you were gripping the bedsheets.

He then paused, and he pulled out of you. Before you could ask any questions, he had you flipped onto your stomach.

“Hold onto the bed,” he demanded.

You grabbed the headboard. Gripping it tight. Knowing exactly what was going to happen.

He then took you again from this different angle, and you felt him behind you.

“Oh, oh god, my lord!” you cried out. The pain mixed with pleasure from his position. He himself let out another cry.

He increased the pace. Pounding into you with a fury. Breasts bouncing, your own cries and moans grew louder and louder. But the pleasure was immense. The filthiness of this act, of him being behind you- it rose something in you that you couldn’t name. You only held tighter onto the headboard as he started to pound into you.

“Oh god- oh god! My-my lord!” 

“Call-call me Henry!” he then demanded.

 “Oh-yes, yes, my lord! Yes, Henry!”

“Yes-yes-use-use my name- keep saying it!”

His hands reached between your legs and fiddled with your bud again. Going at a more furious pace, the bed shaking. His own grunts and moans increasing. But so did the strength of his strokes on your bud. That, mixed with this position, gave you that spinning feeling again. That rising sensation.

“Henry-Henry-oh-Henry I-I-I’m close-I’m gonna come, I-I-”

“I-I am too-hold on-yes, yes, like that-make me have you, come now, your-your king commands you-”

Soon enough, it broke on you. You felt suspended in bliss, in pure, pure pleasure. With a final cry, he came too, and you felt his hot seed spurt inside you. Both of you lay there, panting. Your hold onto the headboard slipped, and you fell into the bed. 

He pulled out of you and then grabbed your waist. He pulled you down to lie beside him, still panting hard. You placed a hand on his pectorals. The sudden warmth seeping through you. Here he was, holding you. He held you tight to him; you could hear his heartbeat and smell the woods on him.

“I’m going to talk to your father. I’ll keep you as a concubine. You won’t leave my side,” he said as he caught his breath. 

At this point, you wouldn’t have minded that.

“James? Is this you?” your delicate voice echoed theatrically through the hallway of your shared apartment. 

Your husband, Captain James Conrad had left early this morning for a military conference to discuss any further operations regarding the SAS. His mood had been bad when he woke up, a live testament to how much the tracker disliked those unnecessary events.

However, he had to go whether he liked it or not. The Special Forces needed him.

But so did you, waiting impatiently for the handsome soldier to return, his favorite dish simmering on the stove. 

A long sigh came back, his “yes” short and tense before heavy shoes were tossed around in the foyer. 

Clenching your jaw you swallowed the slight spurt of anger arousing at the sound almost radiating dirt itself. Conrad never paid attention to the obligation to wear a suit plus you had mopped the foyer only this morning. 

The silent rumbling and curses made it clear that his day had been as shit as expected so he shall be forgiven you decided when the tall man appeared in the doorframe of the kitchen. 

“Hello love” you chirped, eyes traveling his muscular form when he latched his hands on the top bar of the frame, leaning his broad torso in the room and blocking the door completely.

But his steel blues only narrowed, piercing your every move, mouth screwed shut. The blonde man looked strained, utterly tense. 

“I’m so sorry you had to go there”. A meek mutter but you knew you were elegantly teetering on the brink of cutting his thin nerves. 

And god forbid riling Conrad up. 

Jutting his jaw forward and letting his eyes nonchalantly linger on your suggestive décolleté, the soldier hummed to himself. A sound so low and baritone that it tickled your nerves, the stern gaze adding to the thrill rising up between your legs.

He was a naturally intimidating man however, now that he was angry it was almost impossible to not help him out. Was it?

“Captain…” you cooed, hips seductively weaving past the kitchen counter “is there anything I can do for you?”. 

The blonde’s forearms bulged as they held his weight transferring it to the creaking wood frame.

“You don’t want me to use you right now, y/n. I won’t be able to control myself” his deep pitched growl so close to your ear elicited hot shivers on your back, cascading down every vertebra.

It slowly spread hunger and perhaps overconfidence. 

“What if I don’t want you to?”. 

Faux innocence dropped from your demeanor as you toyed with the silver buckle of his belt, waiting for him to snap. To accept the offer you had made so boldly. 

“Fuck, woman” and suddenly Conrad’s arm slipped down from above, snaking around your waist, turning you and knocking the air out of your lungs when his tall frame slammed you against the wall. 

An easy game to the trained soldier.

Those blue orbs were seething with annoyance and rage. Dusky.

Nonetheless, desire bubbled up in his dark waters mixing with those negative thoughts revealing a toxic cocktail. And a strong one.

God, you knew it would burn. 

Your whimpers were pathetic when Conrad unleashed himself, reaching behind your back to roughly pull down the zipper of your dress. 

“This. Off” the low demand rumbled in his broad chest making you quick putty in his demanding touch. James could be an awfully sensual lover but he was two-faced, hiding the hunger of something carnal in his pumping veins.

Cold air embraced your body only dressed in the lingerie he had bought you. Black lace was draped across your breasts, quickly flicked to the side to expose your hardening nipples. 

Moaning with the poor amount of oxygen Conrad’s body pressed tight against yours allowed you, his perfect teeth rolled your sensitive buds just right.

Oh, how sweet the prickling pain was and how much sweeter his cold, long digits felt invading your slick folds. 

“Hmm... you’re all wet for me. Married a whore, didn’t I?”

“Uh-huh“ was all your agape mouth could whimper when he started to fuck you hard with his fingers, your wrists secured above your head.

Pulling primal pleasure from your body, the significantly taller man's pants were forming harsh creases around his angry erection.

Now that you offered yourself so selflessly, he simply wouldn't be able to hold back.

Grunting in your ear like a feral lion, Conrad pressed his whole weight against your delicate body, caging you in between a column of muscle and the cold kitchen wall.

“Use me, Ca-Captain... pleaseee“

Your hips were bucking forward to let your pelvis brush his hardened cock.

“You gonna regret this, little one“ his ragged baritone rasped so imminently before you were dragged off the wall with a sharp pull of your wrists.

In only underwear while James was still completely clothed, just his belt hanging sluttishly open, you were hurled across the kitchen like a ragdoll. But you liked it, giggling in a haze of kinky desire.

“Is this fun for you?“ he boomed.

But before you could apologize, the tall blonde flipped you around, letting loose of your wrists to slam your back on top of a free counter. The hard marble edge sent a sorrow sensation through your back until he simply readjusted your position to his liking.

Just like that with only one arm Conrad conducted your whole body until he was standing between your opened thighs, jaw clenching hungrily at the sight of your glistening pussy on full display.

Full access.

“You will stay like that until I'm satisfied, understood?“ he snapped, freezing anger piled up from the day slipping from his lewdly flicking tongue.

God, you could almost orgasm from the sight of his pink tongue swirling in his slightly ajar mouth, occasionally darting out to lick his lips. This man was an image of a god.

“I won't fucking ask twice, y/n“.

Squirming under his dominating gaze that proudly reduced you to a mere plaything, it was unfairly difficult to find any words. Especially when Conrad's slutty hands had freed his throbbing, angry red cock and were now pleasuring himself in lewd strokes.

“Understood, Captain“.

A deep chuckle met the pitch of sudden thunder outside; a thrill you never thought would be this menacing but you husband's gaze was clear.

He was ready to devour you, use you to soothe his agitated nerves until, like he had said, he would be satisfied.

“Look what you've gotten yourself into“ the soldier smirked, pulling all the beautiful strings of contour his sharp face had to offer. Tongue flicked out again, licking across his front teeth like a threat while he took in the sight of his bog cock resting on your belly.

“So helpless“.

The tip ended somewhere around or even above your belly button, the raw outline of this obscene display making you feel dizzy.

“-and you gonna take me“ Conrad murmured, grabbing the base of his cock and slowly dragging it through your drenched core. You wanted, no, craved him as much as he did.

Blonde brows furrowed when you whimpered small pleas beneath his tall frame.

“Like the good little girl you are... You wanna satisfy my needs, don't you?“

The flash of another lighting casted a light blue shadow of his frame onto yours, the difference even more sinister than you had imagined. This man could break you like a mere pen.

Perhaps he would.

A feeble nod was all it took to make him bend over, the neckline of his blue shirt hanging down, allowing you a glimpse of sharply defined muscles working to keep him stable.

With the next dull thunder his left hand flew to wrap around your throat, pinning you to the cold surface. A necessary preparation so you wouldn't flee from his rough thrusts.

He sometimes did it when he was taking you on the balcony...

Lining himself up with your entrance, you shuddered, spine feeling ablaze from pure anticipation. James would be rough but you didn't care.

Fuck, you were a sucker for the tall soldier manhandling you as if he lacked any sense of respect.

Perhaps he did.

“My little slut“ the 't' still sitting sharply on his tongue when he bottomed out in one demanding thrust. A fluid motion of his strong hips that stretched you to your limit and beyond.

A silent “James“ left your lips when your walls tried to accommodate to the sudden intrusion, his cock stilling for a fragment of time.

Heavy rain was knocking on the window.

Then, Conrad's head rolled back, veins and strings of muscle straining his sweaty skin while he began to pound into you, to set a pace that was testament to the necessity of his hand pinning you in place.

He was rough, taking what he wanted from you.

Crying out his name, your hands flew to the sides desperately searching for something to hold on to. But his forearm flexed and bulged as it worked against Conrad's own merciless thrusts, secured safely around your neck. Allowing you a precisely measured amount of breath.

“F-Fuck baby. You- you are so t-tight... god yesss“ your husband moaned up towards the ceiling, his strong voice hoarse from today's discussions.

A forte in comparison to your high pitched screams of his name.

“James, I- I can't take it“.

Not even slowing down, his head rolled back forth, loose curls fucked out of place. He knew you could, somehow. And your tense husband was more than ready to test your boundaries.

A dirty grin curled Conrad's angry lips before his jaw dropped to give way to increasing pants.

As if by reflex your thighs tried to clench, to push him away but the blonde just shook his head, leaning back down to hover above your chest.

“Ah, Ah!“

The chiding was a carnal sound, swirling around every nerve in your bouncing body, embedding them in a sweet haze of total submission.

It felt so good.

“You cannot nghh fuck escape me. I know you can t-take me“.

Retracting his grip around your throat, the strained soldier dragged it down your body, kneading your breasts until he wrapped his fingers around your thigh.

Both hands were now holding your legs apart, keeping them spread nicely for him.

The slight lift created a whole knew angle, one that hit you like a firework aiming straight at your head and setting every sense aflame. Coherent words were positively banned from your capabilities and all you could feel was him sheathed deep inside your throbbing pussy.

Arching your back from the marble countertop, you listened to your husband moaning and grunting primal sounds of sheer pleasure. Your own whines and screams added as another thunder rolled through the room, the lighting prior as blueish as Conrad's narrowed gaze observing your every move.

“Sh-shit look at your pretty tits bouncing for me“ he rasped with brows slanted, reaching down to smack your right breasts. A sensation utterly pleasing, the soft pain spreading nicely across your aroused body.

The food was long forgotten as screeching noises of your naked ass shifting on the marble got drowned by rough moans of your name mixed with unholy curses.

The kitchen smelled like sex.

Hot, shameless and angry sex.

“I'm gonna ohhh James cum“ you mewled, strands of hair sticking to your glossy lips when your body was conducted by his pistoning hips.

You could feel his big cock deep inside twitch and pulsate as you spoke, biting your lips at the influence you had on this incredibly tall, athletic soldier.

But today was about his pleasure.

The answer was already clear when he pulled you back onto his cock, burying himself to the hilt, making you cry out.

“Don't you dare cum“ he groaned, teeth bared like a hungry wolf. “I said we're done when I'm satisfied“.

Staring at his piercing gaze of deep blue, your face was contorted in ways only James Conrad could elicit.

When he fucked you just right. Just like that.

“Wha- are you n-not-“

But your ragged voice was cut off by two strong arms dropping your legs, instead shooting closer to wrap around your shoulders, picking you up.

Wriggling his tight jaw to rest against your right temple, his long legs began their journey towards the bedroom. Conrad was still deep inside you, every step letting his cock nudge those sinfully sweet spots.

“Do I look satisfied to you, huh? Oh, I am far from finished“ his low baritone whispered in your ear, another strike of lighting casting your joined shadow on the white tiles.

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoyed it @simplyholl ♡

“I went to the physician’s this morning while you were going over the church’s finances with the bookkeeper. Don’t worry, Mrs. Daisy Mason went with me - the farmer’s daughter-in-law who gifted us homemade marmalade for Easter.”

He sighed and curled his fingers around your right hand. “And the physician told you.” 

With as little detail as possible about female physiology, you explained the questions you were asked and the tests you took. Will wrapped his arms around you, his embrace instantly soothing you like the most comforting blanket. “Blessed is this house, and blessed are we.” He pecked you on the cheek, and then on the lips before looking upwards. “Heavenly Father, I thank You for the precious life growing thin this womb, and I ask that You place your hand of protection over this unborn child.” Then his gaze went to you and he made his last promise. ”And let Your perfect love cast out all fear, may the mother feel Your presence bringing peace as she carries this precious life.” 

“Your Majesty.” One of your ladies-in-waiting came to you while you rested in your chambers. You had just returned from an appointment with the royal physician, who confirmed your pregnancy. “The King is here. He requests permission to enter your chambers and speak with you.” 

You set aside the book you were reading, flustered. Despite being your husband of many months and the head of the palace, King Henry always asked permission to visit you and share your company as if he were still courting you. “Of course, please. He may come inside.” 

Henry greeted you with a chaste kiss on the lips at the threshold of your innermost chambers. Then, once your ladies disappeared, the king of England led you to the nearest couch and embraced you.

“My king…” 

“Henry, my love,” he corrected in a whisper. “ You look like a goddess. More radiant than Venus herself, more regal than Juno, and more strong than Minerva.” Henry kissed the back of your hand and joined you on the couch. “How are you this afternoon, dearest?”

“I’m well, thank you -” You paused before looking up at the light in his eyes and the way his lips were fighting the urge to smile. “You look very pleased.” 

He nodded eagerly and held one of your hands with both of his. “And I think you know why.” 

“You do?” You blinked once, and it quickly dawned on you as he placed a hand on your stomach. “How did you -?” You laughed quietly before the king joined you in your mirth. 

“Word travels fast in the palace, sweetheart!” Henry managed to say, pulling you close until your head was on his shoulder. “I think one of the physician’s apprentices told one of my guards, who told it to me. Or perhaps it was one of your ladies,’ he teased. “I hope it’s true.” 

“It is, Henry. I am indeed with child.” 

The king of England kissed you over your face, and then knelt on the floor before you. “My most heartfelt congratulations to you, my queen.” Henry smiled tearfully from ear to ear. “And my utmost gratitude to you, You have honoured me with your hand in marriage, and now you will honour the kingdom with an heir. I thank you as your husband.” He kissed your knuckles. “And I thank you, my queen, as king on the behalf of England, Ireland, and France.” 

Prince Loki said nothing when you told him of your pregnancy, quietly continuing his reading. When prompted, he mumbled, “You are with child. Congratulations.” 

“I thought you would be happier…” 

“Happier for what?” He looked up, mildly irritated. “A child born to the second son of Odin? A child born of a monster?” Loki turned a page. “Don’t expect celebrations, wife. That child will be nothing. They will have nothing to live for - no birthright, and no throne. If you wanted those things, you should’ve married Thor instead.” 

Before you could properly think about it, you swiped the book out of Loki’s hand and used to hit him across the face. “Then I bid you good night, husband.” You stormed out with the doors swinging behind you. 

The tension rose inside of you with every heated step until you felt your stomach churn violently to the point where you could not walk any longer. Gripping the edge of a potted plant, you bent over and retched into the soil. “No! No, no, no…” 

“My lady!” Prince Thor, who was passing by at that moment, lifted you in a princess carry before placing you on a chaise. “Are you ill, dear sister?”

“No, I’m not ill. I’m with child. “You coughed. “I’m- I’m with child. And Loki isn’t pleased about it, so I stormed out…"

Thor’s face lit up before he gave you a bear hug. “Congratulations! Have you told Mothe-” He was cut off by the voice of Queen Frigga, who sounded like she was scolding someone in another part of the palace. She was dragging Loki by the ear, only stopping when he was right before you and Thor. Then she sent him straight to the floor on his knees. 

“I’ve brought my son to apologize to his wife.” The All-Mother stopped you from sitting up.

Loki slowly raised his head, swallowing a lump in his throat. He murmured your name and began, “I ask for your forgiveness as your lawfully-wedded husband. If having a child that shares your blood and mind brings you happiness, then I shall not dampen your spirit with my melancholia. I am sorry for what I’ve done to you.” 

“I know.” You sniffed, taking Loki’s hand when he offered it. The All-Mother led Thor away to another quarter of the palace. “Loki, it won’t matter to me if our child is not in line for the throne of Asgard, or any other throne. All that matters to me is how this child will be a symbol of us. Someone with the intelligence and the goodness of their father, worthy of a life full of happiness.” 

“You truly are a most gracious wife.” The prince’s thumb brushed over the gold wedding ring on your finger. “What a queen you would make. One day, I promise you, it will be you and me, reigning over all as we were both to. You, me, and, all of our heirs.” Loki kissed your palm. “I will make it so, my dear.”

No sooner had you shown him the pregnancy test with two stripes and said the words, “Loki, I’m pregnant,” the god of mischief promptly passed out on the floor in the middle of the seventh-floor rotunda of the Avengers tower. He fully returned to consciousness minutes later in a bed within the medic wing. His eyes widened open as he sat up. “How are you you darling?” He took your hand. “Where’s the plastic stick that you’ve me - oh,“ Loki stared at the two lines and muttered. “So you really are…pregnant.” 

“We weren’t always careful.” You admitted with a sigh, “I should’ve gotten an IUD. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I just thought I should tell you.” Tears filled your eyes and you sniffed, fighting the urge to let them show. 

Loki swung his legs over the bed, and looked at you with doneness. “I know what you should do.” His fingers interlaced with yours.”You should keep the baby, which I probably just a bunch of cellular matter right now. And you should let me take care of you and the little one.”

“What?” You started to cry, unsure if it was from shock or joy.

With a chuckle, Loki wiped your tears and held you. “Darling, did you really think that I would leave you alone like this? Pregnant with our baby? Do you truly think so little of me?” He answered his own question. “Maybe you should. My initial reaction was far from appropriate for a father-to-be.” Loki kissed your temple and continued, “But really, darling, you could consider it to be me swooning with joy. You see, this is some of the best news I’ve ever heard. You, the one I love, being the mother of my child!” His smile extended into a full-blown grin.

“Loki, you’re not going to love me when my feet swell or when I’m with morning sickness or when I’m craving...” you blurted the first thing that came to mind while you tried to stop crying, “ruffled potato chips dipped in strawberry jam.”

“Is that really what you want right now?” With a wave of his hand. Loki conjured from thin air a bowl of yellow, crispy, ruffled potato chips and a jaw of strawberry jam. He opened the jar, dipped one of the chips into the fruity condiment, and fed it to you. 

You relished it like it was the first bite of good food you had in days. “Thank you, that’s really, really tasty. Amazing.”

Loki wiped his fingers. “Since we are in a medic wing, let’s have you looked at by a doctor too. After you’ve finished eating, of course.” He fed you another jam-covered potato chip. “I love you.”

“You’re sure?” Bill set his newspaper and stood up immediately, eyes wide. When you said yes, he hugged you tightly and looked down at your stomach with awe. Then, he kissed your cheeks, forehead, lips, and the tip of your nose. His eyes were brimming with tears. “This is incredible, darling! How are you you feeling? Are you alright?”

“I’m overwhelmed.” You started to tear up as well despite smiling. “I’m scared, it’s a lot to take in.”

“It is, I know. But you’re going to be such a great mum.” Bill kissed your lips and nose again. “I can’t believe this! A little you, with your eyes, and your hair, and…who knows what else they’ll get from us? And they’ll be laughing and running around our home.” His forehead pressed against yours as he sighed. “Our baby.”

“You’re really happy about this?”

“Of course!” He laughed your name. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? Since the first time you came to my parents’ with me for Christmas. When my mum showed you all of the stuff they had from when I was a baby. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since then.” Bill opened his mobile phone. “They’re going to be so excited when we tell them, they love you so much, darling . I’m getting ahead of things.” He closed the phone with a snap, and helped you sit down. “Do you need some tea? I could rub your feet if you’d like.”

"That would be nice, Bill."

Bill kissed you yet again before helping you sit down. He put one of you right leg over his lap and started pressing the arch of the foot.  “We’re really having a baby, you and me. I can’t wait to meet them.”

Caius silently stood in the middle of the room for a few moments after you told him you were with child. Then, he kissed you on the cheek. “Mother will be pleased.” 

You smiled a little. “And what about you, dear husband? Are you pleased as well?”

“I am,” was all he said before sharpening his sword in another part of your home. You leaned against a wall and watched him with a sigh. Eventually, you retreated half-heartedly to the rest of the duties you planned for the day.

That evening, just before you sat down to dine together, the general presented you with a bundle wrapped in cloth. “Open it.” Beneath the layers of wrapping were a fine stola of emerald green, three wooden soldiers, and a wooden painted horse. Caius moved his chair closer to yours, his shoulder touching yours. “The toys are for our little one.” His fingers rested on top of yours, his lips on the skin behind your ear. “And the dress is for the mother.” 

The warmth from the flickering candlelight reflected in  his eyes as he gazed upon you. He pushed a lock of hair behind your ear. “I have to march with my men to Actium under Consul Postumus Cominius in three weeks.” Before continuing, he kissed the corner of your mouth. “I will write to you as often as I can, and Mother will stay by your side. Once the battle with the Volscicians is over, then I shall return to you and our little warrior without a moment’s delay.”

You brought the little wooden horse into your lap, already thinking of how your baby would gurgle and look curiously at it. “And what if the child is a girl?”

“Our little Minerva.” The general put his arms around your shoulders. “She will be just as beautiful, strong and intelligent as her mother. She’ll look at me with those same eyes that you do, and I’ll never be able to say no to any request of hers.” He chuckled, “And when the time comes, I shall personally duel each and every one of her suitors. What say you to that, my love?”

Jonathan was standing in the kitchen when you told him, opening a carton of eggs to make breakfast. “What?” He placed one into the glass bowl without cracking it.

“I’m really pregnant.” You handed your partner the positive pregnancy test. “I found out this morning.” 

All thoughts of breakfast and cooking temporarily set aside, Jonathan cradled you from side to side. The little pregnancy stick fell from his hand, clattering onto the kitchen counters. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright, just scared.” You took a breath. “How are you feeling about this?”

“”I’m happy for us, darling. You’ll make a great mum.” Jonathan’s fingers brushed against your arm. “You’re kind and patient - you already put up with so much of me every day.” He laughed quietly and pushed your hair back. “Lucky little baby.” Jonathan’s lips pressed against yours, and he knelt down to speak to your stomach. “From now on, everything I have and every moment of my life is yours. Do you understand?”

That night, Jonathan went to the shops after you fell asleep and returned with eighteen birthday cards, eighteen Christmas cards, and one set of letter paper. He addressed each card with, “To my pride and joy”, and numbered each of the birthday cards for your child’s first birthday, second birthday, and so on. Finally, he began to write on a sheet of letter paper.

To my pride and joy,

I want you to know that you and your mother have changed my life for the better. I didn’t grow up with parents of my own - they passed when I was a boy, perhaps younger than you at the time you’re reading this. So as a young man, I wanted to be a parent to make up for the lack of my own. But life happened, and I became a weapon instead. I told lies, took lives, and obeyed rules for a good I once believed in. I had almost given up on that dream of mine until your mother showed me her positive pregnancy test. And right then, I promised that I would do everything for you as a father and a protector.

If you are reading this letter, then it is because I have not upheld that promise of mine and all I can say to you is that I am truly sorry. Contact Sally Price-Jones at the Night Owls if she is still alive, and she can give you more information if you want it. But more importantly, keep to your studies, live with dignity, and look after your mother for me. Tell her that I am sorry for disappointing her, for leaving her alone in this harsh world with you. And tell that that because you are her child, I have faith that you will grow up to be a very honourable person with a bright future. 

I will always be proud of you, and I hope that one day, you can forgive me for failing you.

Love,

Dad

Jonathan sealed the letter inside an envelope and wrote “In the event of my death” on the cover. Then, he wiped his tears, blew his nose, and climbed into bed next to you. 

Robert lowered the bottle of Riesling onto the kitchen counter, and joined you at the dinner table with a glass for himself. “Congratulations,” he dryly said while you both piled food onto your plates. Then, after exchanging a few glances with you across the table, a smile crossed Robert’s face. “So,” he leaned forward with a twinkle in his eyes, “we’re really going to be parents.” 

“Yes.” 

Without missing a beat, Robert nearly jumped out of his chair and surprised you with a hug like an eager puppy. He kissed all over your face until you turned to touch your lips to his. “Robert!” You laughed, “What happened to you?”

“You’re having our baby!” He was beaming. “Thank God, now we have a reason to avoid those stupid dinner parties in the high-rise.” 

“You say that like we haven’t already been sneaking out of them for months,” you quipped. 

“Which is probably how you got pregnant.” He gently squeezed your right arm. “Perhaps we can have the rest of our dinner on the sofa tonight?”

“Why, so you can feel my stomach?”

“You vixen.” He helped you out of your chair and carried your plates into the living room. “It’s going to be your fault if this baby starts talking back to me before their first birthday.”

“You’re what?” Oakley coughed on his cigarette, covering his mouth as he stood up. “Pregnant?!” He looked down at your stomach. “How did that happen?”

“Don’t be daft, Oakley. You know how babies are born.” You tucked your knees in while sitting by the poolside, staring at the ripples in the water.

Oakely knitted his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not okay, Oakley.” A tear rolled down your cheek, followed by another, and then another, until you were sobbing. 

He immediately held you with your head on his shoulder. “Hey, hey,…it’s going to be alright.” He tried to comfort you. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“No, it’s not! I’m so scared.” You continued to cry. “I’ve never been pregnant before! I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m so stupid, letting my boyfriend get me pregnant. I don’t think I can do this!” 

Oakley kissed the top of your head. “Love, listen to me. It’s going to be alright. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s your choice.” He added, “And no matter what you decide, I’m going to be with you.”

“Really?” You sniffed, “I thought you never wanted kids…or to settle down at all.” 

“I want forever with you, no matter what it looks like - good, bad, ugly. For what it’s worth, though, you’d be a really good mum.” 

“Oakley, stop…”

“I’m serious!” He chuckled, “You’re the only one who can get my cousin Archie to bed safely when he’s pissed. You’re patient when Madge wants to sing the same stupid song for the tenth time in a row. You always have a camera to take photos, you’ve always got extra snacks, and stuff to tie your hair with. I mean, you’re already a mum.” He pushed your hair out of your eyes. “And I can learn to be a dad. Take the baby out in a pram every morning while you rest. I could take them to those nursery groups where they teach babies to crawl. Show them just how much their dad loves their mum.” 

“You make it sound so easy.” You wiped snot from your nose with the back of your hand. 

“Because with you it is easy.” Oakley continued holding you. “It’s your choice, love. If you have the baby, I’m with you. Don’t have the baby, I’m still with you. Like I’ve said, it’s forever with you.”

“Alright, I’m actually doing it.” James set down the new at-home pregnancy test you showed him. Then he sat down before the large typewriter in the living room of your shared flat. You followed, watching him begin a letter. 

“James, what are you doing?”

“Paperwork, darling.” James gave you a quick kiss before continuing to type. As the hours passed by, you drifted off to sleep in the nearest armchair. When you woke up, James was standing by with a tray of herbal tea and biscuits. Then, your husband presented you with a stack of documents after you took a bite of shortbread. He leafed through each one. “This letter is my resignation from Monarch, this letter is an application for my army pension from the SAS with your name as the benefactor - see, it’s got our address?” James kept going, showing things like a list of things needed to turn the second bedroom into a nursery, a letter to his friend Mason Weaver about the good news, another letter to his therapist about continuing his sessions, and finally another application. “It’s for a job at military intelligence in London.” James sat next to you and explained each part of the form, how he got it from a friend in the army who was now undercover in Belfast.

“James, military intelligence?”

 “I know it’s not the most…typical sort of job for a father, but it’d be a good use of my tracking experience. It’s a desk job too, so I’d be able to come home for supper every night, and play with the baby in the evenings while you rest. And I’m not accepting any jobs outside of London.” He kissed the top of your head, and then your cheek. “Darling, we’re going to be parents. We’re going to have a little one, and it’s all because of you.” He took both of your hands. “You’ve turned this flat not a home, and you’ve taken me from a lost shell of a man, and made me into someone with a purpose. Something to live for. And all I want to do now is give you and our baby the best life possible.” Standing back up, James pecked you on the lips. “Rest your feet, and I’ll get started on supper.”

Magnus closed the door and stepped into the living room of your shared flat. “You’re pregnant?” He held you by your shoulders when you told him the news. “What happened? How did they -I mean, when did you find out? Is there a test?”

You showed your husband three different pregnancy tests. “Earlier this afternoon. I wanted to be sure.” 

“And they’re all positive.” He examined each one, and took a deep breath. “So, you’re pregnant. I guess we’re going to have a little one running around,…and they’re going to look like you.” 

“Or they’ll look like you.” You reached for the side of Magnus’s face. “I really hope they get your eyes, and maybe your hair. I like your curls.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t your friends say my hair looked like pot noodles?”

“They did, and they weren’t completely wrong.” 

His mouth fell open and he stepped back. “Oh, piss off!” 

“Hey!” You laughed and reached for him again. “Not in front of the baby!” 

“Right.” Magnus’s frown disappeared. “The baby…Have you been to a doctor yet? Just to check if everything’s okay?”

“Not yet. I still have to make that call.” 

“Okay.” He nodded, and reached for the pager in his front pocket. “Tell me when you do, and I’ll ask Kurt for a day off. I’m not missing the chance to meet our first baby.” Then, Magnus kissed you deeply. “And when we get home from the doctor’s office, I’m rubbing your feet and holding your hair back while you throw up.” 

“You don’t mean that exactly, do you?”

“In sickness and in health, remember?” Magnus pushed your hair back. “I’m making the most of this day off, and spending as much time with you and our baby.”

“Really?” Thomas placed the wooden carving onto his workman’s bench when you told him you were with child. A smile flickered across his face before he kissed you on the cheek. “That’s wonderful, How did you know?”

“I haven’t bled since Paris.” 

“Paris. When we had to visit some investors of mine, and we stayed in that inn on the Rue des Arts?” He chuckled quietly, stroking the inside of your wrist with an adoring gleam in his eyes. The same look he had two months ago when he took you in that cramped room of the inn with all the fervor of a besotted husband, somehow angelic and devilish at the same time. “The second best part of that trip was hearing the innkeeper call you, ‘Mrs. Sharpe’.” 

“And the best part?”

Thomas simply replied with a long, slow kiss, placing his hand on your knee, and then stole another kiss against your neck. “Does that answer your question, darling? Or shall I go further?”

“I think we’ve gone quite far already,” you answered with a glance at your stomach. “Are you happy, Thomas?”

“I am darling. A baby will bring so much light and laughter into Allerdale Hall. Just like their mother.” Thomas tapped you on the nose with a single finger. “How about you, darling? Are you happy?”

“I am. But very, very tired.” 

“Then I’ll run you a bath.” Thomas rose from his desk and led you into the master suite. “And make you some tea afterwards. How does that sound?”

Your husband gave you a long, expressionless look when you told him you were pregnant. Then, he put his arms around you and kissed you on the lips. “Go to sleep, darling. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” 

You eventually fell asleep with the most powerful man in London spooning you, all while intrusive thoughts raced inside your head. Was he happy? Disappointed? Did he even want a baby with you at all? Why did he have to say so little?

The next morning, your husband was missing from your bed. Normally, you wouldn’t think much about it, and expect to find a note from him in the kitchenette with breakfast, explaining that he had to go on urgent business. But the events of last night, along with the psychopathic manner in which your husband reacted to your pregnancy made you fearful. After vomiting into the toilet of the adjacent bathroom, you frantically called out your husband’s name. 

Darting into the hallways and the large staircase leading into the toy, you could see two hefty workmen carrying pieces of a crib into a room. They placed them on the carpeted floor next to a stack of printed blankets and a pillow with Baloo from the 1960s film “The Jungle Book”. Then, one of the workmen turned on a power drill as he joined two pieces of the crib together. 

“Oi, Hank! William!” You could hear your husband yelling over the power tools. “Keep the damn noise down, you’ll wake my wi- “ When you turned around, he was standing at the top of the staircase, holding a tea tray and wearing a cross expression. “Darling,” his voice softened. Putting the tray down on a dresser, he took your arm. “Did they wake you? You shouldn’t be walking around, let me take you back to bed.” 

“They didn’t wake me.” You sat on the edge of the bed, stunned when your husband lifted your feet onto the bed. “Thomas, what’s going on?”

He brought the breakfast tray before you and poured hot water from a porcelain teapot into a cup with a teabag. “I’m renovating one of our guest bedrooms. Milk? Sugar?”

You nodded. “You didn’t have to bring me breakfast.” 

“I don’t have to do anything, darling.” He stirred your tea, and fed you a spoonful of muesli with almonds and honey from a bowl. “I choose to.” 

“Wha are the renovations for?” You ventured to ask just as be brought another spoonful to your mouth. Even though you knew the likely answer, you needed to hear it from him just to be sure.

“For the baby, you silly goose.” Your husband kissed you on the cheek before continuing to feed you. “I’ll admit, “The Jungle Book” was a personal choice, but I’ll have the room redecorated if you want a different theme. Or we’ll make one room a nursery and the other a room for play. 

“Two rooms for one baby?”

“Who said anything about only one baby?” Thomas teased.

You lowered the teacup. “You mean…you actually…you want… I can’t believe you’re happy about this.” 

He held your face in his hands. “I am most happy, darling. You’re the reason I’m a man with a soul and a life, and you keep bringing miracle after miracle into my life.” He pressed his lips to yours. “Now let’s finish your breakfast and I’ll run a bath for you. I’m taking today off just for us.” 

“It’s positive.” You slowly exited the bathroom to show Chuck the pregnancy test. You and Chuck had been married for two years, and had been trying to conceive for eighteen months. This was the fifth test you’d taken this week, motivated especially by the nausea Chuck’s scrambled eggs - which you usually liked - gave you. 

He blinked, tears welling in his eyes the longer he looked at the two stripes on the little stick. “Oh my god,” he whispered, “You’re really pregnant.” Choking on his words, your husband hugged you and lifted you off the floor, shining you once. “I can’t believe it, honey!” 

“We’ve been trying for so long, how could it not be?”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” He placed you back down. “We’re going to be parents, it’s just amazing.” Chuck kissed you on the lips before pressing his forehead to yours, quietly panting. “We’re having a baby.” 

“We’re having a baby,” you echoed. “After all this time.” 

He kissed your palm after you wiped the tears from his left eye. “I love you. I love you, and our baby so much.” He led you down the stairs and into the kitchen. “I’ll make you some herbal tea, and give Dr. Montgomery a call. Let her know that our trying finally paid off.” 

Having My Baby (Benedick x Reader)

That's Mrs. Ellis to You

As for Will, he would make a daily routine of reading stories from the Bible to you after supper every night, keeping one hand on your stomach while he used the other to turn pages. He’d start with the book of Genesis while you were in your second month of pregnancy, and have finished at least a third of Deuteronomy by the time you went into labor.

Your little one(s)

A baby girl with your hair and your eyes who would basically let anyone hold her except her father. The first time she met Will, she screamed so loudly the midwife’s ears were ringing afterward. He’d never be able to put her to sleep unless he used one of your shawls or shirts that smelled like you. But a few months before her second birthday, something changed - maybe it was the fact that she was able to understand human speech and interact with others - but she finally held her father’s finger without crying. So her father cried tears of joy instead.

During your pregnancy, the king of England would take every measure to be by your side as often as possible, besotted with the way you glowed. He’d read a tale or two after you told him the baby is capable of hearing from within the womb, and rub your back if it was aching. It would take him forever to get ready for court because of how long he’d spend admiring you, tracing his fingers all over you, especially your growing belly. It was the only reason that no one even dared to suggest a mistress for the king while the queen was with child. 

And when he had to be away from you, the king would have his own circle of hand-picked guardians responsible for protecting you, tasting your food before you ate, and examining everything given to you before you could touch it. There was even a lady trained in swordfighting who was to remain by your side while you bathed and dressed, if the king was unable to be present.

When it came time for you to go into labor, the king would be pacing relentlessly outside the labor room. One scream from you, and he would be clutching the door, calling out to you, and praying aloud for God to protect you. He’d be so intently focused on you that he’d abstain from all food or drink until the baby was born and you were declared healthy, collapsing with a smile at your bedside the moment he had a glimpse of you both. 

Your little one(s)

A baby boy with your hair and Henry’s eyes whose first words were ‘Mama’, ‘Oui’, and ‘sack’. That last word was spoken in a room full of nobles, embarrassing the life out of his parents.

During your pregnancy, the prince of Asgard would look after you in a manner well-deserving of a future queen. Every morning after breakfast and every night after supper, he’d ensure that the two of you went on a walk through the palace gardens for fresh air - no guards, no servants, just a moment for the two parents and their soon-to-be-born child. 

He’d keep an eagle on every meal brought to your room and everyone who entered your room, even shapeshifting into one of your servants just to see if the guards were being careful enough. Then he’d bamboozle them, turn into his original form, and shout their ears off about them being terribly incompetent. 

Towards the latter half of your pregnancy, Loki would share with you his plans to gathering an army leading a potential conquest beyond Asgard. Why? Because to Loki, one of the best things he could provide to your child would be a throne for them to inherit. 

Which is exactly how Loki ended up in the middle of a battle, knee-deep in Jotunn or Midgardian blood while you were in labor. And just as you were crying out for mercy, begging that you needed your husband by your side, you would turn your head to somehow find Loki in the next bed with battle injuries, smiling. “We’ll be victorious, my queen.” 

Your little one(s)

A little boy with your smile and Loki’s eyes and hair, who can conjure flowers from his fingertips when he laughs and waves his hands around. And can summon either torrential blizzards or sandstorms when he screams.

During your pregnancy, Loki would turn into a walking encyclopedia about gynecology. If you told him how far along you are in months, he would be able to tell you the exact size of the fetus. “That is, if it were completely mortal and not the child of a god,” he would add with a smirk. Truly though, he’d be saying things that made the obstetrician examining you go into shock, like how he knew about your increased blood volume and the exact hormones that were likely elevated from your pregnancy. And of course, Loki would be always trying to make you laugh, even publicly pranking other Avengers when it’s possible, because a happy mother means a happy baby.

While you’re in labor, Loki would be busy trying to plan an elaborate welcome party for you as a surprise. Which could lead to something as tame as Loki being stuck with a helium-induced voice for hours from playing with balloons, to accidentally putting the Avengers tower into lockdown because he brought an actual stork as a party favor and let it loose in the building. But don’t worry, he’d appear right by your side just as soon as you’re about to give up on him ever showing up. 

Your little one(s)

Triplets - two girls and one boy - with Loki’s black hair and eyes that alternate between green and blue, depending on the lighting. They can’t sleep unless there are daggers in their cradle, and laugh for some reason at all forms of fire. They also quickly learned how to butter you with kisses, so you’d never be able to stay mad at them. 

During your pregnancy, Bill would be the type of partner who would call the gynecologist every time he had a question about your pregnancy. “Is my wife allowed to have soft drinks?” “Can she have hot showers or is that bad for the baby?” “Is my wife supposed to sleep on her side or on her back?” “Can my wife listen to loud music? It’s by The Rolling Stones.” “My wife had vodka sauce in her pasta, will she be alright?” 

He would be asking every mom he knew, including his own mother and his mother’s friends, for advice and trying every thing he read would be good for pregnancy: playing Mozart’s music in the house, trying to predict the gender based on the types of food you were craving, and covering anything that looked remotely scary - including that one DVD of “Chucky” and anything featuring the Hulk - so the baby wouldn’t resemble it. 

Despite his anxieties, however, Bill would be a very supportive partner throughout the entirety of your pregnancy, getting you anything you craved. He’d plan a surprise baby shower for you at the end of your first trimester, inviting your friends and family to celebrate you. And Bill’s parents - especially his mother - would be over frequently when he was busy with studies or teaching theology, helping you with anything you needed and eventually getting you to the hospital when your water broke. 

Your little one(s)

A little boy with a full head of curls like his father. His favorite toy would be his father’s old teddy bear, which likely played a role in his first words being “Pooh bear”

While his mother might be the more constant companion during your pregnancy, Caius would send letters and money home as often as possible to you. Each of his letters would end with a piece of advice for your child to be taught to them as they grow older, in case the worst should happen. The first letter read at the end, “Honor and duty are the most important things in this lifetime. Live by those rules,” and the second read, “We all receive what we deserve in this life. Do not sympathize with those less fortunate than you, and do not look with jealousy upon those with greater fortune than you.” 

He’d return soon before your child was born, presenting his bloodied sword to you as the child’s first present from their father. The gift of pride, he would call it, for your child could proudly declare that they were of true Roman blood and the descendant of a true solider. And as soon as he could carry your child, he would show them each and every one of his scars and the paintings depicting his battles in hopes they would strive to live a similar life one day.  Your little one(s)

A baby boy with your eyes, a few light hairs on his head, and a red birthmark on his heel that a soothsayer called ‘a branding from Mars himself’. His grandmother was over the moon.

During your pregnancy, Jonathan would keep an eye on everything about you and look after every need of yours right away. If he saw you eating warm baguette slices with salted butter twice a day, the next day, the kitchen counter would have enough homemade baguettes and butter to last two weeks. Complaining about back/shoulder/neck pains? Jonathan would have the medicine cabinet stocked with every kind of pain reliever known to mankind - crocin/paracetamol, ibuprofen, aspirin, heat packs, cooling packs.

He’d always rub your feet at night until you fell asleep, and religiously take you to every single doctors’s appointment himself, impressing the doctors with his detailed reports about you. And with his dedication to remaining awake and by your side during your delivery without a break. 

Your little one(s)

A quiet baby boy with Jonathan’s eyes who’d be very well-behaved for his age (almost to the point where it’s concerning), and lights up when watching raindrops trickle down the windows. He’d fall asleep at the sounds of thunder crashing and rain falling.

During your pregnancy, Robert would insist on doing your check-ups, being a doctor himself. He’d consider it even a little romantic, making it fun by stealing kisses while he examines you, making jokes about how he could hear your heart racing through the stethoscope. He’d also take a secret pleasure in planning out all of your meals, even cooking most of them himself, that would ensure you were getting all of your vitamins and other nutrients for a healthy pregnancy. 

He’d still continue to visit the gym in the high-rise often after work at the medical school, but he’d either leave early to look after you, or switch his usual intense workout into a walk that he could share with you. 

And during your delivery, Robert would be calm in the most disciplined sense, ordering the nurses around while keeping his voice steady. It would almost make you think that he would be perfectly good at managing two rambunctious little ones instead of one, until the next round of contractions which made you never, ever want to get pregnant again. Robert would continue to tell you to push, and order one nurse to have the forceps ready in case the baby needed aid, while the other nurse gave constant updates until the baby was fully out. He’d even put on a pair of gloves and insist on cutting the umbilical cord himself, telling the nurses to focus more on making sure you were in stable condition. 

Your little one(s) A baby boy with Robert’s eyes, your hair, and your smile. His favorite thing to do would be cling to you and snuggle. He tends to get possessive, babbling over anyone who tries to talk to you, and even sometimes putting his hand over your mouth when you try to give Robert a kiss.

During your pregnancy, James would be in the process of starting his job at Defense Intelligence in London - a desk job he took in order to be home every evening with you and the baby. This led to James turning the rest of his day into a routine. He’d start with waking up with you, making you breakfast, and then commuting to work via the train. Then after working from eight to five, James would commute homewards, stopping to pick up two ice creams that he’d share with you before dinner. Finally, he’d end the day with talking to you about your days while he cleaned up the kitchen and helped you get ready for bed.

The only days that routine was ever adjusted was every other Wednesday when James would use his lunch break to visit his government-mandated therapist. He’d talk to them about how often he still thought of Skull Island and his army days during passing moments, and whether his son or daughter would want to follow in his footsteps the way that he followed his father’s. Moreover, what else could he possibly do to be a better husband and father aside from abandoning his decades-old habit of drinking. His therapist asked for more about that, to which James revealed that his habit of bringing ice creams home to you was a tactic he made up to avoid wasting time in a bar or pub when he had a pregnant wife at home who needed him.

Usually on the days James had his therapist’s appointments, he’d go home after work with his ice creams and before even saying hello, just wrap you in a tight hug and kiss your hair, eyes, nose, and lips. He wouldn’t know how else to say, “I’ve a lot to learn, I’m a stupid man.” , “You don’t deserve a man who still has nightmares,”, “I can’t believe you’re having my baby,” and “I love you,” all at the same time. 

Your little one(s)

A baby girl with James’s blond hair and your eyes. She winds up sucking her fingers whenever she’s sleeping, and likes to make attempts at grabbing the phone whenever she hears one of her parents’ voices. Her first word was “bye”, which she said while you were seeing James off for the day.

During your pregnancy, Magnus would be subtly using your pregnancy to take as much of his paid time off as much as possible. And of course, he’d follow through, spending time with you doing whatever it is you wanted to do, even if it meant laying on the couch with you and watching crap television over potato crisps dipped in ice cream. At least once a week, Magnus would rub your belly and just gaze at it with awe. “I can’t believe you’re growing an entire person in there. How is that possible?” 

And all of that time off eventually led to Magnus’s team, including Kurt, showing up one day at your home with gifts - diapers, bottles and bottle cleaners, old baby clothes some of the team members used with their own children - as a surprise baby shower. While they congratulated you and asked you questions about how you were feeling, Kurt would take Magnus aside and give a bit of fatherly advice, even though Magnus insisted he wouldn’t need any. “Says the man who showed up to his own wedding hungover,” Kurt grumbled. Little did either of them know that when you did go into labor five months later, Kurt would be the one to keep Magnus’s head from hitting the floor when Magnus passed out in the hospital seeing your baby crown. 

Magnus would profusely apologize for his work colleagues showing up unannounced, and insist on making it up to you by rubbing your feet - which was more than acceptable to you. 

Your little one(s)

Twins - a boy and a girl with your smile and Magnus’s eyes - who have a perfectly timed system of crying when the other one cries, and filling their diaper when the other one fills their diaper. But they both love their dad to bits, playing with his curls and laughing when he sneezes. Actually, they laugh at any sound their dad makes - coughing, sneezing, laughing, humming.

(warning: allusions to smut ahead)

The most chill soon-to-be father in the goddamn world, let’s just get that out there. If you ever felt like having an espresso or a sip of dessert wine, Oakley would just assume that you know your body best and ask if you wanted some ladyfinger cookies with your drink. His overall philosophy would be that pregnant or not, you were a lady with needs, and he’d never forget that.

He’d still ask the usual “do you need something from the shops” and “any morning sickness yet?” But he’d make the effort to organize fun outings for the two of you: slow Vespa rides in the city, watching football games at pubs, and arthouse film nights with your friends. There was even one time when Oakley selected an erotic Italian film for everyone to watch, and he asked you in a whisper which of the positions shown on-screen looked most like the ones you and him did - and which one might’ve been the most likely to cause your pregnancy. 

He’d also love making you feel like a woman in every way possible: telling you that you looked more “Madonna than virgin”, wolf-whistling/cat-calling whenever you walked into a room wearing something either highlighted or exposed your baby bump, and occasionally making your head disappear between your legs until you screamed with pleasure. Although, that last time he did that before you had the baby, it led to you screaming from pleasure as well as your first contractions, which only made Oakley’s ego skyrocket. 

Your little one(s)

A baby girl with Oakley’s golden curls and your eyes - her dad likes to call her Goldilocks as a nickname. Her first word was ‘Rome’ (it sounded like ‘ome’ but Oakley chose to believe it was Rome rather than ‘home’) She has her own miniature Vespa to play with, along with a wooden Pinocchio from a store in Italy

During your pregnancy, Thomas would devote himself to rebuilding the estate, taking the child to be a sign of a new life for Allerdale Hall. He would finally get the roof repaired, and work extensively to sell red clay from the mines to sculptors and builders all over England.

And at night, he’d regale you with his hopes and dreams for your child, how everything he does in business is to ensure a good life for you and your child. He’d talk about your child learning the violin at three, arithmetic at four, French and Latin at five. Then, he’d ask you about having a governess to look after your child, and if you wanted a tutor for your child’s first years before boarding school. “I want them to have the world, darling,” he would say, “Any life they can dream of. Whether they want to study history at Oxford, or learn music at the Sorbonne, or perhaps science in New York City - I want them to live well and live proudly in the world.”

Your little one(s)

A baby boy with Thomas’s hair and your eyes; usually a content but cries for some reason to piano music. He stopped wailing as he learned to talk, but piano music continues to frighten him and tear up.

During your pregnancy,  the most powerful man in London would be taking every measure to make sure your pregnancy is as comfortable as possible, keeping a tracker on your phone that also measured your heart rate so he knew exactly where you were at all times, and the moments you felt you were in danger. 

He’d keep the house stocked with everything to keep you entertained and comfortable, including books, snacks both sweet and savory (he would claim not to believe in hokey ideas, but he would still check how many savory snacks you ate versus sweets as a basis for what gender the baby might be), and streaming services. And instead of choosing a doctor to visit you, he’d have his personal physician - the same one who treats his men’s gunshot wounds - come home for your check-ups and treat you. 

Also, Mr.H would take the opportunity to spoil his employee’s kids even more, bringing them chocolates if they ever visited with their parents who did business with him. He’d tell them about how he was excited to have a child of his own and that they could meet the baby someday if they were on their best behavior. He’d also encourage you to mingle with his employees, especially those whom you met at your wedding to Mr.H., provided that you didn’t go too far from his line of sight. The one rule for anyone who wanted to talk to you? No filthy talk - no talk of hookers, no profanity, nothing about blasting someone’s brains against the wall - unless they wanted to be punched in the jaw by Mr. H. Under no circumstances would he want his baby’s first thoughts to be about homicide. That could wait until their sixteenth birthday. 

Your little one(s)

A baby boy with Thomas’s hair and eyes who will only fall asleep to “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”. His favorite color to wear is cornflower blue. The first present his father gave him was a silver rattle with the words engraved on it, “First we had each other, then we had you. Now we have everything. Love, Mum and Dad.”

During your pregnancy, Chuck would be constantly checking in with you, texting you or calling you during every one of his coffee or lunch breaks. It’d start with a, “how are you feeling, honey? Are you okay?”, and around noon it’d be something like, “Hi, honey, I know you’re probably busy right now, but I just want to say to you - and the baby - that I love you.” Around evening, it would be, “Hi, honey, I’m on my way home now. Let me get you something you’d like - what are you in the mood for?” And even if you told him that you didn’t want anything, Chuck would still bring home with food or snacks that he knew you liked or that he saw you eating before. 

He’d accompany you to every doctor’s visit, and follow every set of instructions down to the last letter, adjusting his recipes accordingly on the nights he made dinner (which went from three or four times a week to almost six times a week as you moved further along in your pregnancy) and ensuring you had enough rest each night. But he certainly didn’t let that get in the way of slow dancing with you in the kitchen while the dishwasher took care of the cleaning. He’d even sing a lullaby or two to your stomach just before the two of you went to bed, his go-to being “Somewhere” from ‘West Side Story’.

He would continue to be obedient in the delivery room, telling you at one point that he’d take it if you broke his hand squeezing it, or if you wanted to call him the worst words ever known. It wouldn’t change anything between you. And when it was all over and you were cradling your newborn, Chuck would hug you and declare that he was wrong earlier; he was actually more in love with you - and with your little one - than he’d ever been before.

Your little one(s)

A baby boy with Chuck’s inquisitive gaze and curls, along with your eyes (which Chuck always brags about). His first word is “mama”, and he has a habit of blowing bubbles when he’s staring into space. Also loves the song “Singing in the Rain”; it always calms him and puts him in this state of quiet happiness where he’s just gazing at wherever the music is coming from 

During your pregnancy, Benedick would be getting caught up in the excitement about being a dad. He would have absolutely no chill, splurging on a pink and glitter-themed nursery complete with pink rattles, a mini varsity jacket with diamond, and a mobile made of rhinestones. The dresser in the nursery would have bottles of hair gel and hairspray next to diaper cream and baby lotion.

He’d be the one booking and making sure the both of you attend lamaze classes regularly, bringing you a green juice before each one so that the baby gets enough folic acid. And if you’re walking together and someone drives right past you, Benedick would jump into action and get in front of you, shouting, “You almost hit a pregnant woman, you stupid cock!” 

And that chill does not appear anytime soon, even as he’d be holding your hand in the delivery room and sitting right by you. He’d be making home movies about the entire experience with the intent of showing it to your child someday and completely embarrassing them with stories.

Your little one(s)

A baby boy whose favorite toy his dad’s glitter belt, and has a keen sense of music. He babbles along with any music that happens to be playing, which Benedick thinks is his attempt at singing.

During your pregnancy, Matthew would be doing as little as possible - partly because  it’s a deviation from his usual pursuit of vices, but also because the times he does try to help out, it’s absolutely wrong. There was the time he tried to buy baby bottles and  picked out ones that were made of glass. His idea at the time? “They’ll match their dad’s drinking glasses!” 

Thank the stars that Teddy would always step in to either correct Matthew’s mistakes or bring you the right thing at the right time. He’d be the one reminding Matthew that you couldn’t have ceviche or champagne while pregnant, insisting that teddy bears are a better present than Barbie dolls for a baby, and packing you a home cooked lunch after every doctor’s appointment. The latter became a tradition until your delivery. 

Which was very interesting. Even though both Matthew and Teddy were in the room telling you to push, at one point, Teddy handed you an empty gun to throw at Matthew. “It’s his fault, cariño. Yell at him anything you want, it’s his fault. He got you pregnant!” That did not totally send the hospital into a state of panic.

Your little one(s)

twin baby girls with your hair color and your eyes who like bubble baths and playing with rubber duckies. And when they’re old enough to toddle and move, their favorite game is ‘spin around in your pretty dress until you fall down.’ Teddy spoils them with dresses in every color, dolls imported from all over the world, and their very own ponies