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cinnamonest · 1 year

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//breeding, very heavy focus on impreg + pregnancy/motherhood stuff, sort of in conjunction with [this post] as well as [this post]

Happy (one day belated) Mother's Day, let's celebrate the joys of motherhood :)

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Childe has no concept of a small family. At least, not of it being acceptable.

It's part of the culture of certain nations' rural areas, Snezhnaya being one of them. Everyone in the rural, smaller town regions strives to have big families. Maybe it originates from a rougher climate leading to a need for ensuring the survival of one's lineage, or something like that, but regardless, for Snezhnayan men, having a lot of kids is one of those masculine pride things, and by contrast, not having lots of kids is unthinkable, shameful even.

So, of course, he's long since decided on having a large family. He's wanted it for so long, but his work has prevented him from following the other tradition that rural areas and smaller towns in all nations are known for... you know, marrying and starting to have kids practically the millisecond one reaches adulthood.

He's young, sure, most people would think him too young for that sort of thing, but in his mind, he's grown up seeing people marrying and starting families at very young ages to be normal, expected. Which means he's missing out on what he's more or less entitled to. He knows from visits home that all the kids he grew up with are already marrying and having kids at his own age. But is he going to let his position stop him? Of course not. So, truthfully, he had this in the back of his mind for some time, and he just so happened to take the opportunity that presented itself.

In other words, you were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and just so happened to not only fit a list of physical preferences that caught the wrong person's eye, but also just happened to be so defiant, so resistant, and far too often cold and mean. Perhaps if you hadn't been, he might have left you alone. If you had just entertained his fantasies, even in word only, he might have had a bit of pity on you, felt a shred of guilt at the thought of tearing you away from your life.

How ironic that a defense mechanism you intended to deter him, would have ignited the very urges you wanted to extinguish, an unintended consequence of applying normal tactics to a sick mind.

But regardless, you just happened to meet, and thus now you're here. That's what he tells you, after whisking you away and bringing you to live with him, constantly pulled from one dark room to another between his room on the ship, Fatui bases, hotels in various regions, and every other place he spends the night. Not with that exact wording of course, no, he's got that excitable, almost childish romanticized view of things, he portrays it as aligned fates, that you were destined to cross paths at the right time.

It's part of one big long spiel you get. The whole you're going to stay here and nothing you can do will change that part is spoken very quickly and nonchalantly, while he treats the other parts with much more importance, namely his intentions for the future.

That being, you're going to have a big family and have lots of his kids. That you'll be a mother. He says it very happily, like you're a young just-married couple or something, like the living scenario you have is normal, like you're here of your own volition.

It does take you by surprise at first — you had thought you were being taken as more of a sex slave than anything, but quickly find you're being treated more like a spouse, in a... really odd way. That, too, is done with a blissful but casual attitude, as if he's almost unaware of the gravity of the crime being inherently committed by having you here... although you suppose people like him are more or less above the law. He announces his arrival when he returns each day, is very affectionate towards you, laughs off any hostility from you as if it's a grumpy little kitten making a fuss, not a human being with a very justified reason for vitriol.

He's very transparent and straightforward with you, it's not like he's trying to slowly ease you into it or enact his wishes without telling you what will happen, no. No deception. No avoidance of the topic. And not a single shred of willingness to compromise.

No consideration of how you may feel about that matter. It's not a discussion, it's telling you. Merely communicating information that is already set in stone. The information is laid on you so fast and suddenly that your mind is left reeling. First you're forcibly fucked and dragged here, now you're being told it's permanent and oh by the way get ready to start the rest of your life as some mother-slave-wife amalgamation?

It's too much for you to handle. What's even more baffling is that even as you protest, he just blows it off like it's nothing, like this isn't an incredibly grave, serious ordeal.

B-but... I don't want--

Ah, you think that now, but you'll be happy, promise.

But... but you can't just do this to me!

Yeah? What are you gonna do to stop me? Haha....

That all still doesn't give you quite the same extent of nausea compared to the next set of information you're given.

Even if you were familiar with the cultural norm, you didn't realize the sheer extent. You knew he had like, what, six or seven siblings? That strikes you as a large number, so it fits with what you're aware of regarding the norm.

You didn't realize that was an average number to them. Not until he told you so, in the midst of his ramblings about your future, when you gathered the courage to ask what he means by "big" when the words big family come out of his mouth.

He pauses, looks up pensively. Well, anything less than five is small, he says, anything from five to eight is about the median, and anything above that is when you finally get to be considered to be "above average". So his family, with seven or eight or so kids total, is kind of in the middle, about average, in his own words.

But he wants a big family. So, you know, gotta at least hit double digits.

He says it very casually, like it's no big deal. He's too excited to notice the look on your face, at least not for a few seconds, finally turning to you after realizing your stunned silence.

Mm? Something wrong?

...That... that's... I can't...

But your protests are quickly brushed off again. Sure you can. Your body is perfectly capable, so what would be stopping you? You're just worrying too much. Don't think about it so much, just... lay back and let it happen.

In most regional cultures of any nation, people do tend to at least plan families — they save up a bit first to make sure they have enough money, they calculate the gap between when they have a first and second child, often not wanting to wait too long so that the children will have more time and similarity to bond, but not so soon that the added responsibility overwhelms the parents.

That's not something that crosses his mind. He has no reason to worry about finances, sure, but he also pays no mind to questions like is this really an environment to raise a kid in? Is the tsaritsa okay with that? Where will they stay?

Eh... that's all stuff that can be dealt with another time. He tends to take the philosophy of crossing bridges when he gets to them. Baby-planning later, baby-making now.

And nothing you can say deters him. Yes you'll be a good mom (don't worry, he'll make sure you behave exactly like he thinks a good mother should), yes you'll be fine, the Fatui has some of the best doctors in the world, so you'll be great health-wise, actually. Yes he has the resources.

And no, he's not waiting. You have this weird insistence on this idea that you should have a period of time where you just... aren't even trying to have kids. Is that normal, where you're from? Do people really get together, get married and live together and not immediately start trying for a baby? Won't that detract from the maximum number of kids you can have in the end? Then why would anyone do that? When he asks that very question, though, you don't really have a good answer, to him at least. You can't just rush something like that, is what you say.

But... of course you can? That's what he's trying to do, rush it so you can go ahead and get a head start and have more and more kids in the future. It's like talking to a brick wall. He cannot process, cannot fathom how people can exist for whom making as many offspring as possible isn't the number one priority in life. Well, whatever, it seems you just have these weird cultural ideas you're not going to let go of, so there's no point in trying to reason with you.

His determination is somewhat obsessive. Even when he's inside you, hips bouncing off the back of your thighs, he keeps talking about it, words slurring as he mumbles something about putting a baby in you, knocking you up, so on and so on, all the while, gripping at your hips and making sure to slam all the way in as far as possible when he finally cums inside you. Maybe he's already accomplished that, who knows, but he has to just keep trying until it's certain, so you only get a few minutes of respite before starting back again.

No condoms. No pulling out, even though you beg for him to do so. Whimpering and pulling at his hair, pushing at his chest, all night long, over and over.

N-not yet, please, I'm not ready, I can't...

Your pleas are partially just for the very sake of not wanting that, but of course, there's also the fact that you realize it will be a death sentence to any hope of escaping him. You've been looking for ways to do it since you were dragged here a day or so ago, you can't let this inhibit you. You just need some more time, just a little bit of time...

You don't get that time.

It doesn't take long. He's young and virile, so, perhaps that's why you don't even get a single cycle from the time you get brought to him. The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach. At first, you don't say anything, deciding not to bring the matter up unless he does, partially out of your own denial, and partially because seeing him get inevitably excited will irritate you.

Apparently, they must have some rather atrocious reproductive education out in rural Teyvat too (or, rather, you realize it's probably just fine, and it's more the fact that he probably paid no attention), seeing as he had no idea that that is the standard tell, instead asking you hey, is there a way you can tell if you're pregnant? Do you just wait for your stomach to get bigger or...? and thus, you had to reluctantly explain that.

You can sort of see the gears turning in that otherwise empty head of his. You've been here two months now... you haven't bled at all in that time (he would know, he's been fucking you multiple times a day)... so that means...? You can practically see his eyes light up before he reaches out and wraps his arms around you. He's ecstatic for the rest of the night, won't shut up about all the things you're going to do. You feel sick.

Not that this information in any way impedes him from continuing to empty his balls in you on a daily basis, no. It doesn't slow down in the slightest. In fact, you were sort of hoping he would get turned off the further along you got, since you know that happens with a lot of guys... but not him. No, if anything, you're pretty sure you have more rounds per day the further along you are, sometimes he'll just look you up and down, staring at your belly for a few moments with a haze in his eyes before more or less dragging you over to bed -- and it's not like you can resist much, you're all wobbly as it is...

And, of course, any negativity from you is shut down on the spot. At first, he mistakes it for nervousness -- don't worry! It'll be fine! He can recite those words with ease, over and over, telling you to just not worry about it is his default answer to any concern you have. But once you start getting a bit more openly negative, making it clear it's an attitude issue from you, and finally crossing a line when you outright state you never wanted this, and thereby implying the most heartless and callous thing he can conceive of, that you're going to be resentful of him and your child... it's one of the few times you ever see him not all smiles and sunshine about the whole thing. A complete change of expression, face going dark, eyes narrowing. He grabs your jaw with a grip so firm it hurts.

Don't say that.

It's one of the few times you've seen him so serious and firm. It makes your heart skip a beat.

But almost as soon as he says it, he's back to being cheery... ah, you're just grumpy because you're hormonal and all that. You're lucky he has thick skin. Besides, you're too cute to take your grouchiness seriously, haha... what's that look for...?

And soon, you find yourself in a state of dissociation, having to process and accept reality once you have a living, breathing infant in your arms. It's not until that moment that the reality truly sets in, that you can feel your fate being sealed, that you realize this is actually, genuinely the beginning of the rest of your life.

You try not to dwell on that.

It's hard not to, though, considering that you barely get any time to rest, being pestered each day with questions of how many more days left until the doctor said you can have sex again?? Because he's suffering and miserable. He was devastated to find out you can't go back to it in less than 24 hours, no one ever told him about that part. And you don't even seem to sympathize with him, are you heartless? Yes you gave birth five days ago and he's been very loving and taking care of you and all but haven't you thought at all about how this is affecting him? Yes you sucked him off because the whining was getting annoying but it's not the same, he needs pussy you don't understand, why are you looking at him like you're mad— did you just say "weeks?" As in plural? As in more than one week? Surely you didn't mean that, it can't be that long, right? Why aren't you saying anything. It can't be that long, it can't—

So he fucks you like a man starved when you finally give a green light. It does burn a bit, after having gone a while without getting so ruthlessly stretched and pounded as he always does to you. You're pretty sure he doesn't know his own strength, doesn't realize the sheer intensity of the force with which he grips your hips and arms and throat and presses your face into the mattress and fucks into you with such strength the whole bed creaks as it rocks back and forth. You'll be covered in bruises and sore spots in the morning, just from the grip.

And you notice the way his fingernails dig into your hips, holding your bodies as close as possible, the closer and closer you both get. You feel a sense of dread. You try to reach up and tap on his arm.

D-don't cum inside, it's too soon... I need more time, I'm not ready yet, please—

Just a little bit of time, just some time to feel like you can finally breathe, but once again, you don't get that time.

Shh... don't think about it... just focus on how good it feels, okay?

You whimper, but you're incapable of pushing him off, only able to make soft little sounds of protest when he stops fully inside, making sure not a drop goes to waste when he stuffs you with cum. He stays inside you for some time, not pulling out so as to prevent any from spilling. Just like he did before. And he holds you, rubs your back, says soothing little mumbled things about how you worry too much while you sniffle and tremble.

And then there's two.

He does take quite a bit of pride in it. That applies when you're alone too, he likes to lay his head on your stomach laying in bed and will just relax there for a while, grinning like an idiot. But it applies to others too; it's somewhat of an ego boost to have other people see what he views as an accomplishment. He likes showing you off in general, but he's especially happy to parade you around whenever you're very heavily swollen up. It's some sort of ego thing, you guess.

He likes getting to show off the kids too, a testament to a sort of success. It's a very simple-minded sort of pride, almost humorously so, you often think to yourself. A simplistic mentality of look at these! I made these!, almost a childish pridefulness.

Which, frankly, gets on your last nerve, how he loves to run around forcing his reluctant and rather annoyed coworkers to look at his offspring and listen to him ramble, so beamingly proud of the kid that you carried and you birthed and you care for and you feed and bathe and put to sleep, so proud of their existence as if he did anything to contribute to said existence other than being a sperm depository.

And then there's three, and then there's four, and then you get the special blessing of two at once. You think to yourself with bitter humorousness that you're over halfway to the set standard. And then there's another... and another... the realization even strikes you, a few years in, that since beginning your "new life," you've spent more time pregnant than not pregnant, information that you spend far too long taking in the weight of.

It's an incredibly awkward living situation — you basically were granted what used to be a few interconnected rooms they'd house a few bunk-bed-fuls of soliders in, turned into a sort of apartment-esque dwelling. It's where you carry out most of your tasks and live your life. You never get a break, always getting another one pumped into you as soon as it's physically possible again.

With him gone most of the days, and you having no job to speak of, you've essentially taken on a housewife role, and spend most of your day caring for the increasing number of offspring, each and every one of which, to your dismay, quickly proves to have inherited a rambunctious, hotheaded, and far too energetic nature. You will reluctantly admit, he does actually help you out quite a bit when he can, and genuinely enjoys doing so. You suppose you can admit he's actually more involved and enthusiastically helpful than a lot of fathers are... you don't give him the satisfaction of such praise, though.

Still, he's just gone for most of the day on most days, so you have to do it by yourself, or enlist whichever unfortunate newbie soldier has not yet learned to not go wandering around that one area, lest they be roped into helping out that poor slave-mother-girl that lives in that section with all those energetic kids, so they try to warn newcomers... still, some actually still offer to help, if nothing but out of pity.

Most of the time, though, it's just you and the ever-increasing number of children. You felt bad the first time you called one by the wrong name. They all look so much alike — and each one is so close together in age to the next immediate older and younger one — that you get confused sometimes, and it quickly becomes a habit, but they're quick to correct you. And you do end up loving them — you suppose that's just instinct — but sometimes... it's just too much. You can't get a spare second. You feel exhausted.

You're constantly moving, taking care of something. This one fell and scraped his knee and comes crying and blubbering to you, and you're still bandaging that up and mumbling words of comfort when you get a tug on your sleeve from behind you — Mama, I'm hungry — and you barely finish saying just a minute, I'll get you something before another one is calling for you from another room — MamaaaaAAAAAA — and soon you're holding one in each arm (a more difficult task than usual considering you're heavily pregnant again), waddling over to go check on the one that called you, and then another one comes softly shuffling over with a look what I found!, and you know it's going to be something very simple like a cool-shaped rock or leaf like always, but you don't want to hurt the poor thing's feelings and want him to be happy so you stand there smiling and feigning interest and awe and pretending it's the neatest thing ever while your arms start to tremble from the strain of holding two heavy sacks of flesh in each arm -- still trying to soothingly bounce the sniffling one up and down a bit -- and the other one is saying something but you can't make it out because three of them are talking at the same time and oh god where's the fifth and sixth ones because you told them to hang on when you went to bandage the first one and now you don't see either one and is the seventh one still asleep where you left him or not and you start to panic and -- hang on just a second, ______ -- no, I-I mean, ______ -- no, wait, uh... which one are...you're -- uh --

You feel like you're going insane. Each and every day wears you out in full.

When you finally get that rare, wonderful moment in which you can get all of them asleep at once, finally go lay down to try and get a much needed rest yourself... you always seems to have such precise timing, you barely close your eyes before the door opens and you get the announcement that your lover who you certainly must have missed is home, and what do you know, everything is so quiet, this gives you two an opportunity to make another one!

The only downside for him is that sometimes, the existing offspring have a habit of interrupting the sibling-making process... so, sometimes some poor underling (rather, usually, they need at least two or three to control them all) gets saddled with a command to entertain and herd the harbinger's offspring when he takes a day off, giving you two a day to yourselves... not to go out or anything, no. You usually spend the entirety of those days in bed, going at it like rabbits again and again.

And again. And again. Sometimes you get summoned by some underling to follow because his superior needs you for "something important," which you both know is just getting fucked over a desk or in a hallway closet because he has needs you know, and it's torture to have to wait until he can come back for the evening. Stuffs you full of cum and rests his head on your chest for a moment to recharge (they're so nice, all soft and swollen, more or less perpetually so these days), before sending you back, promising to hurry and come back for the night as soon as possible.

Oh, and you don't even get the respite of having him gone at times whenever he has to go abroad. No, he brings you with him... yes, all of you. He insisted, and eventually the few authorities above him gave in and now reserve a few extra rooms all next to each other on the ships and hotels. You don't mind that too much. It's basically just a vacation for the lot of you, and that's what you tell the kids it is too... at least they're more easily entertained than usual by looking out the window, which gives you chances to rest.

Ajax likes those trips too. He's usually more worked up and frustrated by the end of the day, and what better way to blow that steam off than to come back and breed your wife-pet again and again? He smiles when he tells you you should use these trips to set a new goal of making at least one kid in every nation. You know better than to think it's a joke.

When the people you're allowed to interact with and meet ask you how many children you have, you often have to pause and recall what number you're on now. Regardless, the answer always makes people's jaws drop. At least most of them know not to ask you why, since they seem to be well aware it's not a choice on your part. Sometimes people commend you for it, say something about how it must be so hard. Your eye twitches. You have no idea. Haha.

Everything happened so fast, the full weight of it all doesn't really dawn on you until one day, for seemingly no reason. Woken up in the early morning by crying, the same way you're woken up roughly 9 out of 10 mornings, groggily shuffling out of bed, tending to whatever the issue is before shuffling back to bed... you catch a glimpse of yourself in the window, the dark circles under your eyes, and for once, the rare sight of yourself not heavily swollen up. Still, your face is exhausted, the sort that sleep can't fix.

The reality of it settles in — you've been so busy with everything happening, you never really got to process how much time has passed, how deep into this life you've settled... you supposed in the back of your head, even after accepting the current reality, you kept this mentality that you'd still find a way out one day, but in that moment, you realize all too late that that will never happen. Even if you had the chance — and looking back, it occurs to you now you've had many chances to run — you could never bring yourself to abandon them... you get the sense that's part of his intention. It's just never really settled in in full until this moment.

Still, all you can do is stand there, trying to despair, but almost too numb to do so... you let out a heavy sigh and let yourself fall back into bed, pulling a blanket back over you and settling back into the warmth. Your weight falling onto the mattress makes it bounce a bit, causing your bedmate to stir, groggily moving closer to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

He murmurs something asking you if the kid is okay, you say yes, and then it moves onto asking what time it is, you say you don't know but it's definitely not time to get up just yet... on it goes, both of you with your eyes closed and words coming out groggy and mumbled. You can almost sort of enjoy the soft tenderness of the moment, if you forget a lot of what went into this life you live.

The exchange draws quiet after a moment, and you begin to drift back off to sleep, slowly breathing in and out in time with the rising and falling of the chest pressed to your back. You're just about to slip into slumber once again when you feel the arm wrapped around you move, hand coming to rest on your hip and slowly trail down your thigh.

Hey, I want another baby....

#chlde rambling while holding a human infant up like the baby lion harassing the other harbngers with the existence of his offspring #the tsritsa has had to specify that asking if anyone has anything important to share at meetings does not include personal life updates #and/or forcing coworkers to look at baby photos #also i realize its criminal that i didnt have a momcon post for mothers day but i had to get this thought out #rest assured ill be back on the momcon agenda soon #.ch

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