nana @bluekidneys - Tumblr Blog

Feb 10

sailornymph-deactivated20260502

Hello there! I was wondering if you can write a fic with orochimaru with an innocent reader and they have a baby?? If not I totally understand! Love your work! <3

tainted; orochimaru x reader

synopsis — orochimaru was feared by many, which is why team taka, along with many of his loyal followers didn’t understand how he ended up with someone who was the complete opposite of him

content warning — yandere undertones, pregnancy, being his experiment, clear favoritism

a/n — aww thanks, it is a pleasure writing for you all :)

the halls of the hideout are always cold. the kind of cold that sinks beneath your skin and stays there, even when you breathe in warmth or light a candle or press your palms against your own belly. you’re five—maybe six—months along now. you’ve been counting by moonlight.

“she’s always with him,” karin says from where she leans against the wall, chewing on the end of a pocky stick.

“but who is she?” sasuke’s voice is low. new, sharper than when he first arrived. he’s only been here a few days, but he’s already noticed you — soft steps, gentle hums, hair always pinned up with those dull little flower clips.

“you’ll see,” suigetsu shrugs, sipping from a canteen like he’s bored. “they’re always together around this time. he checks on her or something.”

sasuke narrows his eyes. he doesn’t like being left in the dark.

the sliding door opens and there you are.

your back is to them, but sasuke still notices everything. the way orochimaru’s hand grazes your lower back as he guides you into the room, the way your head tips just slightly to the side when you laugh—soft, unsure, like you’re not quite used to doing it. he notices the baby bump beneath your robes. the soft flutter of fabric that hides your stomach when you turn.

“there she is,” suigetsu murmurs, grin curling. “orochimaru’s favorite experiment.”

“shut up,” karin hisses. “she’s not like that.” sasuke watches. his mouth is a line.

in the room beyond the doorway, orochimaru helps you sit on the elevated cot. his voice is calm, the same one he uses when explaining chakra flow or forbidden jutsu—but it’s…different, with you.

“…tell me if anything feels unusual,” he says. “i’ll be gentle.”

“you always are, lord orochimaru,” you murmur. your voice is light, like sugar. you’re not from here. the dialect is different.

he hums, placing two gloved fingers over your pulse. “your heartbeat is fast.”

“because you’re touching me.” he lifts a brow, amused.

“then you’ll have to be brave.”

his hand rests over your stomach next, ungloved now—something he never does for anyone else. the skin-on-skin contact makes you shiver. not because it’s cold, but because it’s him. the man who saved you. the man who brought you here. the only one left who says your name softly, like it means something.

“…she’s kicking,” you whisper. “she kicks when you talk.”

“she?” he echoes, tone curious.

“i don’t know for sure. but i hope it’s a girl.”

his hand pauses. then it slides higher, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “you’ll make a kind mother. soft enough not to ruin her. strong enough to raise her alone.”

“…but i won’t be alone,” you say. it’s not a question. it’s hope.

his golden eyes flick to yours. “no,” he agrees. “you won’t.” sasuke is still watching. silent. unreadable and for the first time in days, he speaks.

“who is she?” his voice cuts across the hallway, sharp as a kunai.

orochimaru doesn’t even look back. “curious, sasuke?”

“i didn’t realize there were civilians here.”

“she’s not a civilian.” now orochimaru turns, slowly, like a snake basking in the attention. “she’s mine.” you blink.

“i belong to myself,” you say, softly. but your fingers are tangled in orochimaru’s sleeve.

“…of course,” he murmurs, lips curving faintly. “but you’re safe here, because of me.” sasuke’s gaze lingers. he doesn’t speak again, but he doesn’t stop looking either.

not even when you tilt your head and smile gently at him. not even when orochimaru steps just slightly in front of you, voice dark with a warning only sasuke can hear.

“careful,” he says. “she startles easily.”

the room smells faintly of lavender, only because kabuto insisted it would help you relax. orochimaru had barely tolerated the suggestion, but when you entered the room and smiled—that soft little smile you only gave when something reminded you of home—he had said nothing more. you sit up on the medical cot, legs folded to the side, your fingertips resting against the curve of your belly.

“she’s been moving more lately,” you say quietly. “mostly when i’m lying down. sometimes it feels like… little bubbles. sometimes like wings.” his fingers press gently into the side of your abdomen. not hard. not clinical. just…precise.

“ligament stretching,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on the swell beneath your robes. “her movements are stronger now. your body is accommodating her.”

you blush faintly. “do you think she can hear us?”

“the inner ear is developed enough around this time.” he glances up at you. “she may not understand, but she can feel.”

his hand stills. you feel his thumb lightly trace a line just beneath your navel. you think it might be absentminded. but it lingers too long to be meaningless.

“your health is stable. your blood pressure’s even. no signs of premature contraction.” he tilts his head, voice lower now. “you’ve been walking less.” you look down.

“i didn’t want to get in anyone’s way. everyone here seems busy.”

“you never get in my way.”

your head lifts. “you’re always working too, lord orochimaru…”

“but when it concerns you,” he murmurs, gloved hand now slipping off, “it’s not work.” you don’t know what to say to that. your cheeks burn, so you look away, running your hand gently along your belly in silence.

“…when i first came here, i thought you might be cruel.” his eyes narrow slightly—not angry, but intrigued.

“why?”

“everyone said you were. that you experimented on people. hurt them.” you pause. your gaze softens.

“but you’ve never hurt me.”

he doesn’t answer immediately. instead, he retrieves a small stethoscope, cold metal tapping against your collarbone as he slides it beneath your robe. it rests against your chest. his gaze remains fixed on the hollow of your throat.

“and if i had?” he asks, softly.

you meet his eyes. “i would’ve run away.”

“…would you?”

you nod. but something about his voice makes your stomach twist—not in fear. something else. something you don’t want to name.

“and yet you’re still here,” he says. “you don’t ask to leave. you don’t question what i do.”

“because you’ve given me safety.”

his voice dips lower. “or obedience.”

you blink. “i don’t think so.”

he studies your expression. then he smiles—but not the smile others see. this one is faint. human. real.

“you’re not like the others,” he says.

“…is that good?”

“it’s dangerous,” he answers, voice a whisper. “because it makes me want to keep you close.” your heart skips.

he leans forward, fingers brushing the edge of your wrist where your pulse flutters. it’s not quite romantic. not quite clinical either. somewhere in between.

“when you give birth,” he murmurs, “you’ll be in pain. it won’t be easy. but you’ll survive.”

“…because of you?”

“because i’ll make sure of it.” after the examination, the room stays quiet.

you’re still sitting on the cot, robe pulled loosely back over your shoulders, legs drawn up like a child curling into warmth. orochimaru is writing something in your chart with that sharp, elegant pen of his, the scratching sound the only thing breaking the silence.

but you aren’t looking at him. your hand rests on your belly again, thumb tracing the faintest outline of your navel, the way you always do when you’re nervous. the thought’s been there for weeks now. you’ve tried to forget it. but you can’t.

“…can i ask you something?”

he doesn’t look up. “you just did.”

you frown. “a real question.”

now he glances at you, pale eyes patient but unreadable. “then ask.”

you swallow hard.

“what happened to my village?” his pen stops.

for a moment, neither of you speak.

you feel your stomach turn—not the baby, but something colder. heavier.

“kabuto said they were gone when he found me. that he pulled me out of the ruins. but i remember the sky was red. i remember smoke. i remember hearing people scream before i blacked out.” you glance up.

“was it an accident? a war? i’ve never asked because i thought maybe… maybe it would hurt more to know.” his silence stretches.

“but now i’m going to be a mother,” you say quietly. “and i can’t protect her if i don’t understand what happened to me.”

orochimaru finally closes the folder. his gaze meets yours, and this time it doesn’t look clinical or detached. it looks ancient. tired.

“…it was not an accident,” he says, your heart sinks.

“then what was it?”

“a decision.” you blink.

“whose?” he doesn’t answer.

you stare at him. “lord orochimaru—”

“i made it,” he says, voice flat now. “i ordered it.” your breath catches.

“you…?”

“i saw you,” he murmurs. “you were by a well. drawing water. i’d only stopped in the village for a moment. i wasn’t supposed to linger. but i saw you. and i knew.”

“knew… what?” his golden eyes narrow faintly, but there’s something almost mournful beneath the gleam.

“that i would not forget you.” you’re quiet.

your hands curl in your lap.

“you destroyed everything… because of me?”

“because of what you stirred in me.” he stands now, slow, deliberate. “desire is a dangerous thing. especially when it comes from someone like me.” you should feel angry. horrified, but all you feel is hollow.

“…you took me,” you whisper. “and made it look like a rescue.”

“you would’ve died otherwise.”

“i might’ve rather.”

“no,” he says sharply, crossing the space to kneel beside you. “you say that now, but it is not true.”

his hand rises, brushing your knee. the contact startles you, not because it’s cold—but because it’s tender. unbearably so.

“i’ve kept you safe,” he murmurs. “fed you. sheltered you. studied you. and now you carry something no other has ever given me.”

your hand touches your belly.

“our child.” he nods once.

you whisper, “i don’t know how to feel.”

he doesn’t push you. but he does stand again, voice like silk stretched over steel.

“feel whatever you wish,” he says. “hate me. love me. just stay.”

your voice is small. “why?”

his back is to you, but his answer is quiet.

“because when she is born… i want the first thing she sees to be someone beautiful.”

sasuke notices you the second day he arrives. you aren’t hard to miss — young, soft-spoken, with wide eyes and a hand always resting on the swell of your belly. you don’t wear a headband. you aren’t a kunoichi. and yet you glide through the halls of the hideout like you belong, as if the shadows themselves part for you.

what’s worse is the way orochimaru looks at you. not just with ownership. not just with control. with something softer.

sasuke doesn’t say anything at first. he doesn’t like asking questions. but it sits in the pit of his stomach like rot, and finally, one day at breakfast, when karin is pouring herself tea, he breaks the silence.

“who is she?”

karin blinks. “who?”

“the girl with the baby.”

suigetsu snorts into his cup. “oh, her? that’s orochimaru’s little experiment.”

“experiment?” sasuke’s voice is flat, but his brow twitches.

“you know how he is,” suigetsu smirks. “likes to mix his obsessions. science, immortality, hot women.”

jūgo, who rarely speaks, glances up and says simply, “he protects her.”

“more than us,” karin adds bitterly, adjusting her glasses. “you should see the way he watches her. like she’s some kind of treasure. sasuke narrows his eyes.

“she doesn’t act like a prisoner.”

“she’s not,” suigetsu shrugs. “i mean… she’s not not one. but she doesn’t seem to know it.” sasuke turns away, jaw tightening.

later that evening, he catches sight of you again. you’re in the corridor outside the library, giggling softly. your hand is in orochimaru’s, your head tilted up as he murmurs something only you can hear. his other hand rests against the small of your back, dangerously familiar.

and sasuke sees something he wasn’t expecting —you’re smiling, genuinely. a warmth spreads beneath his ribs, sharp and acidic. not because he cares. not because he’s jealous. because it doesn’t make sense.

he’s seen what orochimaru does to people. what he did to kimimaro. what he did to him. and yet here you are, cradled in the belly of the beast, and all he can think is—how long until you realize what he really is?

how long until he breaks you?

you can’t sleep. it’s not unusual, not lately. between the baby pressing into your lungs and the quiet fear that claws at your chest when the corridors fall silent, rest feels more like a privilege than a promise.

the hideout hums with faint chakra barriers and echoing pipes. you know it well now — the flickering lights, the cold floors, the eerie way the walls seem to breathe with you. but tonight it feels heavier. sharper. like something is coming.

you shift on the futon, your hands sliding to your bump. the baby stirs, a slow roll beneath your skin. you smile faintly, but the warmth doesn’t last. you keep hearing his voice.

“…you’re the reason that place burned.” kabuto had said it was a rescue.

he said orochimaru sent him to save you. but if you think back hard enough — if you let your mind touch the edges of what you’ve buried — the fire started the same day you saw that pale man in the treetops, eyes slitted like a serpent’s, watching you.

watching you, not the village, you rub your eyes. maybe it’s nothing. maybe it’s everything. then comes the knock. not loud, not sharp — just a soft tap, deliberate and measured.

“…you’re awake,” orochimaru’s voice slips in before you even answer.

you don’t flinch. you never do with him.

“…couldn’t sleep,” you whisper, smoothing your gown. “the baby’s been moving more.”

he steps into the room with no hesitation, closing the door behind him. for once, he’s not wearing his full cloak — just loose robes, undone at the throat, his hair damp at the tips like he’s just come from a bath. you’re not used to seeing him this way. soft. undone. he walks over, kneels beside you without asking.

“…may i?” he gestures to your stomach, you nod.

his hand is warm — surprisingly so — as it presses to your bump. the baby kicks beneath his palm, and a rare smile pulls at his lips. not cruel. not calculated.

“…strong,” he murmurs. “you’ll give me something strong.”

“is that all i am to you?” you ask it before you can stop yourself, voice cracking just slightly. “an experiment?” he’s quiet.

his fingers move slowly, tracing the outline of your belly.

“…you were never just that,” he says, almost too softly. “not to me. you swallow.

“…why me?” you ask, voice tight. “you could’ve had anyone. someone stronger. someone trained. someone who knew what you were.” he tilts his head.

“…do you want the truth?” you nod.

“…because you were beautiful,” he says without blinking. “the kind of beauty that draws blood. the kind of beauty men burn cities for.” your breath catches.

“and because you were soft,” he adds. “and soft things should be protected. even if they don’t know it.”

“…did you burn it?” you whisper.

he doesn’t answer, you look down.

“…i thought you saved me.”

“i did.”

“but you sent the fire, too. didn’t you?” he exhales.

“it was never personal.”

you feel something tighten in your chest. grief. confusion. betrayal, maybe.

“i should hate you,” you say softly.

“you don’t.”

“…i know.” there’s silence.

then he shifts closer, his forehead pressing gently to the top of your bump, both hands resting on either side of your belly.

“…you’re mine now,” he says, more to the baby than to you. “and i don’t let go of what’s mine.” your heart stutters, but you don’t move.

because despite everything — the truth, the darkness, the weight of all that’s been taken — his touch is careful. reverent. almost human and you’re so, so tired of being alone.

“…stay,” you whisper.

he lifts his head.

“…just for a little while,” you add quickly, cheeks flushing. he doesn’t answer.

but he does lie down beside you, one arm beneath your neck, the other resting gently across your belly. his eyes close.

you lie awake beside him for a long time, listening to his breath, feeling the weight of his presence like a tide. you don’t understand him. you don’t think you ever will.

but for now, you feel safe.

you’re alone in the garden behind the hideout. it’s one of the only places with natural light — small, hidden, barely tamed. the soil here is dark and damp, and though no flowers grow wild, orochimaru had kabuto plant a few for you. they’re simple things. violets. a sprig of lavender. an odd crooked tulip that refuses to die.

your fingers are caked in dirt as you press your palm to the ground. the baby kicks once, then stills. you hum softly under your breath, a lullaby from a village that no longer exists.

and then you feel it. chakra. cool and sharp, like the edge of a blade. you don’t turn. not yet.

“…you’re always watching me,” you say gently.

sasuke steps into view a moment later, arms crossed.

“…you’re always with him,” he replies.

you glance up, brushing your hands off on your skirt.

“i live here,” you smile. “i’d hope that’s allowed.”

“why don’t you run?” you blink. he doesn’t look angry. just… unsettled.

“you’re kind,” he says. “you’re not a fighter. you talk to everyone like they matter. even suigetsu. even me.” you tilt your head.

“…is that so bad?”

“you don’t belong here.” you look down at your stomach, then back at him.

“but i do, don’t i?” he says nothing.

“…i know who he is,” you say softly. “i know he’s done awful things.”

“you don’t know,” he snaps before he can stop himself. “he destroys things. he uses people. he’s… he’s—”

“i know,” you interrupt gently. “i know about the fire. i know what kabuto really is. i know what you’re afraid of.” he falls silent.

you stand slowly, placing a hand on your belly.

“…you think i’m trapped,” you say. “you think i’m some sweet little victim too scared to run.”

“aren’t you?” he mutters as you look him in the eye.

“no.”

“why not?” you smile — not wide, not smug, but real. calm.

“because i love him.” he stiffens.

“and i know what love like this looks like,” you continue. “it’s not kind. it’s not pretty. but it’s real. and he’s never lied about who he is.”

“you don’t owe him anything.”

“but i want to give him everything.”

your voice trembles, but not with fear. with joy. anticipation.

“this baby — our baby — is the first thing i’ve ever had that’s truly mine. i wake up every morning and feel it growing, feel him getting more careful when he touches me. he asks me how i feel now. he feeds me better. he tries.” you touch your stomach again.

“…he doesn’t know how to be good. not yet. but he’s learning. and that’s more than most people ever do.” sasuke’s brow furrows.

“…what if he changes his mind?” you shake your head.

“he won’t.”

“how do you know?”

“because he already changed everything else.” sasuke looks at you for a long time and finally, he steps back.

“…you’re strange.”

“so are you,” you smile.

he turns, cloak swaying behind him, and vanishes down the path without another word.

you exhale softly and turn back to the garden, placing both hands over your belly. from the shadow of the wall, you feel a familiar chakra. warm. curious.

“…you heard all that?” you murmur.

orochimaru steps out without a sound, arms loose at his sides, a strange look in his eyes.

“i did.” you wait.

he walks over slowly, stopping just short of you. his fingers ghost your cheek, brushing a smudge of soil away.

“…you still want this?” he asks quietly. “even after knowing everything?”

you look up at him — at the pale skin, the yellow eyes, the voice that could command nightmares — and feel nothing but calm.

“more than anything,” you whisper.

he doesn’t smile. but he presses a hand to your stomach again. the baby kicks. and this time — for the first time — he leans down, kisses the spot gently, and says:

“then let’s raise him together.”

you close your eyes, leaning into his warmth, into the strange, terrifying comfort of a man the world would never understand.

but you do. and that’s enough.

the baby is quiet. that’s the first thing sasuke notices. no wailing, no squirming, no sharp burst of chakra flaring in newborn protest. just soft coos, rhythmic breaths, and the faintest hint of sound as you hum to him — low, melodic, off-key in a way that feels heartbreakingly maternal.

you’re cradling him near the window of your room, bathed in weak morning light. your hair is tied messily, circles under your eyes, and yet you look… peaceful. not exhausted. not trapped. just in love.

sasuke doesn’t step closer. he watches from the trees, silent, hidden, like he always does when his conscience flares. the child isn’t swaddled in anything extravagant — just simple cloth, stitched by hand. your handiwork, probably.

you lean your head down and whisper something into your son’s tiny ear, he doesn’t hear it. but he watches the way orochimaru enters the room seconds later. slow. cautious. like he’s learned to ask for permission without using words.

he moves to you, brushes your shoulder with two fingers. you don’t flinch. don’t recoil, instead you smile. sasuke sees the faintest twitch of something human flicker in the corners of orochimaru’s mouth.

“…i wanted a daughter,” you laugh softly, tilting the baby’s head so he can see. “but i guess the world needed a boy this time.”

orochimaru crouches beside you, hand moving to the child’s head, he doesn’t say much. but he presses his forehead to your shoulder, just briefly. and sasuke, hidden in the shade of the trees, realizes something strange.

he’s not sure if this is evil anymore.

maybe wrong. maybe twisted.

but not loveless.

not fake.

you lean your head against orochimaru’s, closing your eyes. the baby stirs, and both of you move without thinking — you adjusting the blanket, him cupping the back of the child’s head like it’s glass.

sasuke exhales, leaving without a sound.

because for the first time, he’s not sure if you need saving.

maybe you never did.

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