(Pregnancy, birth, multiples, painful birth, surprise extra baby)
I leaned against the wall as I waddled down the hallway to greet you. My massive belly swayed in front of me, constantly threatening to sway too hard and knock me over. You were just slipping your shoes off in the entrance when you saw my bare belly begin to peak around the corner.
My belly had been the first thing you see of me for the past five months. It wasn’t long after I got pregnant that we knew I was carrying more than one. The speed that it grew was much faster than it would be with only one. By three months it looked like I was already overdue. Now at full term, it felt that each day I woke up I could tell my belly had grown more.
I slowly waddled out from around the corner. I was out of breath and tired. I stopped and stood with one hand on the wall supporting me and the other was bracing my aching back. I was fully naked. My huge belly being the only thing keeping me from fully exposing myself. I had grown out of my clothes long ago my hips got too wide for any of my bottoms and my belly has destroyed most of my tops.
I looked up at you and gave you a warm “welcome home!”
You smiled and greeted me back, coming closer to place your hands on my stomach. I closed my eyes and let out a small gasp. The skin on my stomach had become very sensitive as I grew. I hummed with pleasure as your hands rubbed circles around my tight skin.
“Ugghh,” I groaned when an ache bloomed from deep inside me. My belly contorting along with it. You look up at me with concern and excitement. I look up and meet your eyes nodding yes to the question I knew you were asking. I had been having contractions all morning and at this point I was positive I was deep in to my labor.
“They’re coming,” I say with a mixture of excrement snd nervousness in my voice.
“Then let’s get you more comfortable,” you suggest and begin to lead me back down the hall.
We don’t make it more than a few steps before the ache in my belly tuned into full on pain.
“Here comes a contraction,” I grunt out. You hold me and help keep me upright as I breathe through the pain. When it ends we continue our journey. We had turned the guest room into a home birthing center. With a bed in the corner, a birthing pool in the center of the room, and plenty of supplies.
“Where would you like to go?” You ask as we enter.
“Umm, I guess the birthing pool. Taking some weight off my hips would feel so go- oouuuhhhh,” my answer turns into a wail as a contractions starts up again.
“Might be time,” I gasp between deep breathes. “Check me before I get in.”
You nod and come up behind me. You slip a few fingers in to check to see how dilated I am. I get my answer before you even open your mouth. Your shocked expression clearly telling me the first baby is right there.
“It’s already starting to enter your birth canal,” you confirm and begin to help me into the pool faster.
The babies head had slowly inches its way out for the next twenty minutes. I grab! at the sides of the pool and push. I gasp and moan but it seems like there’s no end. I was getting tired and I still had two more babies to go.
“No- noo- ohhh again! I have to puushhh!” I cried out and bore down again. The head was behind my lips causing the skin to bulge outward. You watch from the edge of the pool. With your hand in the water ready to catch the baby.
I let out a scream as the head rushes forward out of me. “The heads out!”
I don’t stop after that I push again desperate to get the rest of the baby out.
“One more push,” I grunt and push. Just as I said the baby slide out with this last push.
You pull it up from the water and place it on my chest.
“A baby girl!” I say, finally able to take a moment to catch my breath and admire the baby.
It was short lived as the pain of my next contractions began. You take our first born and placed her in a near by bassinet. This time I knew what I was doing. When you came back and say I could push, I grabbed the wall of the pool and bare down hard.
“Get OUT!” I screamed and push. It was bigger than the first. But between being more desperate to get it out and my hole stretched from the first baby, the head of the second baby was making its way down faster than the first.
“Help me up,” I whine when the head is just barely outside of my lips. “Need. Ughhh. Gravity.”
You nod and grabbed my hands. With a lot of effort on both our part we get me to my feet. I place my hands on your shoulders, bend my knees slightly, amd push hard.
“Auuuuhh,” I groan and push. The head peaking further out. “Come- uuuuu- on!”
I bear down again and again, when finally I feel it all move quickly and painfully. The head slipping from my hole. You move your hands to between my legs just in time for me to give one last push to get baby number two out.
“It’s a boy!” You cheer and hand him to me.
You help lower me and baby down to a sitting position in the pool so I can relax. For a bit we’re able to actually take breather. Baby number three taking some time to want to come out.
“Oh- take him“ I suddenly say after a bit and hand over our second child to you. “It’s time for number three.”
The weight of the third baby is much heavier than the last two. The head feels much larger too. I toss my head back and try to focus on breathing it quickly fails when breathing turns to screaming. “Ahhhh! It’s. It’s so much bigger!”
“Help me to the bed,” I urgently plea as the contraction ends.
You nod and don’t hesitate to begin to help me move. I looked down at my half deflated belly, still massive and hanging heavy on my body. It was much lighter with two of my babies but with how exhausted I was it still took a bit to get me to bed. Which meant I didn’t have enough time to get into bed before my next contraction. Resulting in me bent over gasping and pushing with my hands on the side of the bed.
“It’s coming!” I scream, pushing. “It’s going to tear me open!”
You look down and see that what I’m saying might be true. The skin is already pulled right and just the beginning of the head is out. Still my body pushes and the head stretches me further. There was no stopping it.
“It burns!!” I cry. I bury my face in the bed letting out a scream as I push against and again. When the head finally pops free. My legs barely keep holding me up as I moan and grunt through the last few pushes until the baby falls into your waiting hands.
“I did it,” I gasp. You help me to the floor and hand me our third baby.
“You did do it!” You say and kiss my forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”
“It was all worth- ah!“ I get cut off by a familiar pain running through me. I look up at you with panicked eyes. “There’s a fourth baby.”
I don’t have time to register your reaction before I’m screaming out in pain. You rush over and take the baby in my arms away. I very quickly fall to my side lift a leg up.
“It’s big!” I cry out. My eyes looking like I’m on the verge of tears. “I don’t know if I can- ah! Push another one out!”
Even though I said it I knew that I had no choice. I began to push even if I didn’t want to. The baby moved slow through my abused birth canal. Each push was long and painful and continued to give little results.
“Help,” I whine at you after the latest contraction. I’m exhausted. My body lays limp on the floor too tired to sit up.
“Let’s try on all fours,” you suggest nervously.
I reluctantly nod. We get me into the new position and it does seem to help a little. I scream and push and the head seems to move further than before. By the time I’m at a full crown, my head is resting against the floor and my abused, destroyed and bulging hole is up in the air.
“Almost… there. Just a little more and it’s out,” my screams have turned into please and whines. “One more push….”
I grunt hard and push. The head finally pops free. “Oh yes!”
I gasp and with the little energy I have left a focus it all into getting the baby out of me. It only takes one more push with everything I have to get the fourth baby out of me. You quickly catch this one just like the last three.
“You did it!” You cheer. Holding the baby out for me to see.
“I did it!” I gasp out. I let myself fall to the floor too exhausted to hold myself up. I keep looking up at you and you catch my gaze snd smile even wider at me.
Happy Sunday, bunnies! Hope y'all are having a lovely weekend so far. I just want to share a free-for-all story that hopefully y'all enjoy reading.
Status: Complete
Word count: 2,091 words
Summary: A woman gives birth in the back row of an economy cabin over international waters.
Warnings: MDNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit depictions of pregnancy, labor, and birth. Unassisted in-flight birth, graphic crowning and delivery, gushing fluids, concealed labor and birth in a public setting, a nursing infant, a husband who jerks off to his wife giving birth secretly in public. All characters and scenes are purely fictional. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
"Ma'am, can I get you anything? A pillow, some water?"
The flight attendant — young, neat ponytail, name tag that said Cara — was already reaching for the overhead compartment before Reggie could answer, and Reggie kept her face as composed as she could manage, which was getting harder by the minute.
"Water would be great, thank you," she said, and her voice only caught slightly on the last word because the contraction that had been building for the last thirty seconds chose that exact moment to crest, rolling through her lower back and down into her pelvis with a deep, grinding force that made her press her thighs together under the blanket.
Cara set the cup on the tray and moved on down the aisle without a second glance, and Reggie let out the breath she'd been holding in a long, controlled stream. "Hoo... hoo hoo... hhhh."
"How far apart now?" Dax asked from the aisle seat beside her, not looking up from his phone.
"A minute forty," she said through her teeth. "Maybe less."
He set the phone face-down on his thigh and turned to look at her then, and she knew that look. She'd known it for twenty years, had catalogued every version of it, and this particular version had nothing to do with worry.
His eyes moved from her face down to the enormous, low-hanging globe of her belly, round and gravid and pressing heavily into her lap even with her knees drawn up as far as the seat would allow, and something in his expression settled into that private, focused attention that made her want to hit him and also made her stomach flip despite everything.
"You're fine," he said.
"I know I'm fine," Reggie said. "I'm just telling you how close I am."
Three rows ahead of them, their older three were out cold in a heap of travel pillows, the eldest with her mouth open and her neck at an angle that was going to hurt later. Nobody back here was awake.
The nearest passengers were a row up on the opposite side, both wearing noise-canceling headphones, completely sealed off from the world. The back of the cabin was dim and close and, for the moment, theirs.
“I knew we shouldn’t have flown to see your mother.” Reggie said bitterly through another tightening.
Theo stirred against her side and she guided him back to her breast without thinking about it, and he latched and settled immediately, his fat fist curling against her with the total confidence of someone who had never once in his eleven months worried about anything.
"Get the leggings down," Dax said with a wry smile.
Reggie stared at him. "We are in economy, lest you forget."
"And you are about to have a baby in economy," he said so calmly, it’s getting into her nerves, "so get the leggings down and keep the blanket over your lap, and nobody is going to see anything."
She hated that he was right.
She hated it with a specific, well-worn bitterness that had been accumulating since the seventh month when he'd first floated this whole scenario as though it were perfectly reasonable, but hating it didn't change the fact that not only their fifth baby currently lodged in her pelvis had a non-negotiable opinion about its arrival but she also deep inside love this whole idea.
She worked the leggings and her underwear down her thighs in the cramped space, shifting her hips, and got them free of one ankle and bunched around the other before she pulled the blanket back over herself.
She pressed her palm between her thighs and felt the swollen, taut heat of herself, her labia already full, bulging and aching, the baby's head bearing down so far into the birth canal that even the light pressure of her own hand sent a sharp wave of sensation flooding up through her core.
"It's right there," she said, and her voice had gone very low. "Dax. The head is about to come…hoooo–hooo hooo hoooo–”
He reached over and lifted the edge of the blanket just long enough to look, and she watched his jaw tighten in a way that had nothing to do with alarm.
"Yeah," he said, and let the blanket fall back. "It is." He grabbed his own blanket and set it over his thighs, too, trying to cover is growing bulge there, too.
The next contraction didn't give her a warning.
It arrived hard and low, seizing her from the base of her spine and driving straight down with a force that shoved the baby’s fat head forward against her hand, and she crammed her face into Dax's upper arm and bit down on the sound that tore up her throat.
"MMMPHH — nnHH — oh god —hooooooooo–hooo hooo hoooo–" She ground her teeth into his sleeve, her fingers pressing desperately against her vulva, feeling the head surge against them with every pulse of the contraction. Her perineum burned, already stretching, the whole front wall of her vagina pushing outward. "HhhhNNGH — Dax, it's pushing through, I can feel it pushing —"
"Don't fight it," he said, low in her ear.
"I'm trying to slow it down, if I just —" She shifted her hips and immediately regretted it because the movement brought the baby down another fraction and the pressure from her movement and the toddler she was carrying went from enormous to total. "HHMMPHH — okay, okay —hoooo hoooo hooooooo—"
"Stop trying to slow it down, Reggie."
"There are people on this plane," she hissed, lifting her face just long enough to say it.
"Half of them are asleep and the other half have their headphones in," he said, perfectly level.
She pressed her face back into his arm and bore down because her body had already made that decision, and she felt her labia spread around the advancing head, felt the deep hot stretch of her perineum pulling taut as the baby worked through her cervix and down through the last of the birth canal with the focused, patient insistence of a fifth child who had done this before.
"HhhhNNNGGH — MMPHHH —" The sounds came out in bursts against his sleeve, each one half-swallowed, pressed into the warm bulk of his arm. Her free hand fisted into the blanket. "It's coming through, I feel it coming through —"
"I know you do," he said, and his hand came up to press against the back of her neck, heavy and unhurried. His breathing had changed, she could hear it, the way it had gone slightly uneven, and she knew exactly what that meant.
"You are such an ass," she breathed into his arm.
"Head down," he said.
She put her head down on his arm.
Her palm cupped against herself felt the shift — the teardrop shape of the head pressing outward between her folds, small and firm and wet, pushing against the stretched ring of her labia with a force that made her clitoris ache from the inside out. The skin of her perineum was pulling to its absolute limit, and amniotic fluid was already leaking steadily over her fingers and soaking into her leggings beneath her.
"HHhhNNGH — MMMPHHHH —" She pushed into the next contraction, long and grinding, and felt the head advance another fraction and hold, lodged at its widest point with her labia stretched in a burning, stinging ring around the crown. "Ohhhh — MMPHHH — it burns, it burns so much —"
"Breathe through it," Dax said.
"Hoo hoo hoo — hhh — hoo hoo —" She panted through the worst of the stretch, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes from the sheer searing heat of it, her fingers spread wide against her perineum to ease what pressure she could. Her vulva was swollen and flushed and stretched fully open around the baby's skull, the shape of the head clearly visible to her own touch, every ridge and curve of it pressing against the taut walls of her vagina as it inched forward.
Through it all, her toddler suckled and slept, milk-drunk, it seems, on her engorged breasts.
Down the aisle, Cara passed through again with a drinks trolley and Reggie felt her go past without looking up, face pressed into Dax's arm, the blanket pulled high, breathing in hard controlled bursts through her nose.
Cara paused.
"Is she alright?" she asked Dax, keeping her voice low.
"Migraine," Dax said, without missing a beat. "She gets them on long flights. She just needs to stay still and keep her eyes closed."
A brief pause, and then the trolley moved on.
Reggie would have laughed if there had been any breath left in her body to do it with, but another contraction rolled in on the heels of the last one and she pushed, hard, bearing down with everything she had left, and felt the head inch forward into a full crown — fully out, fully free, sitting heavy and wet and slick in her cupped hand with amniotic fluid running in a warm, gushing stream down her inner thighs and pooling in the leggings beneath her, catching on the hem of the blanket.
"HHNNNN — MMMPHHHH —" The sound tore out of her muffled and desperate, her whole body trembling, and she felt Dax's hand press harder against the back of her neck. "Haaaahh — haaaah — okay — okay, the head is out, Dax, the head is —"
"I know," he said. "Keep going." at this point, he looked around and brought a hand under his blanket to reach inside his sweatpants, giving his hard and leaking cock a few pumps.
She snorted at what he did but bit her lip and stroked her thumb over the wet hair plastered against the skull between her legs, feeling the baby shift and rotate under her fingers, the presenting shoulder turning into position.
She knew this feeling. She loved this feeling, even now, even here, pressed into the back row of an economy cabin thirty thousand feet over the Pacific with her husband's arm as the only thing keeping her from making a sound that would wake every sleeping passenger from here to the galley.
She genuinely, in her bones, loved this.
“Dax,” she whispered hoarsely, and he looked down on her, eyes glossed over, hand pumping himself as discreetly as he can.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Kiss me…”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned down and kissed his wife as he continued to pump himself, feeling his balls start to tighten a bit as they made out.
The next contraction built and she pushed into it, and the first shoulder eased through with a long, wet, squelching resistance that pulled a sharp, muffled cry from her throat.
"HHNN — MMPHHH — there — that's it —"
“Let me see, Reg.” He tells her and she sat back and slightly lifted the blanket just enough for him to see it.
“There you go—Mmmmpphhh—haaaaaah–hooo hooo hooo–”
One more push, shorter and decisive, and the second shoulder came free with a slick, gushing rush, and then the rest of the baby slid out into her waiting hands in a warm, wet flood of fluid and relief, trailing the last of the amniotic sac, and Reggie pulled her daughter up against her chest under the blanket and held her there, next to the nursing toddler.
Dax made a grunting sound as he came into the blanket draped over him.
“F–fuck yeah…”
Cara came back through with a stack of napkins six minutes later and stopped at their row again, looking at the blanket-covered situation with eyes that had gone rather wide.
"Oh my god," she said, keeping her voice very low. "Is that — did she just —"
"She did," Dax said, entirely unbothered.
Cara stood very still for a moment. Then she said, "I'm going to get the first aid kit and the senior attendant, and I'm going to need you to not move," and she was gone before Dax could answer.
Reggie looked at the babies on her, one toddler now milk-drunk and deeply asleep and the newborn just latching, her hair sticking to her forehead, her new daughter warm and breathing against her chest.
"You know she's going to file a report," Reggie said.
"Probably," Dax agreed.
Reggie looked down at the babies, then back up at her husband, and she laughed — short and exhausted and completely helpless, the sound muffled quickly against the top of her daughter's head.
"You are so lucky I actually love doing this," she said.
Dax's mouth curved, slow and satisfied. "I know," he said. “I can’t wait for us to do it again.”
-fin
------
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Summary: There’s more to this Ross guy than Penn is letting on, and Felix is tired of being kept in the dark. He’s been thinking it over and, with the added courage of a few beers some Mary Jane, it’s finally time to confront his father — in the car, where he can’t run away. Time to demand the truth… but the truth is so much more than he could’ve ever expected.
!!!Before You Read!!! — This writing does touch on things like unwanted pregnancy and abortion, and the word PDFile is used (as an insult). If ANY of those topics are a trigger for you, PLEASE do not read this.
Words: 2.72k
The car smells faintly of coffee, and the odorized moisturizer that Penn keeps in the glove compartment — clean, nutty, natural, familiar in a way Felix usually finds comforting.
Tonight, the aroma makes his skin crawl.
They sit in silence as Penn pulls away from the curb, headlights sweeping across the row of quiet houses and parked cars.
The radio is off. All of the windows are cracked, just enough to let in the evening air... but it does nothing to cut the tension between them. The hum of turning wheels beneath their feet fills in where the thick silence doesn't — low and steady, like it's trying to pretend nothing is wrong.
Something is wrong. Very wrong.
Felix stares out of the passenger-side window, jaw clenched so tightly it aches.
This never happens.
He doesn't get picked up. Not by his father. Not anymore. He drives himself, or one of his friends drives him, or he walks if he has to. Independence has always been the unspoken rule between them — something Penn encouraged aggressively, almost desperately. So when Felix texted "Can you come get me?" and he replied immediately, no questions asked, they both felt something in them shift.
Felix's knee bounces... once... twice... then stills when he realizes his father has noticed. He doesn't turn to look, but he can feel his eyes.
Penn's driving with both hands on the steering wheel, posture rigid, eyes flashing between his son's restless knee and the road. His grip is tight on the wheel, seized up with anticipation, but he doesn't say anything. He's good at that — waiting people out. Letting silence do the work for him.
Felix hates that tactic.
He hadn't planned to ask for the ride... not at first. But tonight, his brain just wouldn't shut off. He kept thinking, and thinking, and thinking, unable to distract himself.
Nothing helped — not the company of his buddies, or their long afternoon basketball game, or the drinks from the case of beer that they stole, or the weed they smoked behind the house. It only made his anxiety worse.
He needed answers. So, with his chest heavy and his eyes hardly open, he texted his father. His fingers hovered over the screen much longer than he cares to admit, before finally hitting send.
8:24:56 pm — Can you pick me up?
8:25:03 pm — On my way.
Felix drags a hand down his face, trying to organize the cloudy mess in his head into something sharp and usable. Had he known he'd be doing this now, he wouldn't have had those beers. Wouldn't have smoked so much.
Anger buzzes under his skin. Hot. Agitated. He counts the stoplights, concentrating hard. Three red. One yellow. Another red. Five so far.
His knee bounces... he stops it. Starts again. Stops. Time is moving slower now.
He can feel the words piling up behind his teeth.
He's rehearsed this conversation a dozen times already, but now that his father is actually here — now that he's trapped in the driver's seat, unable to deflect with chores, or paperwork, or a sudden "important call" — everything feels much worse.
Penn clears his throat. "You okay?" he asks, carefully casual, as if he doesn't already know the answer.
Felix laughs, short and humorless — an involuntary outburst. "No." He answers.
His father tightens his grip on the steering wheel — leather crunching, knuckles pure white — but doesn't look over. "You wanna tell me why?"
"Don't wanna talk."
He holds his tongue. He isn't ready.
They go through a few more lights... and then, he finally starts.
"So," he says finally, his voice cutting through the quiet like broken glass. "You gonna tell me what the hell is going on, or am I supposed to keep pretending I don't notice?"
Penn's eyes flick briefly toward him, then back to the road. "Notice what?"
"Don't do that. Don't play dumb."
He stares straight ahead, as though his neck is suddenly paralyzed.
The glow of streetlights streak across the windshield in quick pulses. Green. Yellow. Red.
He thinks of the couch at home. Of the blond stranger who's been squatting there for days, like he belongs. Of the way his father had said, "Oh—this is Ross," like it was nothing. Like he was just a passing guest.
Penn exhales slowly. "Felix—"
"No," he cuts in, turning fully toward him now. "You don't get to "Felix" me. Not right now."
The car slows slightly as Penn approaches a red light. His jaw tightens. He keeps his gaze forward.
"I'm trying to figure out how to say what I wanna say," Felix continues. His voice is low, controlled in the way that means it's about to explode. "Because if I don't do it right, I'm gonna lose my shit."
"Okay," Penn says carefully. "Then tell me what you've... noticed."
Felix's hands curl into fists in his lap. His heart pounds — the adrenaline of finally saying the thing he's been choking on for days pumping through his veins like diesel.
"Who the fuck is Ross?"
Penn's shoulders stiffen. "Felix—"
"Why is he always at the house?" He presses. "Why is he sleeping on our couch? Why do I come home and suddenly there's this... guy... drinking coffee out of our mugs? Putting his lips on our cups? Kicking his feet up like he owns the place?"
The light turns green. Penn drives on.
"He's a friend," He answers.
"Bullshit."
The word slips out before Felix can stop it. He doesn't take it back.
"Don't lie to me. Don't dodge the fucking question."
Penn's grip tightens on the wheel. "Watch your language."
He can smell the alcohol on his son's breath, even from the other side of the car. The skunky stench of weed clings to his skin... to his clothes. This angry person — whatever it is — is not his son... not right now, at least... but he's trapped with it. They're in the car, where Penn can't send it up to Felix's room to calm down, or tell it to go outside and get some fresh air, or feed it until it shuts up. There's nothing he can do.
"Stop dodging!" Felix yells, refusing to correct himself. "Every time I come home, he's there. This random guy... on our couch. You introduce him so nonchalantly... like he's a new neighbor, or a coworker of yours, or something... and suddenly he's there all the time? He eats our food? He uses our bathrooms? He knows where shit is? He comes and goes whenever he wants? Bullshit!"
Penn repeats himself. "Son! Watch your language!" He raises his voice, but there's no real force behind his words.
He can't argue with him right now, in his current state. He can only wait it out. Drive.
"No!" Felix barks. "You watch your behavior. You don't just... bring people around like that. You never have. You barely let anyone into your space. You barely let me bring people over."
Penn says nothing.
"I thought maybe he was someone you were helping," Felix continues, momentum building now that he's started. "Like... some hopeless student of yours, or something like that. Some charity case you were giving a place to stay for the night. Thought you brought him around to scare me into getting my shit together... since you're always pressuring me to start a career or go to college. That would at least make sense." He presses on, words spilling faster now. "But... he's here, like, every day. That's not a charity case. That's—"
Finally, he stops himself, swallowing hard. "That's something else."
Silence stretches again, thicker now, charged.
His chest feels tight. His thoughts spiral, ugly and insistent.
"When I actually thought about it... it didn't add up." He continues, letting the words pour out as they come to him. "You don't get that involved that fast. You don't just... help people. Not like that."
"Felix—"
"You... You call one of your therapist buddies. You get them to work it out. They do the all the resource stuff. You don't just... let someone crash on the couch... unless it means something."
Ross isn't just some random guy — he put that together days ago. There's no way he is.
But... Ross is young. Too young. Close enough in age to Felix that it makes his stomach turn.
"Jesus," he mutters, finally connecting the dots that he'd been trying to scribble around. "You're fucking him! Aren't you?"
His father doesn't deny it.
"Dad! He's basically my age!"
Penn finally looks at him then... just for a second. There's something in his eyes Felix doesn't recognize — fear, maybe. Or resignation.
"That's not fair," he says quietly. Guilty.
"Isn't it?" Felix fires back. "He's like—what—a year or two older than me? That's fucking gross."
"He's twenty-two." He confirms, as if a three-year gap makes it better.
"Dad. You're a pedophile."
The word hangs in the air between them. Harsh. Ugly. Hurled at Penn with all of the intention in the world.
His heart sinks... and, before he can process it, he acts, pulling the car over on the side of a busy main road.
He doesn't jerk the wheel sharply. Not angrily. Just enough to get out of the right lane, and come to a complete stop in the gravel.
He puts the vehicle in park and turns fully toward Felix.
"Enough," he says, voice firm but controlled. "I'm not... that. And you... you don't need to talk about Ross like he's some kind of... some kind of vagrant."
Felix scoffs. "Why? Because you're sleeping with him?"
The accusation lands heavy — just as heavy as the first time.
Penn closes his eyes.
That's answer enough.
Felix's stomach drops, even as his anger flares hotter. "Oh my god," he breathes. "You actually are."
He can feel himself coming down from the high... the weight of it all quickly sobering him up. Now his body feels anxious in a different way — the confirmation of something horrible kickstarting his nervous system.
Penn opens his eyes again. There's no avoiding it. The truth is written all over his face.
"Yes," he admits, as though he's sat before a judge. "I am."
Felix laughs again, louder this time. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I'm... I'm not."
He shakes his head bitterly. "How long?"
Penn hesitates.
"Dad. How. Long."
"...About a year."
Felix stares at him.
A year.
That's 365 days of lies. 365 days of omission... of Ross slowly weaving himself into the edges of his life, without him ever being given a say.
"You're his professor," he says suddenly, not even questioning the possibility. The realization slams into his mind like a speeding truck. "Jesus Christ, Dad—he's your student too!"
Penn flinches. "Was," he corrects. "He's not in my class anymore. Not in college anymore."
"That doesn't make it better!"
"I know," he snaps, the cracks in his composure finally showing. He scrubs a hand through his curls, breath unsteady. "I know it doesn't."
Felix's anger falters, just slightly, at the sound of his father's voice.
He rarely raises his voice that way — never sounds so... defeated. Cornered. Like he's screaming for his life.
It's been a long, long time since Felix last heard him sound this helpless... but it earns him no sympathy. This is all his doing.
"So what," he says, quieter now but no less intense. "You just—what? Thought you'd keep him hidden forever?"
"No," Penn answers. "I just... didn't know how to introduce you. I thought... I thought it would end. It should've ended."
Felix's brow furrows. "So what? This is just... what? A phase? A midlife crisis? You screwing a guy young enough to be your son because you're lonely?"
"I don't know. I just—this wasn't supposed to be permanent."
"Then why is he still around?"
Penn's hands tremble slightly where they rest on his thighs. He notices the shaking, curling them into fists as he tries to steady himself.
"Ross is... pregnant." He answers with shaky breath. "I... I can't get rid of him."
Pregnant?
The word doesn't make any sense at first. Doesn't sound like English at all. Gibberish.
"Pregnant," Felix repeats, like it's his first time ever hearing it.
"Yes. Pregnant."
"With—" He stops, bile rising in his throat. "With your kid?"
Penn nods.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
"I... I didn't plan this," he says, voice cracking now.
"No shit!" Felix snaps. "You really fucked up, didn't you. This is insane!"
Penn's eyes begin to fill with tears — all of the emotions that he'd been trying to repress bubbling up inside of him. The guilt. The shame. The anger. All of it comes up in a split-second.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, face crumbling into his hands.
"I know," he says hoarsely. "I know it is."
Felix watches his father — really watches him — and, for the first time in a long time, he sees a different man. Someone who's older. Smaller, somehow. Weaker... broken down.
The anger in his chest tangles with something unfamiliar and deeply uncomfortable — a feeling that he can't identify just yet.
"You can't just—" he starts, then stops, struggling. "You can't just... keep the—" he pauses, refusing to call the thing in Ross's stomach a baby. "You can't... start over."
Penn looks up sharply. "I... I am. I have to."
"No. You... have time to fix it? Don't you?"
"There's nothing to fix."
"Can't he just... get an abortion?"
Penn tenses at the mention of that word. It's just not an option... and, coming from his son's mouth, the mere suggestion of it feels like an electric shock.
"No." He answers — short and certain.
"Why not?" Felix demands, his tone sharpening once again. "You don't want that thing. Do you? And there's no way he does. I mean, you guys can easily solve this."
"We've already talked about it." Penn tells him. "I talked him out of it."
Felix recoils. "You what?"
"He didn't want to do it. Not really. He was scared. I just... helped him see things more clearly, without the fear."
Felix laughs, incredulous. "Jesus Christ."
"I know it's not ideal... but we're having this baby. Whether you agree with it or not."
"So what? That's it? You convinced him to keep the kid and everyone 's just supposed to adjust?"
"Yes."
"That's bullshit," Felix yells. "I'm not rearranging my whole life because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants."
"You will if you want to keep a roof over your head," Penn replies. "We're all going to adjust."
Felix looks away, jaw clenched. "So you've already decided everything. Without me. You were just gonna... spring it on me. When? When he finally got too big to hide?"
"No. I was going to tell you. Eventually. When it felt... right." Penn wipes his eyes, sitting up straight again, as though he has the footing to take a moral stand. "I've decided to take responsibility. For my mistakes. For my choices."
"Funny how your "taking responsibility" fucks with everyone else's lives."
"That's enough," Penn says sharply.
Felix glares at him. "You fucked your student, probably pressured him into dropping out, got him pregnant, and manipulated him into keeping it. That's so fucked. And you know it. So why am I supposed to just be okay with this?"
"You don't have to be okay with it," Penn says, not even trying to soften the narrative. "But it is happening."
It's happening. The words settle between them like a final verdict.
Felix slumps back against his seat, giving up the fight."So he's moving in," he says flatly.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Soon."
He nods once, staring out of the window again. "Cool," he mutters bitterly. "Great."
Penn watches him, just for a moment, hoping that this is all just a bad dream — that this sudden blowup didn't actually happen, and the smell of booze and weed will fade away, and Felix will turn and smile at him, and he'll open his eyes, and everything will be fine. If he just holds out, maybe it'll all disappear... but it doesn't. This is real life.
He turns the key in the ignition again, and pulls the car back onto the main road.
A warrior/gladiator so skilled with his sword that the blade itself, out of fear of him becoming too powerful a force, cursed him — its wielder — to keep his dominance in check. For every man that he slaughters — every life that he takes using his cursed blade — he’s made to birth a replacement.
Kill another foe… that’s another baby in the tank, nine more months of swelling, and yet another hindrance on his prowess in combat.
While having numerous kills is what makes a great fighter, it also makes for a massive belly… and a massive belly makes fighting a much more difficult task. The warrior/gladiator has been pregnant — curse unbroken — for many, many years now… and is responsible for the births of over half the empire’s population of young warriors-in-training. Hundreds of strong offspring, owing their lives to those of the Great Warrior’s fallen enemies.
Often, he’s pregnant with seven or eight babies at a time, all piled on top of one another inside of his cramped womb… and yet, he still fights with the power of the gods behind every swing of his blade.
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