Can you write a gachiakuta version of being pregnant with his baby just for it to come out looking like it’s dad
── ❨ ⸝⸝ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑. ❩ carrying his child just for the baby to look just like him and to also have his personality
ೀ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 - fluff, pregnancy life, time skips, mentions of morning sickness and labor, zanka aged up (21+), maybe bad grammar.
ೀ 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 - enjin┆ tamsy┆zanka┆ corvus┆august┆gris┆ follo┆zodyl┆jabber
you were sitting on the couch, your hands resting on your big, round belly, feeling little kicks every now and then.
enjin had been hovering around you all day, making sure you were comfortable, bringing you snacks, and talking to your baby like it could understand him already.
“hey, little one,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “i hope you get your dad’s energy, not just his stubbornness.” you laughed, feeling a warm flutter in your stomach.
the day finally came, and after hours of pushing and lots of tears and encouragement from enjin, you finally held your baby in your arms.
you expected maybe a mix of features—something new, something from you—but when you looked down, your heart nearly stopped.
the tiny face staring up at you had enjin’s sharp eyes, his messy hair pattern, even that little smirk forming at the corner of his lips. “oh no…” you whispered, half laughing, half crying. “it’s literally him.”
enjin peeked over your shoulder and froze. then he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck.
“uh… wow,” he said, his voice soft. “yeah… yeah, it’s definitely me. look at those eyes…” he leaned down and kissed the top of the baby’s head, and you felt a mix of panic and amusement bubble inside you. the baby kicked, and enjin’s grin widened.
“i think we’re in trouble,” he said, laughing quietly. “trouble i kinda love.”
you couldn’t help but laugh too, rocking the baby gently. it was strange and a little wild to see this tiny version of enjin in your arms, but somehow it made your heart feel full.
every little yawn and stretch felt like a tiny echo of him.
“welcome to the world,” you whispered, “you look just like your dad… maybe too much.” enjin squeezed your hand, eyes soft, and said, “i’ll take that as a compliment.”
the three of you stayed like that for hours, just looking at the little face that somehow managed to be both yours and his, knowing that no matter how much the baby looked like enjin, it was going to have its own story too.
days passed, and you were starting to notice just how much your baby really acted like enjin.
every little yawn came with that same smirk at the corner of the lips, and whenever you tried to rock them to sleep, they’d wiggle stubbornly just like enjin would.
you and enjin exchanged knowing looks more times than you could count, both trying not to laugh in front of the baby.
one afternoon, you were sitting on the floor, the baby lying on a soft blanket, reaching for your fingers.
enjin leaned down, whispering, “watch this.” he tickled the baby’s side gently, and instead of crying, the baby giggled, that mischievous laugh that was exactly enjin.
you couldn’t stop laughing, covering your mouth as enjin’s grin spread. “oh no,” you said, shaking your head. “it’s literally you. this isn’t even fair.”
enjin picked the baby up carefully and held them close. “hey little one,” he whispered, voice soft. “don’t worry, we’ll teach you some good things too.. but can’t make any promises about the trouble.” the baby yawned, stretched like enjin always did after a long day, and let out a tiny, satisfied sigh.
you felt your heart swell. this little person was part of you, part of him, and somehow already full of his personality.
that night, you watched enjin rock the baby to sleep, humming softly.
you rested your head against his shoulder and whispered, “you know, you’re going to be in so much trouble when they grow up… just like you.” he laughed quietly, brushing your hair back.
“yeah,” he said, “but i think i’m going to love every second of it.” the baby stirred a little, yawned again, and you both laughed softly.
throughout the months, tamsy was always around, just making sure you were okay.
sometimes it was quiet—he’d sit across the room listening to music while you napped, or brush your hair out of your face without a word—but other times, he couldn’t help himself and fussed over every little thing.
“you need more water,” he’d say, frowning when you tried to protest. “i know what your body needs, don’t argue with me.” you laughed, shaking your head, but secretly loved how careful he was.
morning sickness had been rough, and tamsy was there for almost every moment.
he learned which smells made you gag, which foods you could tolerate, and which positions helped you sleep better.
sometimes he was quiet, just holding your hand, other times he was teasing, “oh, look at you, your belly’s getting huge… are you carrying a tiny dictator or something?” you rolled your eyes but smiled, feeling comforted by his presence.
as your belly grew bigger, he started talking to the baby more. he’d lean down and whisper, “hey, don’t make me look bad stay calm, don’t kick me too hard yet.” and sometimes you’d catch him gently tapping your belly, waiting for a response.
and almost always, the baby would kick back like it was answering him, which made tamsy’s smile soft and a little nervous. he wasn’t used to feeling this tender.
when the day finally came, you were exhausted but relieved to meet your son.
the moment he was placed in your arms, you noticed the hair first—blond on top like his, with navy blue underneath that peeked through like a secret.
your heart skipped. “oh my god,” you whispered, staring at the little tuft. tamsy, hovering nearby, froze for a second, then laughed quietly, covering his mouth. “that’s… that’s definitely ours,” he said softly, voice thick with emotion.
your baby boy blinked up at you both, tiny hands curled, and let out a small yawn. already, he had a little smirk forming on his lips—like he knew something no one else did.
tamsy reached out slowly, brushing a finger against the baby’s cheek. “hey, kid… you’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured, almost to himself.
the baby kicked a little, and you felt a warm glow spread through your chest. it was strange, unreal even, but perfect.
that night, you watched tamsy carefully cradle your son, adjusting the blankets around him.
“he’s… he’s perfect,” he said softly, almost in disbelief. the little boy yawned again, curling into tamsy’s chest. “yeah,” you whispered, holding his hand, “and he’s all ours… even if he’s going to give you a run for your money when he grows up.”
tamsy chuckled, eyes soft, and kissed the top of your head. “let him try i’ll teach him everything i know, and then some.”
during your pregnancy, zanka was… well, zanka.
he tried to act calm, collected, and totally unfazed, but you knew better.
every time you complained about being tired or uncomfortable, he’d huff and mutter under his breath, “you need to rest more,” while secretly fussing over little things—pillows, blankets, water, snacks.
he didn’t always say much, but his presence was constant, always over you in a way that was protective without being obvious.
he had his habits even before the baby arrived.
every night, he made sure your schedule was organized, jotting notes about doctor appointments, meal times, and even when the baby might kick the most.
“you’re sleeping too late again,” he’d comment, peering over your shoulder, “and you’ll regret it when he’s born.” you would laugh, rolling your eyes, but there was comfort in knowing he cared enough to notice the small stuff.
zanka also had this thing where he’d mimic your baby’s kicks on your belly, talking to them like they were already listening. “see that?” he’d say, tapping gently where the baby had just moved.
“that’s you learning discipline… good.” sometimes you’d catch him smiling softly, a rare break from his usual serious expression. it made your heart warm—he might act stoic, but he was already utterly captivated.
when the baby boy finally arrived, you were too tired to think straight, but the first thing you noticed was how he already mirrored zanka’s habits.
tiny fingers curled around yours like he was testing control, a faint scowl forming even in sleep, and the way he yawned was exactly how zanka did—slow, deliberate, like he was sizing up the world.
his hair was dark like zanka’s, but with that little twist—dark grey streaks on top that caught the light just right. you gasped softly, whispering, “he’s… literally like you.”
zanka hovered close, pretending to be casual, but you saw the way his eyes softened.
“he’s… precise,” he said, almost in awe, “already following instructions without knowing it.”
the baby stirred and did it again—a tiny, deliberate stretch and a tiny grunt—already showing the same stubborn, calculated habits. you laughed quietly, and zanka’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “i think… i might have a little rival,” he murmured, almost proud.
over the next days, zanka started noticing more and more little habits.
the baby would fix his tiny blanket just so, kick when annoyed, and even squint in judgment at things that weren’t right—classic zanka.
you’d watch him, both amused and slightly worried, while zanka whispered to the baby, “don’t let anyone tell you otherwise… discipline comes first.”
the tiny boy yawned again, tiny fists curling like he was already plotting his next move, and you knew this was going to be a long, hilarious, and adorable with the little version of zanka already making his presence known.
the moment you held your baby girl, you couldn’t stop staring.
she had dark hair, like corvus and tiny, determined eyes that already seemed to study everything around her.
her little hands clenched into fists, and she had this tiny scowl that made her look… serious. already, she had corvus’s habits—the way she carefully scanned her surroundings, the way she reacted to sounds with thoughtful attention.
corvus stood beside you, hands in his pockets at first, but you could see him softening as he watched her.
“she’s… focused,” he said quietly, almost to himself. you laughed, rocking the baby gently. “focused, huh? sounds like she got your personality.” the baby stirred, stretched her tiny arms with a little huff, and settled again, already showing her own stubborn personality.
corvus reached out slowly, brushing a finger along her cheek. “she’s… going to keep us in check,” he murmured, a hint of amusement breaking through his usual calm.
a few weeks after she was born, you noticed little things that made you laugh quietly while corvus stayed stone-faced.
baby corvus would tilt her tiny head to the side whenever she saw something new, staring with a concentrated frown like she was analyzing it.
you nudged corvus and whispered, “she’s doing your thing.” he glanced down, eyes softening just a little, and muttered, “she’s… cute.”
she had this tiny habit of folding her hands the way corvus always did when thinking—like she was already trying to plan something important.
sometimes she’d let out a little huff if her blanket wasn’t arranged just right, and corvus would instinctively reach over to fix it, whispering, “patience… everything has its order.” you chuckled, watching the exchange, knowing this little girl was already his mini him in the most serious, perfect way.
and then there were the yawns.
corvus had a very specific way of stretching and yawning—slow, deliberate, like he was letting the world know he was in charge.
one morning, you watched baby corvus stretch her tiny arms and let out a long, careful yawn, staring around the room with the same measured gaze.
you couldn’t hold back your laugh this time. corvus, standing beside you, just nodded slowly, a hint of pride in his eyes. “good… she’s learning well,” he said quietly.
she also had little judgmental expressions already. if someone tried to pick her up awkwardly, she’d squint and pout ever so slightly.
corvus would glance down at her, half-smiling now, and whisper, “i see you understand the rules already.” you couldn’t stop laughing softly. “rules?” you asked. “she’s not even a month old.” corvus just shrugged, eyes still on his daughter. “rules apply at any age.”
throughout your pregnancy, august was all energy and excitement, even when you were exhausted.
he never let you feel alone—he’d talk to the baby from the start, humming silly little songs, making funny faces at your belly, and sometimes bouncing in place like a kid himself.
“come on, little one,” he’d say, grinning. “show me that you’re ready to come in the world,” you couldn’t help but laugh, even when the morning sickness or the swelling made you feel miserable.
his energy was contagious, and somehow it made everything lighter.
he had this habit of celebrating every tiny kick or movement. “yes! that’s my girl!” he’d yell, clapping his hands.
sometimes you’d hide your face in his shoulder, giggling, while he exaggerated the excitement and ran around the room, talking to your belly like it was the most important thing in the world.
“you’re gonna be jolly like me, huh?” he’d whisper, his eyes sparkling. “i like it already.”
when the day finally came, it was loud, chaotic, and… excited.
august was by your side the whole time, holding your hand, cracking jokes, and cheering you on like you were winning a prize at this point.
you were exhausted, sweaty, and crying, but when the nurse placed your baby girl in your arms, everything changed.
the baby had august’s bright blonde hair, messy and shining, and the moment she opened her tiny mouth, a strong, passionate little cry rang out. she didn’t just cry—she announced herself to the world like she was already leading the charge.
august’s jaw dropped, and then he laughed so loudly you thought the walls would shake.
“oh wow,” he said, his voice full of awe. “look at her! she’s… she’s perfect—and loud already!” the baby stretched and kicked, letting out another tiny, cry.
tears streaming down your face, while august leaned over and kissed the top of her blonde head. “that’s my girl,” he said proudly. “passionate from the start.”
over the next days, it became clear just how much she got her personality from him.
she giggled loudly at everything, wriggled and kicked like she wanted the whole world to notice her, and even made funny little noises that sounded almost like she was trying to talk over august’s booming voice.
you watched him with a soft smile as he danced around the nursery, laughing along with her.
“look at her go!” he shouted, full of pride, while the baby clapped her tiny hands in excitement, matching his energy perfectly.
throughout your pregnancy, gris was quiet, gentle, and careful—always aware of your needs even if he didn’t say much.
he had this way of noticing tiny things, like when you shifted uncomfortably or when you were too tired to move, and he’d be there with a soft hand on your shoulder or a warm drink.
sometimes he’d hum quietly, almost like he was talking to the baby before it was even born. “hey… little one,” he’d murmur, voice soft and steady. “you’re safe in here.”
he had a habit of observing, too, just like you noticed he did with everything else. he’d study your face, your movements, the way you breathed, and gently mirror them back to the baby through soft touches and whispered encouragements.
when the baby kicked, he would smile softly, brushing your hair back. “that’s it… keep moving, little one,” he’d say. there was a quiet pride in his eyes, the kind that made you feel calm even in the middle of all the chaos.
when the day came, gris stayed close, he was calm and collected, holding your hand, murmuring encouragements in his soft, low voice.
the moment your baby girl was placed in your arms, you couldn’t help but notice her tiny features and the way she already seemed alert and observant.
she had soft blonde hair, and curious blue eyes that seemed to study everything around her.
gris leaned down, brushing the baby’s cheek gently. “she’s… she’s cute,” he said quietly, voice full of awe. the baby yawned softly, then reached out her tiny hands, grasping his finger with surprising strength for someone so small.
you laughed quietly, amazed, while gris smiled, a rare soft smile that reached his eyes. “she’s strong… careful, but strong,” he whispered, as if he was reading her like a secret map.
over the next few days, she observed things carefully, watched faces, studied movements, and responded with gentle expressions instead of loud noises.
she had little routines—like curling up in your arms just so, or resting her head at a particular angle, mirroring how gris always adjusted himself in quiet comfort.
every small action felt like a reflection of him, and you couldn’t help but smile watching them together.
one evening, you watched gris softly hum a lullaby while the baby rested in his arms, her tiny fingers clutching his hand, eyes half-closed but alert.
you whispered, “she’s exactly like you…” and gris nodded quietly. “and that’s… perfect,” he said, resting his forehead lightly against hers. she stirred, yawned, and snuggled closer.
when your baby boy was born, it was like looking at a tiny version of follo.
he had follo’s black hair, dark and shiny, and those same striking golden eyes that seemed to look around with curiosity and warmth.
he didn’t cry loudly—just a soft little sound, like he was quietly testing it before fully speaking to it.
follo leaned close, brushing his finger against the baby’s hand. “hello there,” he whispered, and the baby blinked up at him, calm and trusting from the very start.
as he became a toddler, the resemblance was uncanny.
not only did he look exactly like follo—black hair perfectly messy, golden eyes sparkling—but his personality mirrored his father’s demeanor.
he would toddle over to anyone with a bright, friendly smile and greet them softly, waving and saying small “hi”s that immediately put people in awe.
if someone dropped a toy, he would carefully pick it up and hand it back with both hands, just like follo would.
at the park, he had a natural way of connecting with other kids. when someone cried or got frustrated, he would waddle over with concern, patting their arm gently or offering his toy.
follo would watch quietly from a distance, pride softening his usual calm expression. “he’s already better than me,” he whispered with a small smile. you laughed, nudging him. “he learned it all from you.”
even his manners were nice. “thank you,” “please,” and “sorry” came out in tiny, careful words that surprised everyone around him.
when someone new entered the room, he would look up at them with his golden eyes and give a gentle, friendly smile, instantly putting them at ease—just like follo did.
one quiet evening, you watched follo kneel to your son’s level after he helped tidy up his toys.
“you did a good job,” follo said softly, and your toddler puffed his chest proudly but still answered in his sweet, polite voice, “thank you, daddy.” follo’s eyes softened, full of warmth and pride, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell.
if you shifted uncomfortably, if your back hurt, if you were too tired to reach something—and jabber would silently adjust things for you.
sometimes he’d mutter under his breath, “that’s not safe,” or “you should rest,” and even if his tone was flat, there was care in every word.
he also had little things he would developed with the baby before birth.
he would gently tap or rub your belly in certain spots, almost like he was teaching the baby to stay disciplined, or whisper instructions softly, “stay calm… it’s almost time.”
and somehow, the baby always responded with little kicks or movements that seemed deliberate, almost like he was already learning from zodyl’s quiet intensity.
when the day came, zodyl stayed close, composed but alert, holding your hand and giving firm, steady encouragements as you pushed through the labor.
the moment your baby boy was placed in your arms, you both froze for a second.
he had zodyl’s features—sharp, serious eyes, dark hair like his, and even that same small frown that made him look thoughtful even in newborn form.
his tiny hands clenched automatically, and his gaze scanned the room like he was assessing it carefully.
zodyl leaned down slowly, brushing the baby’s cheek with a rare soft gesture. “he’s… focused,” he said quietly, a small crease forming in his brow.
the baby yawned and stretched deliberately, he’s already serious and alert in the way only zodyl could be.
you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “he’s… just like you,” you whispered. zodyl’s lips twitched into a rare, faint smile. “exactly,” he murmured.
over the weeks, it became obvious how much the baby reminded yourself of zodyl.
when he was hungry or uncomfortable, he would grunt deliberately, stare at things intently, and react to every small sound with careful observation.
even as a newborn, he had little habits—like curling his hands in a certain way, or tilting his head to study things, mirroring zodyl’s thoughtful, serious nature.
one day, you watched zodyl quietly cradle the baby, murmuring instructions and gentle reminders, as if he were already teaching him about the world.
the baby’s small eyes met his, seriousness, and for a moment it was like watching a reflection of zodyl himself in miniature.
you whispered, “he’s perfect,” and zodyl nodded slowly. “perfect… but serious. just like he should be.”
when the time came, everything was intense. jabber paced, shouted weird jokes, and cheered as you pushed through labor.
and when your baby boy finally arrived… um well. he had jabber’s sharp features — brown hair, red eyes that seemed awake and alert right away.
and strangely he didn’t let out a quiet cry.
jabber just stared in disbelief for a second, jaw dropped, then he burst into that wide, wild grin he always wore when talking about a fight. “that’s it.. that’s my boy,” he laughed loudly, almost shouting over the baby’s first cries.
as the weeks went on, it was obvious your baby was already picking up jabber’s energy.
he wasn’t quiet — every tiny sound he made was intense and expressive. when other toddlers cried or got scared, he’d approach them with curiosity and boldness, almost like he enjoyed it.
sometimes he’d squeal sharply, more like a cry than a baby coo, especially when jabber picked him up and spun him around.
he also had that unique way of looking at things— like focused, sharp-eyed, and way too ready for anything.
even as he grows into a toddler, he’d stare at loud noises, bright lights, or fast things like they were challenges — and he liked it.
people would comment on how expressive his face was, how intense his tiny gaze could be, and how he seemed too excited about everything instead of scared or shy.
jabber carried him around proudly, talking to him in his energetic, booming voice. “you gotta be strong, kid,” he’d say with that crazy grin.
and your son just responded with big eyes and loud squeals, like he agreed with every dramatic emotion his dad ever had.
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