Happy Birthday to @bigguscheesius!!! Here's part 1 of your birthday fic! I took Guzma's part of my "Labor and Delivery" fic and adjusted the reader fit her OC, Calypso (though it's still told in second-person).
CW: Dealings with hemorrhaging and trauma from childbirth, mentions of abuse and domestic violence
If anyone is interested, here's Cheesy's profile on her (I love her, and I love Caluzma ^_^)
💬 4 🔁 3 ❤️ 11 · Calypso (Caly): · babygirl + whump alert. I will put her through anything and everything.
Calypso is distant and indepe
The sterile hum of the L&D ward in Alola's biggest hospital was a far cry from the riot of color and noise outside, but inside your room it was all tense, focused quiet and the staccato beep of the fetal monitor. You gripped the handrail of the bed, jaw clenched against the pain, refusing to cry out as another contraction rolled over you—hot and sharp and relentless. You'd been through worse. You'd handled worse. You'd handled Guzma, hadn't you?
But Hala was there anyway, his huge, warm hand enfolding yours, thumb stroking slow circles into your skin—solid, grounding, his presence as steady as the islands themselves. You hadn't asked him to come. You hadn't asked anyone. But they'd shown up regardless, and some part of you—the part you'd never admit to—was grateful.
Hau sat on the window ledge, fidgeting with nervous energy, his usually bright smile tinged with worry. Molayne, all quiet curiosity and gentle reassurance, lingered at the monitors, utterly fascinated by the steady pulse of your baby's heartbeat. And Olivia, radiant and a little awkward in her high heels, sat at your other side, close but not touching—she'd learned quickly that you weren't the type for unsolicited affection.
But the one person you'd actually wanted there wasn't there. Not that you were surprised. You'd learned a long time ago not to expect people to stick around.
The contractions were coming faster now, each one a wave that left you gasping, knuckles white on the bedrail. Hala pressed his large, warm hand to your back, voice soft in your ear. "Deep breaths now. You're doing well. That's it—let it pass." He pressed a cool cloth to your brow, his other hand bracing your back, and though his bulk was intimidating, every movement radiated gentleness.
"Where is Guzma, anyway?" Olivia asked, half teasing, half genuinely concerned. "Bit late for cold feet, don't you think?"
Molayne, still fiddling with the fetal monitor, answered, "We sent him a message, but—well, he's not here yet."
Olivia made a face, arms crossing. "Typical. Honestly, after everything you've told us—"
"Drop it, Liv," Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but you didn't apologize. You never did. "He'll show or he won't. I'm not holding my breath."
Hala spoke up, gentle but firm. "How are things between you two? Truly? I know he's been… struggling, lately."
You managed a dry laugh, but it twisted, pain and something sharper threading through it. "Struggling is one word for it." You shifted against the pillows, your teal eyes—surgically altered years ago, a gift to yourself—flickering toward the window. "As the due date got closer, he got distant. Started saying he'd mess up, that he'd just end up like his old man. I told him that was bullshit, but you know Guzma. Once he gets something in his head…" You trailed off, jaw tightening. "Then he started picking fights. Saying things. Nothing I haven't heard before." The memory of those words—sharp, ugly, hurled in frustration—stung more than any contraction. "He missed my last few appointments. That's why I asked you to come with me instead. Figured it was better than going alone."
Olivia reached for your hand, then hesitated. You grabbed hers instead—briefly, a quick squeeze—before letting go. "I'm fine," you said, preempting whatever comfort she was about to offer. "I don't need him. I don't need anyone."
You'd spent your whole life being alone. It was easier that way—leave before you're left, disappear before they realize they prefer your absence. But the baby… the baby was different. It wasn't something you'd chosen, or even wanted. Hell, last you thought, you couldn't even get pregnant, being sterile and all that. But here you were, ready to pop, about to bring another life into the world, even if Guzma couldn't get his shit together.
"I thought we were ready," you said, voice flat. "Guzma seemed more open to the idea once it sank in, but maybe I misread the situation. Maybe keeping it was a mistake." You blinked back the sting in your eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. "But it's too late for that now. This baby's coming whether we're ready or not. And I'll keep them, no matter what he decides."
Hau's face hardened with rare seriousness. "Hey, don't say that. Even if Guzma flakes, you have us. Me, Hala, Olivia, Molayne—even Nanu, if you need him. We're your family too. That baby's got more aunties and uncles than they'll know what to do with."
You blinked, something catching in your throat. You swallowed it down. "Yeah," you said quietly. "Okay."
The door swung open and the doctor swept in, checking your dilation with brisk, practiced hands. "Almost there," she murmured, prepping the room, drawing out trays, readying the bed. The room was a flurry of movement—nurses prepping, Olivia and Molayne gathering their things to give you space.
Then, the door banged open and in stomped Plumeria, her wild hair a riot of pink and yellow, her face set in lines of annoyance. She was pushing Guzma ahead of her, his hands jammed in his pockets, looking like a delinquent hauled into the principal's office.
“Sorry we’re late,” she said.
The doctor blinked. "And you are…?"
Plumeria jerked her thumb at Guzma, voice dry as desert sand. "He's the dad. I'm the aunty. She shoved Guzma forward, her glare daring him to move another inch without saying what he needed to say. "Well? Got something for her, 'big man?'"
Guzma shot her a glare, then shuffled his feet, hands jammed into his pockets. When his eyes landed on you—sweat-soaked, tired, and guarded—they softened slightly, all the bravado leaking out. You saw the war in his eyes: fear and regret, shame and hope. You'd seen that look before. You'd seen it right before things got bad the first time.
Plumeria elbowed him, hard. "C'mon, Guz. Say it."
He snapped at her, "Fuck, back off, Plume—" but then his attention locked back onto you, the fight draining from his shoulders. "Look…Caly, I been a real piece of shit. Worse than that. I got scared—scared I'd mess up, scared I'd be like him. You know how my old man was. I don't wanna mess this up, mess you up, or the kid, and I started thinkin' I'd ruin everything. So I bailed, and I took it out on you, and you didn't deserve none of it. I'm sorry, alright? I wanna do better. For you. For the kid. I'm here now. And I ain't runnin' no more."
You stared at him, your expression unreadable. You'd heard apologies before. You'd heard promises. And you'd learned, the hard way, that words were cheap. But there was something in his face—something raw and terrified and real—that made you pause.
"We'll see," you said, your voice cool but not unkind. "You're here now. That's a start."
Olivia's eyes narrowed, but Hala smiled, pride shining through the lines of worry on his face. "That's all we can ask, son."
Your heart twisted, but before you could say anything else, a sharp, deep contraction tore through you, ripping a cry from your throat despite your best efforts. The doctor checked you again, her eyes lighting up. "We're ready. Let's have a baby."
The others slipped out—Olivia squeezing your hand, Hau giving you a thumbs up, Molayne murmuring encouragement. Plumeria stayed, settling at your opposite side, damp cloth in hand, dabbing your brow.
Hala squeezed Guzma's shoulder, gently guiding him to your side. "Take my place. She needs you." With Hala and Guzma's help, you rolled to your side, with Guzma holding your leg up. But as the doctor counted you through your first push, he blanched, beads of sweat popping on his brow.
Plumeria scoffed, "Don't you dare faint, Guz."
"Shut up. Big Bad Guzma ain't a pussy."
Hala clucked his tongue at the language, but said nothing.
Guzma tried valiantly to hold your leg steady, but when the baby's head started to crown, color drained from his face. He swayed, eyes wide. "Oh, man, I'm gonna—"
"We got a fainter here!" the doctor called out, amused.
A nurse gently took him by the shoulders and steered him to the couch as Plumeria snorted, "Thought you said you weren’t a pussy..."
Hala took over, steady as a mountain, his hands strong and sure. "I gotcha. You don't need to worry about me. Been there for all of my kids and grandkids."
Plumeria stroked your hair, her hand cool and sure. "Almost there, girl. Show 'em what you're made of."
You pushed, groaning, riding each wave of pain, the world narrowing to the blur of faces, the heat, the bright lights, Hala's encouragement, Plumeria's steady grip. Guzma, from the couch, offered hoarse words of support—"You got this, babe. You're tough. Tougher'n me, that's for sure. Show 'em whose boss!"
The room narrowed to a blur of voices and bright lights, the world shrinking to the burning point of your body striving to bring your son into the world. And then, in a rush, it was over—the doctor catching your son, holding him up, the air filling with his first wail. Hala gently lowered your leg and helped you roll onto your back, and the doctor placed your baby on your chest, slick and perfect and so, so small.
"Would the father like to cut the cord?" the doctor asked, brightly.
Guzma blinked, bewildered. "Cut the what now?"
Plumeria rolled her eyes, marching over to haul him up. "Cut the cord, stupid. It's tradition."
Guzma looked like he might faint again. "Uh, maybe I'll just… look at him instead," he mumbled, drifting to your side, wide-eyed and awestruck. Plumeria did the honors, snipping the cord with a practiced flourish.
Guzma leaned in, studying his son, his voice soft and rough with something like wonder. "He's so small," he murmured, almost to himself. "I mean—I knew he'd be small, but…" He reached out, hesitant, and brushed a fingertip against the baby's tiny fist. "We made this—I mean, you made him. You grew him. Inside you. That's…that's insane."
You stared down at the baby—your son—taking in the scrunched-up face, the downy hair (which looked faintly lavender), the way his miniature fingers curled and uncurled against your skin. It didn't feel real. None of it felt real. You'd never wanted this. Had never pictured yourself here, in this bed, with a baby on your chest and Guzma hovering at your side like he was afraid you'd both disappear.
But he was here. And he was yours. And you understood, with a cold, clear certainty, that you were responsible for him now. This tiny, helpless thing that you'd made, that had come out of your body, was going to need you for everything. Food. Shelter. Protection. You'd spent your whole life looking out for yourself, and now there was someone else. Someone who didn't have a choice.
"Yeah," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "Guess I'm a mom now. Weird."
Guzma snorted, but his eyes were still fixed on the baby. "Yeah. Weird." He paused, then added, quieter, "You sure you're okay with this? I know you never…I mean, you said you didn't want…"
"I didn't." You cut him off, but your tone wasn't harsh. Just honest. "I never wanted kids. Thought I couldn't have them. And then this happened, and I had to figure it out." You looked down at your son, at the way his tiny chest rose and fell, and something fierce and protective settled in your bones. Not maternal, exactly—more like the feeling you got before a battle. The knowledge that something was yours to defend. "But he's here now. And he's mine. Ours. So I'll figure it out."
The afterbirth was delivered. And as the doctor was checking to make sure it was fully intact, you felt a wave of dizziness, a wrongness spreading through you. "Guz…" you said, breath becoming shallow, "Guzma, I need you to take the baby."
Guzma's eyes sharpened, panic flickering across his face. "What's wrong?"
“You need to take him,” you pressed the baby into his arms. "Take him—please—" The world tilted, spots blurring your vision.
Plumeria's voice cut through the haze, sharp and worried. "Hala, that's a lot of blood. Is that… normal?"
Hala's face tightened. "No, it isn't. She's hemorrhaging."
The doctor's voice was tight. "I can't stop the bleeding. Nurse! Get help—now!" Alarms blared, and more medical staff flooded the room. Guzma was swept to the edge, his arms clumsy and stiff around the now-wailing baby, Plumeria pale beside him. Hala went to herd her out out but paused, noticing Guzma frozen, white-knuckled, your son wailing in his arms.
"Guzma!" Hala called out, trying to snap the new father out of it.
But Guzma stood frozen, horror etching every line of his face. The memories slammed into him—every argument, every cruel word, every time he'd shoved or slapped or thrown something, the fear that he'd lose you before he'd even gotten the chance to truly do right by you or your son. His hands shook, the baby's cries rising in pitch.
Hala strode over to the younger man. "Guzma!" he barked, sharp enough to pierce his spiral. "Look at me, son." He took the baby, cradling the tiny boy against his huge chest, speaking low and steady as chaos churned in the background.
Guzma's voice cracked, raw and desperate. "I can't lose her, man. Not after what I've done, what I've said. I told her I wouldn't run anymore—"
"Listen to me, Guzma. This isn't your fault," Hala said, voice low and steady, grounding Guzma as he teetered on the edge. "Complications happen, but it doesn't mean it's your fault."
Tears streaked Guzma's cheeks, his breathing ragged as he watched the medical team work. "Hala, if she—if she dies, I got nothin'. I can't do this, man. Not alone. I don't know how. I can't do this without her, Hala. I was such a fuckin' idiot."
Hala shifted the baby and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to do it without her. And you don't have to do it alone. You got us, son—all of us. It takes a village, you know that." He shifted Guzma's son in his arms, and gently began to bounce him, soothing him. "Remember planting those berry saplings in my garden? How you worried they wouldn't take root, that you'd mess it up? Sure, some of them got messed up. But you still got your hands dirty and cared for them. Those saplings grew strong, didn't they? And you didn't do it alone, did you? Well, this boy—your son—he's your sapling now. And we'll help you raise him, all of us."
Guzma's breathing slowed as Hala continued. "You're scared. I get it. But your love, and your strength, and your stubbornness—that's what that boy needs. And your girl…she's strong. She's a fighter. Tougher than you, I'd wager. I got faith in her, and in you." He continued to bounce your son, who was starting to settle.
The medical staff worked, voices urgent but focused. You hovered on the edge of consciousness, the world reduced to the sound of the medical staff around you and the steady drone of machines. Then—at last—a note of triumph in the doctor's voice. "There! The bleeding's stopped. Get the transfusion ready, just in case, but she's stable."
Guzma's knees buckled, relief tearing through him so fierce he nearly wept. The doctor crossed to him, her mask lowered, her eyes soft. "She's going to be alright, sir. And, congratulations—you're a father."
Hala beamed, gently passing Guzma his son. Guzma clutched the baby, staring down at his tiny, perfect face, and then looked at you, pale but alive, your teal eyes fluttering open as you drifted back toward him. He leaned over, pressing a trembling kiss to your forehead, his voice a rough, fervent promise.
"I'm here, babe. I'm gonna do right by you. By both of you. I swear it."
You looked up at him, exhaustion pulling at every limb. The baby was warm against your chest, Guzma was close enough to touch, and for once, you didn't push him away. But your voice, when you spoke, was steel wrapped in velvet.
"You better," you murmured, your teal eyes locking onto his. "Because if you ever pull that shit again—the shoving, the slapping, the throwing things—I'm gone. For good this time. I'll take our son and disappear, and you'll never find us. No more chances. No apologies. I'm not going through that again, and I'm sure as hell not letting our son grow up around it."
Guzma held your gaze, something raw and terrified flickering behind his eyes. He didn't look away. Didn't make excuses.
"I know," he said, voice rough but steady. "I know, and I ain't gonna give you a reason. I swear it. On everything—on him." He glanced down at the baby, then back at you. "I'm done being that guy. I'm done."
My OCs!! Hope yall like them! If you have questions please ask!! There will be more coming in a 2nd post for the rest later!! You can request stuff for these bitches now. They're all kinda yanderes....
Scroll down to see all the characters.
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Aeris Liora
She/Her Lesbian Trans fem
She's the dark princess. She hides, normally, people don't see her out in the open. Many think it was because of her "change", (this is supposed to sound transphobic because that's in the eyes of the public) thinking that her parents are embarrassed of her.
How wrong they are. In fact both parents love their daughter, they've always wanted one. And because of that, they are more than willing to give her anything she desires. So when she begs for helps with her sex change, they are at her beck and call... When she sees a cute maid she likes, they're there.
You, a lowly servant, see her in her private gardens. At first, she's angry, afraid, scared. She starts following you, keeping tabs on you. She want to know everything about you.
When she decides to make you her royal servant. Essentially binding herself to you, she takes great steps to make you love her. Over time she finds herself begging her parents to make you her princess/partner.
Now you're in a hellscape that is her love. It can be salty, sweet, warm and loving, hard and scary. It can be so much and so little. Just remember she loves you.
Aesthetic board below
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Calypso
He/She/They Genderfluid Pansexual Asexual
They're from a world much unlike ours. She first meets you when you(a farm hand) find her asleep in some hay. He's scared when he first wakes up and so he's not all too comfortable being around you at first.
He understands some of your language. Giving him books helps him understand harder and more broken up words. It also helps them trust you more. They're a fast learner, much faster than anyone else you've seen. She helps out on the farm and adores the cows and horses the most.
You've learned he's able to change their hair length and body features. So some days there's titties, other days there's peck, some days it's just smooth skin.
After a month or two of being around you she starts getting "nicer". She finds herself watching you sleep, finds herself more and more interested in you. Until one day they mate you.
By that I mean they mark your arm. Giving you a marking that symbolizes their love for you. They're obsession starts there. They need you around them, and the few people that come by your farm...
They dont make it out.
Aesthetic board below
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Keir Vesper
She/Her Lesbian Cis
She works in the mafia. Working for a very well know gang in the city, she knows many. You two met when she was out getting coffee with her boys. She tried flirting with you, but you ran away, uncomfortable. She didn't understand why and kept trying to flirt with you.
Couple weeks pass and she's there every single day. She buys the sam things and always gives extra tip. When she asks you out(on a day off) you accept. She takes you to a beautiful, lavish restaurant, you loved it and she starts taking you out more and more. You didn't know how deep her ties to the mafia were. Ehen you notice the little things she always has an excuse, always.
She isn't kind, no, she's a bitch. A hot, smug, traumatized, bitch. She adores watching and being around you, while she is scary and would hurt you.(not hard) She also spoils you, keeping you with her at all times. When you learns how deep her ties are, she kidnaps you. It's scary at first, but she's not a bad lover. She's more scared of you hating her then you'd think.
While you cant leave her, she does care and love you. Even if her love is rough and scary...
Aesthetic board below
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Camilla and Cassius Malache
She/Her Bisexual Cis He/Him Bisexual Cis
The two of them are a package deal. Sugar parents, technically. You want one? You got the other. They're at the top of a crime syndicate, a gang, the mafia, what you want to call it. They're billionaires, and they think spending money on you is worth it.
You work for them at one of they're companies. It's just a front for a drug cartel, but about 70% of the people working there don't know that. They've had their eyes on your for a while. Finally they take you as their new assistant, and that's when you starts seeing the truth.
They don't hide it. If they want you, they need you to know and understand their world. They take you out, buy you things, do what you want. They will remind you what they are though. Not only your bosses, but your lovers. They're both gentle and rough, soft and sweet, but scary and dark too. They live to see you smile.
She will buy you lingerie and cute clothes. She adores making you wear things, wether you want to or not. She'll take you for dinner, and have you as dessert.
He takes you out to more interactive places. Wherever you want to go, he'll take you. Although, I'd watch my mouth if I were you. Slip ups are not tolerated.
They could do so much damage to your life. Just remember that before you go and kiss them goodnight.
And jumping on the band wagon of outfit references for my babe, Calypso. I had to do formal cause i love that shit but she looks like an ice skater which i think she hates LMAO
and i HAD to do a dethfashion fit cause.... why wouldnt u. she definitely reuses it in a music video, cause that shit was worth a lot of money...
