#reader x cloud

[demialwrites]

FF7 x Reader Mpreg HCs

Because I need to write this.🤰 But you don't need to read this🤡

Cloud

Annoyed. Grumpy. Doesn't appreciate all the extra attention, even though it's positive

Would prefer to chill alone and think deeply about what kind of parent he'd want to be and all the places he'd want his child to see

His friends have to drag him out of the house because he ended up brooding inside for too long

You bicker a bit at first because you can't keep your hands off him and his growing stomach but he likes space. You end up compromising on using a stethoscope to listen to the baby

Rude

Surprisingly chill. Content, even. Talks even less than usual.

He always wanted at least one child and he blushes occasionally thinking about taking care of his little one

There's a few instances of clumsiness if he tries to train while showing but he gets used to it pretty quickly

Reno is extra protective

Constantly cooking his own cravings. He even gets up in the middle of the night to cook something you could easily make or buy if he asked, making him pretend to be huffy when you scold him but he secretly enjoys the fussing

Reno

A bit annoyed because anything that gets in the way of him doing his job well is, well, annoying

To everyone's surprise, he becomes less reckless but doesn't give up the tendency entirely

If any opponent goes for his stomach, they're dead. No questions asked

Demands you touch his stomach at least once a day. He's proud of himself

Chatters endlessly about it to those subordinate to him, to the point where everyone dreads getting assigned to him in the field

Tseng

Takes being pregnant like a champ, at first

It's a real hassle getting him to slow down, to the point where everyone has to outright refuse to spar with him (and secretly start completing his paperwork) later on in the pregnancy

Has a mini-crisis when he can't do his job fulltime anymore because he struggles when he's not feeling useful

Repeatedly informs you that you will do the bulk of the childrearing because he intends to return to work immediately (changes his mind completely after laying eyes on the baby)

Vincent

Not annoyed like Cloud but mopey. Behaves as if his life experiences will translate into a possible curse he will pass on to his child

He can try to mope inside the coffin but the lid doesn't fit flush near the end of the pregnancy. It's adorable but you must not giggle; it will make him pouty

When not moping, he's the exact opposite. Serious™️. Must make up for what happened with Sephiroth

You pray the hormones will chill him out somehow. Many discussions, lots of reassurance that things won't be as bad as he assumes they'll be

Rufus

Alternates between pissy (how dare this happen to me? Why can't you do this?!) and proud (well, of course, my child will be better than all of you peasants) before adapting quite well. In fact, he uses the pregnancy as an excuse to shut down bickering during board meetings whenever possible

Becomes a bit of a paranoid shut in. It's because he feels more vulnerable but he readily admit to it

You wake up to Darkstar on the bed in between you because he wants to protect

Becomes a terror about his cravings and it may lead to actual arguments if he doesn't get what he wants immediately

Also informs you that he will go right back to work but does not change his mind

Reeve

Poor man suffers from excessive nausea and struggles to gain the proper amount of weight

You have to work together with his department employees to make sure he eats enough. He hardly notices because he's still absorbed in his work

The best baby shower gift is a Cait Sith plushie, maybe one you knit/crocheted yourself. The hormones make him feel so touched that he weeps

[ghostlydaydreamer]

Reader x Cloud Strife

Scenario: Approaching you while you pound back drinks at the bar.

You don't notice him lingering in the doorway to the backroom of the quaint little bar you've found. It's late, most of the patrons have already left, but you're just getting started. The fourth shot didn't burn as much as the others, which bodes well for your evening. The bartender readies your fifth with a bemused smile. As soon as it's placed in front of you, he makes his move.

He steps out of the shadows with assured grace and orders "his usual", which turns out to be a whiskey served with a playful smile.

He's beautiful. Golden blond spikes that frame his delicate features and baby blue eyes that seemed to glow in the dim lighting. He was lean, but muscular. Like he could take care of himself.

To you, he says "You planning on drinking yourself into a coma, or just killing time?"

You're silent for a moment. Conversation was welcome — especially with him — but you hadn't anticipated any smart remarks or bold comments. Disguising your surprise, you down the next shot before responding with a crooked smile, "I've had worse ideas."

The alcohol is doing its job. The taste is dulling and there's a numbness to your limbs.

He watches you. Not intensely— steadily. Like he's measuring your words over the rim of his glass. You give him space to draw his conclusions about you, bringing the shot glass back to your lips to capture the last stubborn drops clinging to the bottom.

"Yeah," he eventually mumbles, eyes cast down toward his sweating glass. "I guess we all have."

This makes your lips tick up; a kindred soul. You decide to take it easier with the drinks and order yourself a rum and coke, just to do something with your hands.

He shifts, forearms resting on the edge of the bar. There's no immediate follow-up, and you fall into a silence that feels companionable.

Then, much to your delight, he speaks again. Softly, but not without weight.

"You tryin' to forget something, or prove something?"

You buy time to weigh how vulnerable you're willing to get by sipping your drink. He's cute, and you're drunk enough to be a little foolish, but you're not going to bare your heart without payoff. Once your glass touches the polished wood of the bar, you decide to throw the ball in his court instead.

"How about you?" You ask, resting your cheek against your fist.

You watch the way his jaw shifts, the way his gaze lowered to the glass between his hands, still untouched.

"...I don't. Not often. I can't afford to forget."

There's a pinch in his brow. His thumb brushes the rim of his glass. The pause feels final, but he eventually tacks on, "But sometimes it helps quiet the noise."

He turns to you, eyes meeting yours directly. It isn't much, but it's a truth, an admission that something lies beneath the surface.

Your glass catches the low lighting as you lift it in a playful toast. "Not forgetting is a helluva lot harder than it sounds."

Cloud's eyes dart toward your raised glass, then back to your face. After a beat, he lifts his untouched glass in recognition. The bold taste of his whiskey causes his brows to knit together. Cute.

You set your glass down and open up. Not everything. Not the whole mess. You mention a rough place. Words like exhausted, lost track of time, things falling apart faster than I can fix them. You don't play it up. You just tell it.

He listens. No shifting, no darting gaze. He really listens, head slightly tilted, blue eyes focused entirely on you. When you finish, he doesn't respond. Not immediately.

He doesn't rush to fill the silence.

Eventually, he says "That's a lot to carry on your own."

His tone is even and you watch his gaze fall to his drink once again.

"Times like that, the hardest part's just gettin' through the day. Then the next. And the next."

Another silence. Then, awkwardly, but sincerely,

"You're still standing. That counts for something."

The earnest quality of his words catches you off guard and you shift in your seat. You regard yourself as a bit of a conversationalist, a yapper when the mood strikes, but sincerity trips you every time.

"That's what I tell myself," you say, almost to your drink, before nudging the spotlight back toward him with a playful look. "You always this good at listening, or am I lucky tonight?"

You enjoy the way he blinks, straightening up in his seat. His gaze wavers, falling back to his glass.

"I don't talk much. Listening comes easier."

His lips twitch.

"...maybe a bit of luck is involved, too."

Your brows arch, teeth catching your tongue in a pleased smile. Heat blossoms in your cheeks and your gaze falls too. In your peripheral, you spy the bartender shoot over a curious look from where she's restocking bottles.

Another sip disguises how giddy you feel. You're almost drunk enough to kick your feet with glee. Instead, you offer him a coy smile, and a challenge.

"If I stuck around, think I could get you to talk more?"

He exhales softly through his nose, and you think that just might be his version of a laugh. He mirrors you, stalling by sipping his whiskey. You watch him pull the face again.

When he sets it down, he tilts his head, considering you in full.

"I don't make a habit of it," he says, voice steady. The corner of his mouth flickers, a smirk creeping on his face. "...but I talk more if the company's worth it."

You take his words as the admission they are. By this point, your speech was starting to slur so you knew it was time to leave. Your company wasn't going to be worth anything for much longer. The dregs of your rum are swiftly drained and the empty glass hits the bar with a faint thud.

"Then I guess I'll have to come back tomorrow," You decide aloud, your voice a promise.

His brows rise. He seems relaxed against the bar now, his shoulders less tense.

"...Right,"

He lets go of his glass and extends his hand to you as you slide off your stool.

"Cloud. Strife."

Oh, what a pretty and telling name. You felt it suited him perfectly. You shake his hand, melting into his eyes as you offer your name with your final goodbyes.