Hello there little lion Leon! Local Wyll and Rolan enthusiast hoping to make a request for your wonderful writing.
I would love to see your take on their reactions to their child with a FtM!Reader coming out with horn buds/a tail, like their little inhuman carbon copies.
This is mostly for them, but feel free to include any other horned or inhuman men you have softness for!
(Sorry for any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language 😁) -🍌
So, I love giving them their little babies! :3 I did Wyll and Rolan with bonus Zevlor and Dammon. Funny enough both of my children ended up being born looking exactly like their father except for their noses which were very much mine.
Warnings: No use of y/n, gn!reader for the most part with one use of 'mothers' in Zevlor's, vague descriptions of child birth
The day his daughter was born will forever be the most important day of his life. Hearing her first cry, feeling his heart simultaneously stop but also racing in his chest as the midwife gently cleaned her. He didn't want to let go of your hand—it being the only thing that was keeping him on solid ground. But then the midwife handed his little girl, gentle but demanding as she settled her into his arms.
He couldn't even bring himself to look at her for a moment, his eyes meeting yours before looking down at her face.
She was perfect. Perfect round cheeks and lips already in a pout with her eyes scrunched shut. And then he saw them. Little nubs that would one day become full horns.
He had expected to feel guilt, maybe some self-deprecation. But he also saw how you looked at your little girl. A tired but loving smile, not a sign of upset on your face.
No. His daughter was perfect.
He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his daughter's forehead and smiled down at her as she gave a squeaky yawn.
"Welcome to the world, my dearest darling."
His nerves were shot. They had been shot this whole pregnancy. Even in the dead of night with out sleeping peacefully beside him, he would have a hand resting on your belly silently counting each kick and movement. He had been through too much to not think of everything that could go wrong.
So when you finally went into labor, it took every ounce of willpower to not panic. No. You needed him at this moment more than ever. You needed him as you gave birth to your child. So he was beside you, holding your hand as he muttered quietly in your ear. He wasn't even sure what he was saying anymore at this point. But it didn't matter. Not really. Not as long as it kept you, and him, calm.
When he heard that first soft whimper of a cry, he almost couldn't bring himself to look away from your face. He was too scared that this was all a dream. A sick and twisted fantasy. But you looked up at him, running your finger over his jaw and gently nudging him to look at the midwife who hovered just over his shoulder patiently. So he let go of your hand and turned to her. She was a kind older woman, helping him take the bundle of blankets into his arms.
And when he looked down? There she was. A sweet little girl who's skin was more of a pink then true red like his. Who's hair was like the soft down of feathers upon her head and a pair of horns upon her crown. A small and thin tail swung slowly from the bundle, caught in it's own rhythm that she had not felt the need to divulge upon him.
He had known that his child would have his features. It was a simple fact. But seeing it, that was another thing entirely. She was his. And he was hers.
He could hear you giving him a tired giggle but he couldn't tear his eyes from his sleeping daughter's face. She was perfect. Completely and utterly.
It was ridiculous. The fact that he wasn't allowed to be with you during this. But he would be wrong to say that the midwife wasn't right in kicking him out. He had been a mess, constantly questioning and getting in the way. He couldn't help himself. He had been through too much. Seen too much. To not think of all the things that could go wrong.
Each cry he heard, every sound of pain that he knew came from you, filled him with a horrible sense of dread and foreboding.
It was natural. It was something that all mothers go through in order to bring their children into the world.
And he would do it for you in a second if he could.
He was used to being the one to bear the cross and the pain. He had been a Hellrider. Someone who led. But there was nothing he could do for you now. Nothing he could do to ease the pain. Nothing to make this faster or easier for you. And now he wasn't even able to hold your hand, his forehead pressed against the rough wood of the door with his eyes tightly shut and his breath coming in ragged after ragged breath.
Then there was silence. Deafening and overwhelming silence where he could do nothing but hold his breath.
And it was broken by this cry, a cry that was not of your own.
Without thinking he pushed the door open and came clamoring back into the room, his eyes darting from you, laying exhausted on the bed but with happy eyes, to the midwife with a small bundle in her arms. The midwife looked like she couldn't decide between being amused or annoyed at his sudden intrusion, but she did not stop him from taking unsteady steps forward with arms outstretched. She carefully handed the child over to him before going back to tend to you.
Before he even really got the chance to look he could feel a small tail wrapping around his forearm. He could feel a smile tugging at his lips as he looked down, seeing his son for the first time. The little boy's eyes were screwed shut and brows furrowed as if he was debating letting out another unhappy wail. His skin was just as red as Zevlor's, little nubs peaking out from the thick hair upon his hair. And he was yours. Yours and his.
Dammon had spent your entire pregnancy preparing for this. Preparing to be by your side. And he was at your side. Holding your hand and pressing his forehead against yours as he whispered soft encouragements. This was a new beginning for you both. Just as Baldur's Gate had been. Just as your lives together had been. This was just another new beginning. One that made his heart pound in his chest to the point he was sure the gods could hear it.
He hated seeing you in pain. Hated hearing your cries and moans of pain. But he knew that it was part of it. Part of bringing your child into the world.
"Almost there. Almost there, love." It was becoming his mantra for you. With every push and every sound of pain. He didn't know what else to do. This was a herculean task that he could not assist with - but he would be damned if you did it alone.
And with final push there was silence — a silence that made a shiver run down his spine and straight to his core — before a soft indignant cry filled the air. Dammon wasn't sure when he started crying but he could feel the wet tears running down his cheeks as he let out a booming laugh. He could feel you squeeze his hand before releasing him, allowing him to happily take the little bundle of blankets into his arms. He looked down at the tiny child in his arms and his breath caught in his throat, stolen from him.
In his arms there was a wonderful, beautiful, little girl. A little girl who mirrored him in almost every way. Same ears, same horns, wispy little hair upon the crown of her head.
"My gods..." Beautiful. Beautiful was the only — and perfect — way to describe her.
