Story plot: Peter goes into labor (which he very much does not feel ready for despite being overdue) while working on some suit upgrades and is determined to finish, which is a bad idea because it ends in him giving birth at home with no one to help but Wade
Symptoms: cramps, sensitivity (the pregnancy made Peter’s already heightened senses even worse), mood swings
Kind: Neko x Human (ive always had a soft spot for Peter with fluffy little kitty earssss)
Laboring position: going back and forth from standing/leaning against desk to sitting most of the time
Pushing position: leaning on someone
Position of the babies: normal
Complications through birth: birth denial for a while, long pushing, water doesn’t break until first one starts crowning
Clothing on birth: fully clothed with a loose hoodie (one of Wade’s) and some loose shorts
Aftercare postpartum: baby care + selfcare
Peter’s fluffy white-tipped ears flickered nervously under the hood of Wade’s old, worn-out grey sweatshirt. He was perched on a stool in the bright, metallic chaos of the workshop—the very definition of overdue and extremely grumpy about it. The suit upgrade he was working on, a new flexible polymer for the wrist-mounted web-shooters, was his last distraction.
“Just need to run the heat cycle one more time,” Peter muttered, peering intently at a tiny display screen while a low, rhythmic ache coiled in his abdomen. It felt like bad cramps, not the real thing. Not yet.
Wade, who had been hovering near the doorway doing a truly remarkable impersonation of a concerned golden retriever, spoke up, his voice muffled by the mask he wore purely out of habit. “Sweetheart, you’ve run the heat cycle six times. And those ‘cramps’ are coming faster than my payment checks.”
Peter flinched, his sensitive ears flattening against his skull. The soft thrum of the fabrication machine suddenly sounded like a roaring jet engine. “Wade, can you… can you please turn that thing off? And lower your voice? It’s too loud.”
Wade instantly dropped his tone, rushing to hit the kill switch on the machinery. The silence was immediately jarring, and Peter sighed, rubbing his temples. The sensitivity was killing him.
“I know, baby. The senses are going haywire,” Wade cooed, stepping closer. “But Peter, that was a pretty significant contraction. You’ve had three in the last fifteen minutes. We need to call the doc, or at least go upstairs to the main bathroom like we planned, okay?”
“No. I’m fine,” Peter insisted, the denial kicking in hard. He wiped a damp forehead with the sleeve of the oversized hoodie. “It’s just… warm in here. And they’re not painful enough. It’s false labor. I’m almost done, Wade, just give me ten more minutes. I don’t want to leave this hanging.”
Wade’s arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, visible through the mask fabric, narrowed. “Ten minutes? You’re thirty-six hours past your due date, you look like you’re about to fight Thanos in the fetal position, and you’re still trying to solder things. This is not a distraction, Pete, this is birth denial, and it's over. We’re moving.”
Suddenly, the mild cramping tightened into a ferocious wave, stealing Peter’s breath and causing him to gasp and lean heavily against the cold metal desk. He gripped the edge so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Agh!” The sound was involuntary, a sharp, choked noise.
Wade was instantly at his side, steadying him. “Oh, honey. That wasn’t mild. That was a tidal wave. No more arguments. I love you, but you’re grounded.”
Peter’s tail, which he’d tucked into the loose, comfortable shorts he was wearing, flickered once and lashed out angrily. The sudden surge of pain, coupled with the frustration of not finishing his work and the fear of what was coming, triggered a massive mood swing.
“Don’t touch me!” Peter snarled, pushing Wade away with a strength that belied his state. His feline eyes were wide and glistening with tears. “I said I’m fine! Why can’t you just listen? I don’t want to do this yet! I’m not ready for twins, Wade, I don’t know how to be a dad to two! Just… leave me alone with my damn circuitry!”
Wade took the blow of the words, his face softening with raw pity. He knew this wasn’t Peter; it was the adrenaline, the fear, and the sheer power of the labor taking hold.
“I know you’re not ready, baby. Nobody is,” Wade said gently, stepping in again and wrapping his arms around Peter, ignoring the weak struggles. He smelled like gunpowder and cheap shampoo, and for a moment, the sensory overload settled. “But they don’t care if you’re ready. They’re coming. And I’m right here, okay? I’ve got you.”
Wade scooped the smaller man up, suit parts scattering forgotten across the floor, and carried him quickly up the stairs to their bedroom.
Wade managed to get Peter onto the birthing ball, which they had set up in front of the large window, offering a view of the city Peter loved. Peter leaned forward, resting his heavy bump and head on the desk, the cool wood providing some relief from the overwhelming heat of his body.
The contractions were coming every three minutes now, long and deep. Peter would sit, rocking gently on the ball, then stand and lean over the desk, using the steady surface to brace himself. He still felt like he was just managing severe cramps—painful, but not the shattering, pushing pain he expected.
“It’s not working, Wade. I’m just bouncing. I need to push them out,” Peter gritted out, his breath hitching as a strong contraction peaked.
“We’ll push when your body tells you, Petey-Pie. Let gravity help for a bit longer,” Wade said, kneeling behind him and massaging Peter’s lower back. “Just breathe. In for four, out for eight. You’re doing so good, angel. You’re halfway to having two little nuisances to terrorize the neighborhood with.”
Peter slumped, exhausted, his body swaying heavily. “I’m so tired. Why hasn’t my water broken? All the books say the water breaks early. What if something is wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. The first little squish-face is just protecting his or her sibling. They’re cozy little bubbles right now,” Wade reassured him, checking the clock. They had been at this for over eight hours since the first noticeable cramps began.
As the hours dragged into the late afternoon, the contractions completely stole Peter's ability to think, much less stand. Wade had to help him move from the desk to the ball and back.
“Wade… I think… I think I need to use the bathroom,” Peter groaned, panting heavily as he slumped on the ball.
Wade knew that feeling. It was the feeling of a baby pressing down. “No, baby, that’s not the potty. That’s the baby,” he stated calmly, though his heart was hammering. He helped Peter off the ball and stood him up, keeping him leaning against the desk. “Okay, next one, when it hits, just tell me where you feel it.”
The next contraction hit like a lightning strike. Peter cried out, an animalistic sound, and his knees buckled.
“I can’t stop it! I need to push!” Peter screamed, his whole body shaking as an undeniable pressure seized him. “Wade, they’re coming! They’re coming right now!”
Wade realized they were past the point of changing location. He had barely time to spread some of the waterproof blankets they’d set aside on the floor before Peter was pushing instinctively, letting out a raw, desperate roar.
Crowning and the First Cry
“Pete, stop! You have to stop pushing, I need you to lean on me now. Come on, face me, put your arms around my neck!” Wade commanded, using his most dominant, steady voice.
Staggering with the force of the push, Peter turned, his face buried in Wade’s neck. Wade braced his back against the wall, taking Peter’s full weight. Peter was now in the leaning on someone position, his feet wide, gravity helping the powerful efforts.
Peter let out another guttural cry, pushing with every ounce of his remaining energy.
“I can’t do this, Wade, it’s too much! It burns, I can’t—GAAAAH!”
And then, suddenly, a sharp pop and a rush of warm fluid saturated Peter’s loose shorts and the blankets below. The water had broken, but only as the baby was crowning, just as Wade had feared, making the final stage even more intense.
“The water broke! Okay! Okay, that means the head is right there! Push into me, Peter, push into my shoulder! Give me everything you’ve got!” Wade yelled, holding him tighter.
It was a long, excruciating five minutes of continuous, desperate long pushing. Peter was screaming, his ears pinned back, his breaths coming in ragged sobs.
“One more! Give me one more big push for the first kid, darling! You’re amazing! I see hair!”
Peter let out one final, ragged push, arching his back. He felt the intense, burning pressure give way to a sudden, incredible relief as the head and shoulders passed.
A high-pitched, angry, glorious wail split the silence.
Wade, miraculously managing to support Peter’s full weight, looked down with wide, wet eyes. He caught the tiny, slippery body in the shorts Peter was still mostly wearing and quickly adjusted them to make a small sling.
“You did it! Oh, Peter, look! You did it! It’s a boy! Hey there, little guy!” Wade’s voice cracked with emotion. He quickly checked the baby, wrapped him partially in the sweatshirt, and handed him up to Peter’s chest, where the newborn immediately quieted, smelling his parent.
Peter was sobbing, exhaustion warring with the shock of holding his child. “We… we did it, Wade. Oh God. He’s perfect.”
Before Peter could even fully register the first baby, the pain—which had briefly receded—came back with a vengeance.
“Another one! It’s coming! Fast!” Peter gasped, clutching the first newborn tightly to his chest. The second twin, now unimpeded by the first, was dropping quickly.
Wade was already moving. He helped Peter maintain the leaning position, but this time, the process was accelerated. The birth canal was already open, and the contractions were furious.
“One push, Pete! Just one hard push!”
Peter didn't need prompting. With a grunt and a fierce effort, the second baby was out in a swift rush. Wade caught the tiny form just before it hit the blanket, a mirror image of the first.
“It’s another one! Another boy! Or a girl, I can’t tell, I’m crying too much! Wait, it’s… a girl!” Wade announced, sniffing loudly and carefully placing the second, smaller twin onto Peter’s chest next to her brother.
The twins lay there, one nestled in each arm, their tiny screams quickly turning to soft, searching noises. Peter stared down at them, his Neko ears twitching slowly with the overwhelming calm that replaced the storm.
“Two… two tiny kittens,” Peter whispered, running a thumb over the soft, dark hair of the girl.
Wade cut both cords, his hands surprisingly steady despite the tears streaming down his face, and then sat down heavily on the floor, leaning against Peter’s legs, utterly undone.
“Two,” Wade echoed, burying his face in Peter’s thigh. “We have two. We did it, baby. Just us.”
Postpartum: Love and Laundry
The adrenaline eventually wore off, leaving Peter shaky, sore, and entirely in awe. Wade, after making the necessary calls and arranging for a very surprised midwife to come check on them, shifted into full aftercare mode.
First, self-care. He carefully moved the new family, blankets and all, to the center of the bed. He brought Peter a huge glass of water and a protein bar—Peter’s favorite—and helped him pull off the bloodied, sweat-soaked hoodie and shorts. Wade replaced them with a fresh, clean set of his own clothes, softer and looser than ever.
“Okay, you eat, you drink. I’m going to clean up this disaster before the midwife gets here,” Wade stated, gently kissing Peter’s head.
“Wade, wait,” Peter mumbled, exhausted but lucid.
Wade paused. Peter’s eyes, heavy-lidded, were fixed on him.
“You’re a hero, Wade. Seriously,” Peter whispered. “You didn’t panic. You got us through it. Thank you.”
Wade knelt by the bed, stroking Peter’s cheek. “Don’t thank me, baby. You were the one doing the real work. Now, rest. Baby care time starts now, you have two tiny bosses demanding milk and cuddles.”
Wade then spent the next hour tending to both self-care and baby care for Peter. He brought a warm washcloth and gently wiped Peter’s face and neck, then helped him get the twins latched for their first feed. He set up a makeshift changing station right on the bed, fetching diapers and burp cloths.
As the late-setting sun cast long shadows across the room, Wade settled beside Peter on the bed, one arm wrapped protectively around him as the two exhausted parents watched their twin son and daughter sleep peacefully, nestled together on Peter's chest.
“What do you think we should name our little heroes, Papa Bear?” Wade murmured, kissing the top of Peter’s soft, newly-calm ear.
Peter smiled, utterly depleted but happier than he had ever been. “I think… I think we’ll figure it out. Together.”
