Contest Entry: Pregnant!Reader x Prussia

Stay With Me



You were sitting on your (colour) sofa, rubbing your swollen belly contently. You were now almost 9 months pregnant with yours, and your husband, Gilbert's child. Neither of you knew the gender of the unborn child; you had opted not to take the test. You both thought that it would be a magical surprise to wait until your child was actually born to know their gender. Of course your husband was Gilbert Beilschmidt so he did tend to regret his decision and get a little impatient sometimes, nagging and occasionally poking your tummy. You would just shake your head, smiling, and slap his hand away.

At the current moment your restless husband was in the kitchen......cleaning. Nine months ago, Gilbert wouldn't even have known where the cleaning supplies were stored, but your pregnancy had changed all that. Gilbert had started looking after you much more, especially when it came to the third trimester, he insisted that he do most everything for you. He wouldn't even allow you to drive a car by yourself, importuning that he either came with you or drove you to your desired destination.

Although you had loved this new-found attention at first, it had soon driven you insane. Whenever you turned around Gilbert was always there, making sure you didn't trip over anything and hurt the baby. The only time you had alone was when Gilbert was at work. But now he had even stopped working late......just for you. Honestly, you couldn't wait to deliver this baby. Not just because of your clingy husband, but also because of your fickle taste buds, and the unbearable bouts of morning sickness.  

For example, the other week you had gone to a restaurant with your best friend, Eliza. Whilst you were flicking through your menu, you had spotted a lady eating a dish/bowl of (fav food). Licking your lips hungrily, you had placed the menu on the table and simply pointed to your craving. After Eliza had ordered, the waiter (a tall man with chestnut hair, chartreuse eyes and bronzed skin) had walked away, claiming he would "Be back in just a moment". The waiter wasn't back in just a moment, he took about 20 minutes, by which time you were ravenous. Upon arrival the waiter - whose name you noted was Heracles - placed your chosen meals in front of you, bowed respectfully, and backed away. You had looked at your (fav food) adoringly, savouring every aspect of it. Leaning in, you decided to get whiff of its aroma, and you almost breathed your last. The food which would've smelled absolutely impeccable previous to your pregnancy now smelt absolutely revolting. So revolting in, fact, that you had to visit the ladies so that you could wash the taste of bile from your mouth. Obviously, Eliza had stood by you through the whole ordeal.

A sharp kick from inside your stomach snapped you out of your head trip.

"Hey, calm down little buddy." You breathed, patting your stomach lovingly, "I'm sure you'll come out soon. Mama's even got her bag ready."

You snapped your head up, slapping your forehead. You had left your baby bag at your mother's house. The two of you had made a trip to your parent’s house earlier during the day, of course Gilbert had insisted that you take your bag with you. Just in case your baby was born prematurely, and you had gotten so caught up with the baby's affairs and due dates that you had left it there.

“Gil!” You called, in the general direction of your kitchen.

There was an immediate reply, and also a peculiar banging noise then a string of German curses.

“Vhat’s wrong?! Iz zhe baby coming?!” Gil questioned frantically, jogging through the doorway rubbing the back of his head. Well…..that explained the strange banging noise.

You gave your husband a calm look.

“No, Gil. As you can see, the baby isn’t coming.” You patronised, slightly raising your eyebrows.

“Zhen vhat?” He asked, calming down slightly as his crimson eyes returned to their normal size.

“I left the emergency labour bag at Mum’s place, so we need to go get it.”

“Ok.” Gil nodded, “I’m finished anyvay, shall ve go now zhen?”

You shook your head, yes.

“Help me up then.” You batted your eyelashes at your beloved, alluringly.

Gil laughed, the deep sound rumbling through his chest. Stopping in front of you he held his milky, muscle corded arms out.

“Come on zhen.”

Giggling, you grabbed onto his strong arms and pulled whilst Gil pulled back. Together you managed to haul your pregnant body off the sofa. Letting go of his hands you moved your own to the bottom of your spine, rubbing the aching muscles there. Carefully, Gilbert put one arm around your waist, securing you in his grasp and taking your weight as well as his own.

Together you walked into the hallway, individually slipping your shoes on. You slipped on a pair of jade pumps to match your bottle green top, and black leggings. Gilbert had on a modish cobalt button-up shirt, jeans and he now put on a pair of navy boat shoes. You glanced at your lover, admiring his fine physique and admirable taste in fashion. How had you managed to gain such a catch, this man was a sex god! Seeing you peeking at him Gil struck a sultry pose and winked, making you chuckle.

Raising your hand, you lightly brushed your knuckles against his bicep. Causing him to exaggeratedly stumble back, holding onto his arm in mock pain. You rolled your (e/c) eyes, chortling at his child-like behaviour.

Opening the front door you stepped outside. It was a gorgeous day; the grass was freshly-cut causing the naturalistic perfume to waft up your nose, and for once there were no bees or wasps hovering dangerously close to you. The two of you walked to your car, a (fav colour) (fav car), Gilbert shutting the door behind him. As you were crossing the lawn your neighbour; a warm-hearted, bubbly man by the name of Feliciano Vargas, waved to you.

“Ciao, bella.” The auburn haired man called from across the street.

“Hey, Feli.” You replied, waving enthusiastically.

Gilbert took this chance, whilst you preoccupied, to sprint over and open the car door for you. When you turned around, you saw your ashen haired lover holding the door open for you with one arm; the other was tucked behind his back.

“Madame.” He stooped his head, reverentially.

“Why, thank you, handsome butler.” You smirked, Gil struggled to keep a straight face, but managed to shut the door and get in himself without cracking up. After belting up (and making sure you had too) Gil slot the key in and put the car into gear, carefully reversing out of the drive. He was even driving carefully now, he would’ve just pulled out of the drive before. Now he was checking all his mirrors to make sure there was no other car approaching. You thought, if he could, he’d add an extra few mirrors for further protection.

Gil headed down your quiet street, reaching a busy cross-roads. He put the indicator on whilst waiting behind another car, then turned to face you.

“Zo. Vhat vill ve call our little Engel?”Gil queried.

You tapped your chin, thinking. The car in front of you moved, making Gilbert roll to the front of the queue. Approaching the round-about, he checked left and right before crossing onto the road directly in front of him. What he didn’t see was a young, intoxicated driver, steering the wrong way through the round-about. Instead of driving clock-wise, the teenage travelled anti-clockwise, colliding with your oncoming car.

You had no time to warn Gilbert, neither of you had time to say anything. Gilbert managed to twist the car around so that the driver would hit his side then bore down on the breaks, but it wasn't enough. The two cars rammed into one another, the juvenile driver was killed instantly. His spinal cord snapped in two. However, whilst you and your husband were not killed, the two of you were potentially, fatally injured. The hood of your car had had been crushed, folding like a deck-chair, the front windows had been smashed to smithereens and the whiplash had caused your seat-belt to dig into your side.

A pedestrian; who had seen the whole ordeal, immediately called an ambulance, nattering into the phone anxiously.

You opened your heavy eyes. A feeling of drowsiness had overcome you. Gilbert seemed to be unconscious. His normally vibrant, ruby eyes were now closed, rivulets of rust coloured blood running down his now abnormally pale face. His front was covered in lacerations, places where the glass from the shattered windshield and windows had cut into his skin. Those were the only external injuries you could see; however, you were pretty sure that there had been some damage to his legs – which seemed to be jammed underneath the steering wheel – not to mention any internal injuries. To add to that you were quite convinced that you didn’t exactly look a treat.

Your side felt as if it was burning from within, and your slender arms had shards of glass piercing them. Luckily they had been protectively covering your abdomen, so hopefully your baby was safe. But you couldn’t be sure, slowly your sluggish mind registered fear. Fear for your child, fear for your husband and fear for yourself.

Fighting your looming weariness you reached over the gear stick and put a hand to Gilbert’s face, it felt outlandishly cold, and immediately your hand was stained with his blood. Carefully you stroked his face, a stinging tear escaping from its barricades.

“Ich liebe dich, mein Süßer. Please, please stay with me.” You begged of him, your throat felt harsh.

You managed to wipe away a droplet of blood from his cheek before you arm was devoid of strength. It dropped, landing on the console…..deadweight.

Gradually your eyes slid shut, your mind emptying itself of any thought and within moments, you were out for the count.



*****



Your eyes fluttered open

Bright lights.

Sterile smells.

People talking hurriedly in the background, yet you couldn’t hear a word they said.

Black out.



*****



Your (e/c) orbs quivered open, snapping shut suddenly because of the intense, fluorescent overhead lights. Your face felt infuriatingly scratchy, it was as if someone had stuck burning hot pins into your face from within. You moved your heavy hand to your face at a snail’s pace. As you were inching your fingers towards the base of your throat, a benign hand tapped it lightly.

“Oh, no, chica. Try not to move, you have a few stitches on your forearm. You could re-open the wounds if you move.” A gentle voice, with a slight Spanish accent, informed you. You had to admit, the voice sounded quite familiar.

You opened your eyes cautiously, not wanting to be startled by the luminous lights again, trying to catch a glimpse of the faceless voice. You soon discovered that the tender accent belonged to one of your husband’s best friends, Antonio, a tall, olive eyed Spaniard with a zest for life.

“Toni?”You interrogated, “Is that you?”

The Spanish man turned towards you, his long, white coat swishing.

“Sí, ________. It’s me.” Toni looked at you thoughtfully, indecision written all over his face. Finally he decided to speak his mind, “What happened?”

You wracked your mind for memories. You were in a car…. Someone else was there….. It was a man. ….Pallid  hair……Scarlet eyes.

You head whipped up. Frantic thoughts running through your mind, it was all you could do to get words out of your mouth.

“GILBERT!” You cried, “Gilbert was in the car! How is he- No! The baby! I..”

Your chest heaved, the lump in your throat became unbearable and streams of tears ran down your indignant face. Your shoulders shook violently as you tried to wash your fears away. Toni approached you, rubbing circles into your back soothingly.

“Dios mio. Chica. It’s ok. The baby’s fine, we checked. And Gilbert….Well Gilbert isn’t doing as well. He took the brunt of the hit, so he might have some internal bleeding. Luckily, we managed to salvage his legs, but he might have a permanent limp. However he is still unconscious, but Francis is trying to revive him as we speak. You, fortunately, got off with only a few nicks and bruises. There’s an especially large one on your side, you must have hit the seat-belt on impact. All-in-all you will be fine. So, don’t worry. You’re all in very safe hands.” He stated in a soft voice.

You nodded, warily, tears still flowing down your cheeks.

“Can I see him?” You asked.

“Only from outside the doors.” Toni replied.

Again, you nodded.

Toni put a hand on each of your shoulders, balancing you, and then managed to pull up your heavier-than-normal weight. You groaned, the pain in your hip and back flaring slightly. Eventually you made it onto your feet, wobbling slightly, and shuffled towards the wheelchair that was at the foot of your hospital bed whilst massaging your lower back. The fact that you were heavily pregnant meant that both your back and ankles had to carry a plenitude of weight, causing them to ache whenever you stood up or walked. Situating yourself, you collapsed into the wheelchair, and then shifted a little to make yourself comfortable.

You really had been lucky. The problems you were having were nothing compared to those Gilbert was currently facing. All you felt was some stiffness in your limbs, and bouts of pain every now and then, but what hurt you more than the physical pain was the emotional pain. The fear and agony in your heart was torment.

“Toni?” You questioned, as the brunette lifted the brake on the wheelchair.

“Sí?”

“You’re one of Gil’s best friends. Tell me honestly. Will he be ok?” You implored.

Antonio smiled softly, patting your shoulder.

“_________, that idiota is a fighter. He’ll be back to normal soon.” Toni told you, shaking his head with mirth.

He steered you down a few corridors, then finally stopped outside a room with a large, glass window. Opportunely, the blinds were open, meaning that you could see your ashen-faced husband inside the room. He was lying on a standard hospital bed; tubes were going in through his wrists and nose, he was also connected to a donated blood bag and an IV drip. Gilbert looked so feeble lying in that bed, his vibrant eyes were still closed and his chalky hair was matted onto his forehead.

You buried your head in your hands. He had looked so bright and energetic the last time you had seen him, now he looked dilapidated and ailing.

Toni reached out and took your hand as Francis (also known as Dr. Bonnefoy) walked out of the door.  Running a hand through his silky, blonde hair, he exhaled a sigh.

“Bonjour _______.” He greeted you.

“Hey, Francis.” You managed to choke out, “Is he doing ok?”

Francis nodded hesitantly.

“He eez in a ztable condition, but ‘e will not wake up.”

This time it was your time to sigh.

“Zhat imbécile.” Francis muttered under his breath.

You chuckled, and then you squeezed Toni’s hand, your breath hitching as you felt a stab of pain in your abdomen. Letting go of Toni you reached down to rub your bloated stomach.

“Calm down little one.” You whispered.

Francis moved to touch your shoulder, just as you felt a rush of warm fluid between your legs. You squeaked, staring down at the small pool of amniotic fluid. Francis was the first to react. He quickly took charge of the wheelchair and started to lead you towards the natal wing. Toni ran after the two of you, grabbing onto your hand just before you felt another contraction kick in. Scrunching up your face, you tried not to express your pain. This felt bad, but you knew it was going to get a lot worse before you could push your baby out. You just wished that you could have your beloved husband there with you.



*****



You were now 10 hours into labour. Your hair was sweat-soaked and your cheeks tear-stained. Eliza and Toni stood at your bedside. Toni had been about to finish his shift when your first contraction hit, so he was able to stay with you, Francis was still covering Gilbert’s condition.

You whimpered. It felt as if there was a steel band tightening around your abdomen. You had decided to proceed with a natural birth, and now you were regretting that decision. An epidural sounded like the cure for cancer to you, right now.

“It hurts so much.” You mewled, gritting your teeth in distress.

“I know _______. But it vill be vorth it in zhe end.” Eliza told you, wiping your sweaty forehead clean.

At that moment you heard a flurry of activity outside your door. Something heavy dropped to the floor which was followed by a string of loud German and French curses.

“Merde, Gilbert. Vould you get back into your bed!” Francis cursed.

“Nein! Meine Frau needs me. Scheiβe! Move Frenchie!” Gilbert screamed.

Your heart soared at the sound of your husband’s voice, Eliza and Toni merely rolled their eyes. Suddenly there was a boisterous crash, and then the door to your hospital ward was thrown open. Gilbert limped towards your side, dragging his right leg somewhat. You smiled at your albino husband, and then frowned. Eliza scrunched her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Gil.” You said, softly, “Your leg’s hurt. You need to be resting.”

Gilbert held onto your clammy hand and brushed away a few strands of hair from your face.

“Az if.” He snorted, “I’ve been vaiting az long az you have vor this Kleine, und zhe awesome me can’t leave seine schöne Frau in pain by herzelf. Oh, und I zhink Francis might have passed out, he fell quite hard.”

You grinned, despite your pain; as Gilbert bent down to kiss your nose.

“Now.” Gilbert carried on in his normal, obnoxious voice, “Can zomeone please get me a chair. Meine armen Beine hurt.”

Eliza laughed sadistically at this, whilst Toni wandered off to go and find a chair for his amigo, and also to make sure that Francis was ok.



*****



Toni and Eliza had stepped outside into the waiting room now that Gilbert was here. At the moment they were doing a crossword whilst you were gripping onto Gilbert’s hand (which was quickly losing its blood supply) whilst your gynecologist checked to see how dilated you were.

“Ok, Mrs. Beilschmidt. You can start pushing now.” She stated, rising up from her crouch.

You exhaled heavily. Oh, God no. You thought. It seemed to you as if there was no strength left in your body. Of course you wanted to push your baby out, but how?

As if he read your mind, Gilbert gave you look and said:

“You can do zhis _______. You’re zhe strongest perzon I know, und you’re meine badass Frau.” He stated, all fact.

You looked hard into Gil’s eyes, and then turned towards the doctor.

“Let’s do this.” You panted, sweat rolling in beads down your face.

“Alright.” The doctor nodded, “You’re going to push and hold it for 10 seconds. Sound okay?”

“No,” You whimpered, “But I’ll have to do it anyway.”

The doctor finally gave you the cue to push. Choking Gilbert’s hand you tensed the lower muscles of your abdomen, a tear dripping down your face.

“That was perfect!” The doctor congratulated, “About ten more like that one.”

Your already pale face blanched, but still you carried on. It was absolute torture, and to be honest, the words of encouragement that left people’s mouths seemed to bounce straight off your ears. The only thing you coveted was the feeling of your baby’s body in your arms.

“One last time!” The doctor ordered on your eleventh push.

You screamed blue murder and pushed one last time, and felt the encumbrance leave your lower regions, then finally you heard the most beautiful sound you had ever heard……the sound of your baby’s high-pitched cry. You smiled at Gilbert, tears glistening in your (e/c) eyes.

“Congratulations Mr and Mrs Beilschmidt. You have a healthy baby girl” The doctor interrupted your tender moment, with a piece of wonderful news, “Mr. Beilschmidt. Would you like to cut the umbilical cord?”

Your husband nodded, his own roseate eyes tearing up slightly.

A few moments later Gilbert returned to your side, your cherubic baby girl in his arms. She had a shock of (h/c) hair, gorgeous (skin col.) skin and sparkling cardinal eyes – which she had no doubt inherited from her father. Gilbert cooed German sweet-nothings and kissed her chubby little cheeks. Then he turned to you, eyes glassy.

“Ich danke dir so sehr, Schatz. Ich liebe dich.” He murmured in your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, carefully putting the baby in your arms.

“Ich liebe dich auch, Gil….but what shall we call her?” You whispered, cradling your little angel.

Gilbert froze, he obviously hadn’t thought about that either. After a second Gil’s eyes lit up.

“How about Gilberta?”

You laughed regardless of your fatigue.

“We are not calling our baby girl Gilberta!” You replied, trying to keep a straight face, “How about Adeline?”

Your husband’s eyes softened at the name. It was his late grandmother’s name; the two had been very close before she died.

“I love it…..and I love you.” He added, “Stay vith me…..forever.”

“Forever…….”