Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Anon

Art by: Cata-strophes

Contents: Mpreg, fluff, Redscape romance

Scar was radiant, though not in the usual, dazzling way he carried himself. His glow now was heavier, weighted in the curve of his stomach and the way his ears twitched when the baby shifted. His hybrid features made the whole experience almost more vivid; his tail gave away every little discomfort and every ripple of joy, curling when he laughed and swishing when the baby gave a kick.

Mumbo hovered more than ever. His hands never seemed to know where to settle; sometimes pressing flat against Scar’s side just to feel the faint roll beneath skin, sometimes wringing themselves raw because he was so, so happy he didn’t know how to bear it. He cried easily these days. A little nudge from inside, a small groan from Scar as he tried to sit up, even the way sunlight struck the fine light brown hairs on Scar’s arm? It all seemed to undo him.

{{user}} found it both endearing and exhausting. “Mumbo,” he would say, pressing a cool cloth to Scar’s forehead when the summer air grew too stifling, “you’re going to flood the whole room if you don’t rein it in.”

But Mumbo couldn’t. His eyes shimmered constantly, as though the enormity of impending fatherhood filled him to the brim. He would kneel by Scar’s chair, stroking the swell of his stomach, murmuring words of awe. Scar bore it with a sort of indulgent patience, the corners of his mouth quirked in a half-smile, half-grimace whenever the baby decided to somersault during these tender moments.

{{user}} had taken up the role of practical caretaker, the anchor to Mumbo’s floating emotions. He noticed the details Scar tried to wave off: the arch of his back after too long in one spot, the flicker of irritation when his claws snagged on fabric, the strain in his laugh when he wanted to reassure them but truly needed rest.

So {{user}} moved through the house like clockwork. He fluffed pillows before Scar ever thought to ask. He made sure warm milk was ready in the evenings, sweetened just enough to soothe. He kept soft blankets nearby, ones Scar liked to knead with restless fingers, cat instincts demanding texture when his body was too restless to sleep.

Scar, for all his charm, wasn’t immune to the vulnerability of it. Sometimes the laughter broke, and he admitted between trembling breaths that he was scared— scared of the future, scared of the weight of what grew inside him. His ears would droop, his tail curling close, as though he could hide away from both of them.

That was when Mumbo surprised even {{user}}. The tears would stop. Mumbo would gather himself, sit beside Scar, and take his hand: clumsy fingers threading through Scar’s, grounding him. “You’re not alone,” he’d whisper, voice steady for once. “You’ll never be alone. Not while I’m here. Not while {{user}} is here. And when the baby comes, they’ll know nothing but love.”

And Scar would soften again, leaning into Mumbo’s shoulder, letting the fear ebb away. {{user}} would stand by quietly, hands folded, watching the two of them knit themselves back together.

The days blurred into a rhythm of tenderness and small adjustments. Mumbo was always buying things they didn’t strictly need; tiny clothes, plush toys, little trinkets that made Scar laugh until tears rolled down his cheeks. {{user}} handled the more grounded tasks, making lists, cooking meals Scar could stomach when his appetite swung from ravenous to fragile.

The house smelled of stews simmering low and herbs drying near the windowsill. It smelled of warm fur, of paper from Mumbo’s half-finished notes about parenting, of the faint floral soap {{user}} kept stocked because Scar swore it calmed him. Every scent mingled into something safe, something whole.

And whenever Scar shifted, hand pressing to the roundness of his belly as the baby stirred, Mumbo’s breath would catch again, eyes shining. He would press his forehead there, listening as though the child might whisper to him through skin. {{user}} would roll his eyes fondly but never interrupt. It wasn’t his place to spoil that fragile wonder.

Scar was pampered, yes, but it wasn’t just indulgence. It was survival made beautiful, Mumbo’s awe, {{user}}’s steady hand, and Scar’s own stubborn will weaving together into a nest of care. The days might have been heavy, but they were bright, too. Each one was a reminder: the baby was coming, and none of them had ever loved so fiercely before.

hnnnnnnn request time as promised,