Leia's baby daddy

Leia stirred in the dim glow of Coruscant’s artificial dawn filtering through the blinds of their modest apartment. The sheets tangled around her legs, warm from Han's body heat beside her. He snored softly, one arm flung over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in that familiar rhythm she'd grown to love during their stolen moments between battles and senate sessions. She slipped out of bed quietly, her bare feet padding across the cool floor tiles that always carried a faint chill no matter how high they cranked the heat. The air smelled faintly of recycled ozone and the lingering spice of last night's takeout, a comforting mix that grounded her in this life she'd fought so hard to build.

She brewed a cup of caf in the kitchen nook, the machine humming low as steam curled up. Mail notifications blinked on the console nearby. Leia scrolled through them absently, sipping the bitter brew that burned her tongue just enough to wake her fully. Junk, reports from the senate, a message from Luke about some Jedi training updates. Then the official seal caught her eye: New Republic Health Initiative. Her stomach tightened before she even opened it. The words blurred at first, but she **** herself to read.

"Dear Senator Organa-Solo, pursuant to the Curated Conception Act, your genetic profile has been matched with an optimal donor to enhance ****-sensitive population restoration. This donor is the result of hundreds of hours of genetic comparison research across several trillion possible applicants. Report to Facility Delta-7 at 1900 today for mandatory insemination procedures. Failure to comply will result in sanctions under Republic Code 47-3."

It was passed shortly after the Emperor had been defeated, in order to encourage the proliferation of strong **** sensitives and combat the declining birth-rates across the galaxy. It was simple: the new republic government would perform DNA research on all of its citizens and cross-reference them to figure out which two people would have ‘ideal’ children.

And then they would be legally obligated to produce that child.

It had all sounded so ridiculous when Leia had first heard about it; so… terrifyingly ridiculous. Forcing people to have children according to some stupid DNA tests? Forcing two strangers to have children? Maybe it was for a good cause, but that still didn’t stop it from being immoral. Leia remembered hearing rumours about how the actual research had been carried out by a shady corporation, which had previously been financed by the empire, but she’d ignored it as the typical conspiracy theories. But maybe there was some truth to it after all.

And she told herself they’d never pick her.

Her hand shook, spilling hot caf across the counter. It dripped onto the floor with soft plops. Mandatory. Optimal donor. The law had passed months ago amid heated debates she'd argued against fiercely, calling it a violation of bodily autonomy disguised as population recovery. But the votes swung the other way, driven by fears of demographic collapse after the Empire's purges. Now it landed on her doorstep like a thermal detonator. There were supposed to be special dispensations for married couples, you could file paperwork to have yourself matched with your spouse. They hadn't gotten around to it, thought they had more time. She wasn't even sure she wanted kids yet, not with the galaxy still piecing itself together. And Han... gods, Han.

She wiped up the spill with a rag that smelled of old soap, her mind racing. The facility was one of those sleek, anonymous buildings in the mid-levels, all chrome and white walls to mask what really went on. No artificial insemination here; the law demanded "natural conception" to maximize success rates, whatever pseudoscience backed that. Strangers **** together like breeding stock. Her skin crawled at the thought.

Han grumbled awake as she padded back to their room and sat back on the bed's edge, the mattress dipping under her weight. "Hey, sweetheart. You're up early." His voice was rough with sleep, his hand reaching to pull her close. She let him, burying her face in his neck for a moment, inhaling the musky scent of his skin mixed with faint engine grease that never fully washed off. Her rogue.

"I got the notice," she whispered against him.

He stiffened, sitting up fast. "What notice?"

She handed him the datapad. His eyes scanned it, face darkening with each line. "Those bastards. They can't do this to you. To us." He slammed it down, the device clattering on the nightstand. Rage boiled in his voice, fists clenching. "I'll go with you. Talk to someone. This is kriffing insane."

But they both knew he couldn't. The law was clear: participants only, no spouses, no interference. Han paced the room for the rest of the morning, his bare feet thumping against the floor, muttering curses about bureaucrats and their twisted ideas. He pulled her into a fierce hug, his arms strong around her, the scratch of his stubble against her cheek. "I feel so useless. Come back to me tonight. Promise."

"I will," she said, though doubt gnawed at her. The sessions could last hours, sometimes days if the match required multiple attempts.

She dressed in simple robes, the fabric soft against her skin but offering no comfort. The walk to the speeder had felt endless, the city's hum a distant roar in her ears.

The facility loomed like a shadow among the towers, its black façade absorbing light rather than reflecting it. No signs, just a discreet entrance that scanned her ident chip with a cold beep. Inside, the lobby was sterile, air scrubbed clean of any scent, lights too bright. A droid attendant floated over, its voice modulated to soothing tones. "Senator Organa-Solo, room 417. Your donor awaits."

Her heart pounded as she rode the lift up, floors blurring by. Dread twisted in her gut, a cold weight that made her palms slick with sweat. She wiped them on her robes, tasting the salt on her lips when she bit them nervously. The door to 417 hissed open, revealing a dimly lit suite: plush bed dominating the center, low lights casting shadows, a faint hum of climate control. And also the man who would father her child.