#gravid rage

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Your prompt request #13 "not here... not now..."

In the midst of a battle between two kingdoms, you go into labor. While the city breaks into chaos, you try to escape while trying to deny the birth.

Female character can either deliver the child deep in the woods while on the run or hiding in the rubble, trying to keep quiet as she births her child.

You choose! And thank you for choosing to make an account for your wonderful work! Obsessed with your first fic! 🫶

Not Now… Not Here…

[This was one of the first asks/prompts I received and made me so happy to have created this side blog. Thank you so much Anon for your request and your kind words at the end. Hope you enjoy! 💜 Fpreg 2917 words & Beta’d by the wonderful @gravid-transluna ]

Marion stood by the open window in her bedroom, hands braced against the window sill, as she watched the billows of smoke and the sounds of screaming get closer and closer to home. Tensions had been building between Alleria and its neighbouring kingdom for many years and it had only been a matter of time before one of the Kings ordered their troops to attack. The battle had been raging for days… weeks now, with news from the frontlines making it back to the city as the wounded returned. Unfortunately for the residents in Alleria the battleground was moving ever closer towards the city, and for Marion this was even more unfortunate for she was currently deep in the throes of labour.

She gripped the wooden ledge below her window and bounced her knees and hips through the latest contraction.

“Mnnnnhhhhh… oh little one, you have a terrible sense of ti— ohhhhhh… timing.” Marion moaned softly, her hips swaying instinctively as the tightening coursed across her middle while the weight of the baby’s head filled her pelvis.

When the contraction had faded back into a dull ache Marion looked up again at the city slowly falling to the destruction of war. The smoke seemed closer than it had an hour ago, the battleground was heading right across the city in the direction of her home. The pains had started yesterday but were manageable back then - she could continue moving around and getting everything prepared for the birth. The war was far from the city at that point and it did not occur to Marion that she would not be safe to labour and birth here - Alleria had never allowed their borders to be penetrated before, but the invading Kingdom’s forces were too strong.

Marion held the underside of her heavy and tight belly, her thin olive green dress stretched around her enlarged middle. She had never given birth before but had helped in many a delivery around the town. It was a rite of passage for a woman to deliver her children - the men-folk would almost never be present while the labouring mother would be supported by female friends, family or neighbours.

Marion didn’t have any of those but she wasn’t phased to be doing this alone - she preferred things that way. However, as she looked down through her window at the empty and deserted street below, fear and panic began to claw at her thoughts. Perhaps she should flee the city as well. A loud scream and sound of metal against metal echoed through the streets. The battle was getting closer, she needed to leave. Now.

Grabbing a canvas bag Marion quickly threw some items inside; blanket, clothes, water, food. As she was frantically waddling around her small rented room another contraction hit out of nowhere only minutes after the last.

“Hoooooooo— oh fuck….” Marion doubled over and braced her thighs as the pressure and pain skyrocketed. Her pelvis was being pulled apart as the baby’s head shoved its way through, almost certainly at the top of her cervix by now. The immeasurable weight and pressure was overwhelming and Marion found herself grunting against it.

“Mnnghhhh!!!” Marion growled, but the sound was swallowed by a loud explosion coming from a few streets away.

“Ooooh… so— so low. Don’t come now baby, just a— a little bit longer.” She pleaded to her rounded belly, holding it with both hands as she straightened back up. Grabbing her bag of supplies Marion bolted for the door to the stairs at the back of the building. She had to get out of here, get herself far away from the incoming battleground before she delivered this babe.

The stairs were awkward and difficult to descend with her dangerously wide gait from an extremely low baby. But Marion eventually made it down to street level and looked around; there was no one left - everyone had already fled. She waddled as fast as she could in the opposite direction from the rising cries of battle, her hands holding up her taut and tensing belly as if her grip alone could stop her labour. Marion was too busy worrying about safe routes out of the city to realise the next contraction was fast approaching and when it struck she found herself dropping into a deep squat in the middle of the cobbled street.

“Grrrrrrrhhhhh….! Oh Gods… So— so much pressure!” She groaned, her bag of supplies slipping from her shoulder as she squatted and grabbed her knees. Instinctively she mooed and growled her way through the latest wave, each one seeming to strike with more ferocity than the last. Marion would be self-conscious making such a public display of her labouring but with the streets deserted she allowed herself to make whatever noises she needed to get her through the pain of childbirth.

Eventually it passed, but the delay in her movements meant the sounds of battle were only a stone's throw away. The harsh sounds of doors and windows smashing echoed off the buildings and Marion thought she could hear incoming heavy footsteps. If the owners of the heavy stomps were just of Allerian troops then she would be okay but, if they were of the invading forces there was no telling what they would do with a woman wandering alone on the streets. The clinking of swords colliding got louder. Both troops were getting closer. Marion could not get caught in the crossfire - she’d be as good as dead.

She ran, as fast as her wide legs could carry her, away from the brutal fighting. She barely made it round the corner down a narrow side street when she was forced to stop once more. Slumped against the brick wall, Marion curled around her hard belly and trembled as she struggled to stay upright. The heavy boulder of a baby’s head was right there, filling her birth canal with so much pressure she thought she might explode. There was no stopping the primal grunt that rattled her throat as every muscle seemed to contract and squeeze the baby towards its exit.

“Nnghhhhh!!!” She roared against the pain and it was immediately followed by a gush of warm liquid running down her thighs and splashing the beige cobbles underfoot. At the tail end of the contraction she felt it - deep in her genes an instinct was telling her to start pushing.

“No….” She whimpered. “Not now… not here… hoohoo-hoohoo…” Marion panted erratically, fighting against her body’s advancing labour.

When the contraction somewhat eased the mother-to-be staggered bowlegged down the deserted side street, the large head shoving its way through her cervix. She made it through to the next street over but Marion had no clue where she was going, no planned destination she was trying to reach. Instead she was just desperately waddling as far away as she could from the noise of battle. She thought she had more time to find an alternate place to give birth but the increasing weight and pressure between her legs was soon proving her wrong. Out in the open of this new street she doubled over against a shop window - palms flat on the glass, her hips jutting backwards and her heavy belly hanging towards the floor.

“Ohhhhhh… no, don’t push… don’t— mnghhh don’t p-p-push…” she chanted over and over, panting and sweating and shaking while the baby inside sank lower and lower.

Running and shouting and screaming could be heard from the end of the street. Marion, still caught in the midst of a powerful contraction, glanced down the road towards the sound and saw at least a dozen men rounding the corner. Their metal plated armour, the colours of their tunics, their pale faces - none of it was familiar. These were enemy soldiers. The labouring mother slipped around a corner to hide down another side street, her legs stuck so wide it looked like she was about to drop the kid any second. And it felt that way too. With one hand holding onto the wall, the other disappeared under her dress between her thighs. No baby yet, thankfully, but she was starting to bulge into her underwear.

Deep and gruff shouting echoed from the high street, the invading warriors were jeering and smashing everything in their path. Despite the continuing contraction, Marion shuffled a little further into the alleyway, into the shadows and tried to hide behind some broken wooden crates. The soldiers were shouting in a language she didn’t understand, but the tone of their rough voices were clear - they were winning this war.

One… three… seven… Marion looked through the gap in the crates counting the foreign soldiers as they stomped past the entrance to the narrow side street, the burly and primitive men kicking and smashing and destroying every single thing they passed.

The next contraction ramped up before the last had even faded away and Marion slapped a hand over her mouth to stop any sounds escaping. Her baby was insistent, desperate to be born. The pressure screamed at her to push and her stance instinctively widened, but as she moved her foot she kicked something hard and metal sending it tumbling across the cobbles with a clang.

Her heart stopped, her breathing seized. Marion’s eyes flared with panic and looked nervously through the gap in the wooden crates towards the entrance of the side street. There was no way that sound wasn’t noticeable, a second later Marion’s fears were realised when two strange looking men stood at the archway of the dark sidestreet, staring into the shadows looking for the source of the noise.

Push!

Marion stayed perfectly still, her hand squeezed over her mouth, her nose breathing as silently as humanly possible. She could not let them find her, Gods only knew what they would do to her, especially if they had conquered Alleria.

Push!

The contraction still tore across her body, her belly contorted into a solid, hard ball beneath her dress as it tried to deliver the child. The pressure between her thighs was making her eyes water, the weight was pulling everything downwards, and her vagina was starting to burn. And yet Marion remained still, not moving an inch.

Push!

The men were talking to themselves, grumbling incoherently in their foreign tongue, pointing and staring down the narrowed cobbled strip. Marion’s legs were trembling, her knees sinking, and as she held her breath in fear of discovery she realised too late that her body was pushing. Without instruction or permission the baby was shoved down the birth canal, feeling like it was seconds away from falling into her underwear. But she couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop herself from bearing down. Behind her sweaty palm Marion’s mouth opened in a silent scream as she pushed and immediately could feel her labia starting to part beneath her clothing.

Oh fuck! Marion thought, trying to stop the impossible. Please don’t come out now!

She fought against her instincts for the longest minute of her life, desperately trying not to push and trying to stay silent. Eventually the strange men lost interest, deciding nothing was hiding down this side street, and continued to ransack the surrounding shops with their fellow soldiers. Marion slumped back against the wall when the soldier's departure coincided with the slight easing of the contraction. With heavy breaths quieter than a whisper, she tried to regain a normal rhythm in her lungs.

This baby could not be born now, here, it had to hold on for her to get somewhere safe. Away from the carnage of war and away from her foes. Then there was a sudden bang, a moving wall of heat, and a victorious cheer coming from the adjacent street - the enemy had started burning buildings causing a giant explosion.

Debris flew through the air, shards of brick and building raining from the skies and Marion spun around, curling around her bump, to protect herself and the baby. She staggered, bowlegged, deeper down the dark alleyway to try to get away from the destruction but with the contractions almost on top of each other she barely made four unsteady steps before she had to pause. The baby was right there, she could feel it. Her hand dived between her legs to check and felt with her fingertips the spherical shape between her folds peaking into her undergarments. The primal need to give birth took over once more and whether she wanted to or not, Marion found herself bearing down with the contraction.

This baby could not be born, not now and not here. If she could not stop pushing she would have to find another way. With her hand wedged between her thighs she clamped it firmly over the mass in her sodden underwear, and with a low grunt she was uncontrollably pushing against the palm of her own hand.

“Nnghhhh— noooo.. don’t c-come o-outtttt…” she growled, her body pushing ferociously and she could feel the head slip forward.

In the shadows Marion grunted and heaved and pushed. Against these efforts she tried to keep her palm over the emerging head to prevent it coming out any further. Her legs were wide and trembling, the heavy mass between her hips forcing her pelvis apart. It was hell, being stuck like this, her labia stretching around the emerging head, the desperate need to get this over with - to deliver this baby. The placement of her own hand proved futile, her body outright refusing to do anything that could delay or prevent the birth. Instead her knees buckled, sinking into a deep squat, and her free hand flew forward to brace her labouring body against the rough bricks of the dark alley while the other hand cupped the head of the incoming babe.

“Ohhhhh fuck…” her groans barely audible, all efforts going into birth. “Oh Gods… help me… it’s coming— it’s coming o-outtt!”

The hand at the apex of her thighs was supporting the head rather than stopping it from coming out. She gasped, sucking in a desperate breath, and leaned into the push giving everything she had into bearing down. She sobbed as the head reached a full crown in her underwear, its large shape undeniable and filling her small palm. The clothing was damp and stretched but she couldn’t remove them, both hands were occupied - one holding her upright in the squat the other holding the emerging head. “Grrnnnhhhhh!!” The low and primal groan of effort rattled the back of her throat and ever so slowly the head was born into her palm.

Smoke was filling the city, homes and shops were on fire, the enemy’s army was tearing her home apart. Loud and sudden blasts echoed down the alleyway, shaking the streets and buildings all around her. Marion fell forward, scrambling on all fours to get away from danger, all the while her baby’s head hung from her body filling her underwear. The rough cobbled street grazed and cut her knees as she crawled further down the side street, desperate to find some shelter. Fluids were leaking from her opening leaving a trail of damp in her wake. She found a door, indented slightly into the brick wall. She tried the handle but it was locked. A cry of fear and frustration left her lungs as she pounded and pushed against the wooden door.

The baby wasn’t waiting for safety or shelter, the next contraction was soon taking hold and she rocked on all fours in the alcove, humming an instinctual noise as the baby’s shoulders started to press against her opening.

“D-don’t…. No….” Marion panted and pleaded with her body.

But her hips sank backwards and she was uncontrollably pushing once more, grunting with every wave as her body worked on expelling the child. “Mnnnghhhhhhh it— it’s coming… I can’t— stop p-p-pushingggggg!!!”

Marion clawed at the door bringing herself up on her knees as the shoulders stretched her opening wide. The baby was waiting for no one and it was coming out right into her underwear. Her fingernails dug deep into the wooden door, her hips sinking towards the floor and she roared with the effort of bearing down, of pushing the baby’s shoulders out of her body. She could feel everything as it slipped out - one shoulder, the next shoulder, its arms and hands and torso as it emerged into her undergarments. Marion managed to prise her hands from the door and scrambled with her clothing to free the path for her baby to enter this world. Pulling the underwear down a few inches she grunted with the desperate final push and the baby suddenly slipped from her body into her hands.

“Ahhh oh Gods… you’re here, you’re out….” Marion gasped, pulling the newborn straight to her chest and sitting back onto her heels. “Hello little one.” The baby shifted and squirmed in her arms and released the softest cry of a first breath.

Exhausted, Marion turned and slumped against the doorway, babe in arms. The sound of crying soon travelled down the side street and footsteps approached. Fear filled Marion’s heart, the enemy was approaching and both she and her baby were defenceless.

“Oh my goodness, is that a baby?” Came a gruff voice above her. She looked up frightened, but when she saw the familiar uniform colour and the warm caramel skin of an Allerian soldier Marion let out a relieved sob.

“Come on Miss, I’ll get you and your baby out of here.” He said kindly.

[prince-of-pleasures]

Rosie-potion ask game:

Demon eggs, long birth

Have fun!

So many eggs... Too many...

Zira knelt before the fireplace on a plush fur rug, his tail lashing as he held onto the birthing bar in front of him for dear life. A storm raged outside, and lightning lit up the night sky. Now was not the best time to give birth; the nest he had made was upstairs, as were all of the supplies. That was where he was supposed to be in three weeks, but the eggs were coming now, and he couldn't make it up the stairs on his own as contractions wracked his body.

Gods, it hurt, but the stretch of his cervix as the first of the demon's eggs forced him open was pure bliss. His cock bucked and released a thick line of clear precum that coated the underside of his belly.

Too big...

His gravid stomach was big enough that it touched the floor, squishing his cockhead, massaging it every time the eggs inside of him shifted and pressed outward.

A small, desperate whine escaped his lips as they knocked against each other, and the first egg was forced harshly past his cervix and into his birthing canal. It was roughly egg-shaped, and ridged, around the size of a watermelon. He clenched around it, and his tail quivered as it pressed against his g-spot.

He was about to cum, and this was only the first egg. With a push, it left his cunt with a gush of slick, and he came hard, soaking his expensive rug in hot seed.

Too many...

More eggs came, stretched him open, and were pushed out. He used his tail to gather them behind him so he didn't crush them while he labored. It was a smooth birth to start.

Until they shifted again, and his belly rumbled in protest. He pushed, and another egg opened his cervix. How many was this? He lost count, his head was so fuzzy with lust and elation. The egg spread open his lower lips, but he could feel that it was still firmly wedged inside. How big was this one? Bigger than the last, surely, if it was crowning before even leaving his womb fully.

"Oh, gods, please..." he breathed. "Please..."

It felt so good, he felt like he was about to drown in pleasure. Another orgasm washed over him, but instead of pushing it out, it went the other way when he clenched down, back into his womb.

"No, no, no! Damn it!"

He tried again, but his energy was waning, his knees were locked up, and his thighs were sore from squatting. It stretched him open again, and again got stuck. He knocked his head against the birthing bar, frustrated, then pushed hard. It budged, but only barely. Barely was enough. All he had to do was make sure it was moving in the right direction, and he would be fine. His tail quivered again. He loved this. Eggs were absolutely one of his favorite things.

Thunder cracked just outside the far window, and he jumped. It was enough to knock the egg free, and it barreled down his birth canal and out of him, followed by a flood of slick, far more than before. The fur below him was absolutely sopping, and the thought that it was his juices that had soaked it so thoroughly only turned him on more.

He took a moment to breathe while his tail gathered the large egg with the others, and rested a hand on his sore belly. He felt around gently, pressing and rubbing. There were still so many inside of him. Dozens of demon spawn to be lain and cared for. How was he going to get them up to the nest? He didn't have time to consider it before the next egg lined up. He pushed hard, and multiple eggs were forced out all at once, one after the other. He came again, curling around his belly as his entire body tensed from the sheer force of it.

He was a mess. There was a sheen of sweat on his pale skin that shimmered in the firelight, his long white hair was drenched, too, and he was kneeling in a pool of his own liquids. He loved everything about this.

This was perfect.

[donotpush]

Birth of Heracles

this is a commission for @thebabyscomingnow, an erotic retelling of Heracles’ birth! with everything you could wish for: greek mythology, birth denial and hot, difficult labor. hope you enjoy as much as i did :)

The savage movements of the child in her womb were eager to steal moans from Alcmene’s lips. The Princess of Mycenae had become a throbbing, whimpering mess in the sheets of the King’s bed.

Her son was huge. With every little movement, she could feel the weight of the baby pinning her down, making her lose balance. Of course, it must be like father, like son; there was something deep inside her that told her, since the moment she confirmed the new life growing inside her womb, that it was special.

She was the bearer of a beauty that made men weak in the knees and caused women to look twice, and of course that it would catch the eye of unexpected guests into her life.

Being impregnated by the god of gods himself was definitely one of them.

Her water broke the night before. The contractions came and went, remaining in a not very concise wave, varying in pain and intensity as if they were just casual cramps. At some point, the contractions had completely stopped, leaving Alcmene sagging in discomfort and mild agony.

She didn’t know what was worse at this point—to push that baby out or to keep it inside her, the massive weight of it resting on her pelvis.

She was sure it was a boy. It had to be. Vigorous and sturdy, just like his father, her son only proved to be the owner of enviable strength and energy, even in the womb.

***

If there was something Zeus could be proud of, it was every single one of his offspring. And all the tricks and feats he managed to pull just to get it his way. And now, contemplating the beautiful, delicate frame of Alcmene’s body being disrupted by his son, her gravid stomach was almost coarse in comparison with her delicate beauty; more than proud, he was horny.

As the pregnancy progressed, he would only find delight in seeing his unborn child grow. To the surprise of no one, his wife wasn’t as happy as him.

"You bastard! How dare you!?" or something along those lines was the only thing he received when Hera found out, but he was used to Hera's rage.

And jealousy. It seemed that his desire for the fertile body of Alcmene grew in pair with Hera's wrath.

Zeus watched as Alcmene rocked her hips in the air, her naked body glistening under the light of the candles in the room. The way her gravid stomach hung low under her as she swayed back and forth, how she moved with her hips in the air, how she lowered herself against the bed, arching her back and rocking her hips as her gravid stomach pressed against the mattress

He was responsible for making her labor progress as he wished. And Zeus wanted to start easy, to take in every bit and savor it slowly: let Alcmene get used to the feelings slowly.

Let her enjoy every single moment of childbirth as much as she could.

Her water broke after hours of leaking; the contractions were slow, steady, and so far from each other that you wouldn't even consider them labor. The baby was so, so slowly descending in her pelvis that Alcmene would only realize it when her walk turned into a waddle; her calm breathing became sturdy, and her steady sighs became unashamed moans and whimpers.

Zeus was enjoying it. Just at the thought of seeing his child being born, storms would fill Zeus' glistening eyes.

***

Alcemene pulled her legs down to the side of the bed, placing both hands beside her body before taking a deep breath and pushing through to pull herself up. A sigh escaped her lips when she finally managed to stand up, with a hand on the wall to stabilize her. She reached her arm to her lower back for support.

Waddling, she made her way to throw over herself a robe. These days, the only comfort she could find was in letting her sensitive body be bare. At the same moment, her husband made his way into the room.

Amphitryon looked her over. Her face was flushed, her hair disheveled, but her body still carried its own unique grace.

"Tomorrow there is going to be a meeting with all the generals to discuss... important things," Amphitryon announced in the most casual tone, "and I need you there."

This sentence caught Alcmene off guard; usually, she was not asked by her husband to attend meetings; war was not something she was fond of; and she found no interest in politics, but she nodded nonetheless. What her husband said, she did.

"I don’t think..." Her words were interrupted by a small cramp. "Ugh… I don’t think my presence can be any useful."

"A beautiful woman's presence is always good," her husband replied, looking at her over his shoulder. "A good reminder of what we're fighting for, mhm?"

"But…"

Ampythrion turned towards her, smiling lightly as he walked over to place a kiss on her temple. Well, if her presence would be useful, even if it just to boost morale.

"I insist." Amphitryon slid his hand under the robe, pressing against the tender flesh of the gravid stomach. "You have been like this for days. He isn't going to be born tomorrow. We both know this can take days."

Indeed, it didn’t seem like it. Her pleas were interrupted when the man held his finger up in the air, shushing her before starting to make his way out of the room.

"We'll be waiting for you."

***

"I simply cannot believe that you would do this…" The scream echoed in Zeus' ears' "...again!"

The goddess crossed her arms against her chest, stomping her foot against the floor. She was furious and raging with Zeus and with that woman. How could Alcmene be so oblivious about her husband's antics? Wasn't it obvious to everyone?

Well, it is late now. What’s done, it's done. Hera should have complained nine months ago, not now.

For Hera, it was in the way his eyes darkened, the way his lips parted, and the way his hand was clutching tightly to the armrest. Zeus was enjoying it, watching the woman enjoy the fruits of his labor nine months ago.

"Can't you be happy?" He shrugged, "A king is being born today!" Zeus slammed his hand against the armrest. "Son of mine, strong and born to rule!"

"You're enjoying it, don’t you?"

The burning fire in Hera’s eyes became quiet, her gaze wandering in the nothingness for a moment. She had a way better idea than to argue with an old man. Zeus couldn’t care less what her opinion was. But it would serve her right to remain quiet. If he was enjoying Alcemene's labor with such joy, who was she to private him from such a simple pleasure?

Alcmene wasn’t going to give birth. She wasn't going to give Zeus that one pleasure. 

***

"Ilithyia'' Hera's voice rang in her ears, and the gravid goddess turned around to see the face of rage.

Hera was fuming, stomping towards her. Moving a hand behind her back and another under her stomach for support, Ilithyia stood up, waddling to meet Hera with a small smile. The goddess of childbirth, glowing and gravid as always, tended to be a pleasure to deal with for Hera. Only with exceptions, like right now. Hera approached the goddess, grabbing a hold of her shoulders, her fingers digging at the soft skin.

"Alcmene…" Hera began but was unable to finish her sentence.

"Yes! She’s looking forward to giving birth to a wonderful baby boy!" The pregnant woman cheered, rubbing her stomach excitedly.

"Listen," Hera raised her eyebrows, emphasizing every one of her words, "Alcmene won’t give birth today."

Ilithyia frowned in confusion, tilting her head slightly, she remained quiet. She knew better than to question Hera.

Hera released her grip on her shoulders, her mouth set in a thin line as she stepped back.

"This is an order, Ilithyia," the woman said. "Sit down. Under no circumstances, Alcmene can give birth today."

***

Alcmene squirmed, trying to dissimulate her constant shifting and changing positions on the uncomfortable chair with a small cough. Her back was on fire, and the pressure that slowly but surely was forming in her pelvis only grew more and more powerful, almost impossible to ignore now.

She tried all the positions that her body allowed her to contort into to look for a bit of comfort, but she always ended up the same: her legs spread and her head almost thrown back, her huge belly resting between her hips.

She spent a restless night, moving around and groaning and panting. Every time it seemed like things were going to progress, they stopped. No contractions, no need to push—just the uncomfortable weight of the baby’s head resting on her pelvis. 

So against her pleas, her husband still dragged her along to the council meeting.

War, travel, plans and maps. The words of the men in front of her went in one ear and out the other, unable to focus on something that wasn't the sensations cruising through her body. It was a buildup of everything—the unexpected contractions she was unable to predict, the sensitive skin of her taut stomach, the heaviness of her breasts. The way the baby was positioned so, so low that it was painful to do anything.

A drop of sweat traveled down her forehead, falling to stain her dress. She looked down to find that her breasts were leaking, leaving wet patches on her chest.

It was a travesty to find something to wear lately that didn't rub her body in the wrong ways; everything seemed too tight, too harsh, too suffocating. Alcmene had resorted to being naked most of the time, but clearly, a council meeting wasn't good scenery to be like that.

She threw on herself the first thing she found, the chiton specially confected for her. Some other time, it would have been a pleasure to have such genteel fabrics covering her body. But now she despised it.

The fabric was constantly rubbing against her way too sensitive nipples, she was starting to leak. If she had had one more minute to consider her dressing, this wouldn't be happening.

A sharp pain shot through her abdomen. Alcmene hunched forward, one of her hands moving to bury itself under her belly and the other to grip the armrest of the chair.

In front of her, the group of men engrossed in their conversation ceased their conversation in unison, turning their attention to the woman behind them.

"Sorry," Alcmene panted. "Please... continue. Do not mind me."

Amphitryon cleared his throat, gathering the men's attention back to him.

She parted her lips slightly, letting out a slow breath as her hand massaged her womb where she could reach, trying to soothe herself. The pressure between her legs was intensifying.

Until a few hours ago, she was able to try and distract herself from it. She tried to lose herself in thought, counting the cracks in the ceiling and the tiles on the floor, but now it was impossible to ignore. Her body was sending all the signals that she wanted this baby out, and her brain wasn't able to brush them off now. She was in labor, and there was a baby coming.

Alcmene excused herself from the meeting, politely whispering to the woman sitting next to her that she needed a moment to collect herself. Every step to the door felt heavy, each movement was making her entire body ache. She swore she could feel the eyes of everyone burning on her back as she walked away, but when she looked over her shoulder, nobody was staring. Everyone else seemed to be deep in their own thoughts, engrossed in their work.

She stumbled into the hallway. Leaning against the cool stone wall of the hallway, Alcmene took deep breaths, trying to steady herself amidst the waves of pain. The sound of her own heartbeat echoed in her ears, and she closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythm of her breathing.

She realized how wide her legs were forced apart by the massive weight of the baby’s head resting low on her hips and how close it was. Her hands rested over her abdomen, gently massaging the muscles under her skin, trying to relax them and relieve some of the pressure, but she soon found herself panting when another contraction took over.

Alcmene forced herself to take a step, then another, and every moment that passed, it felt as if the baby's head was forcing her lips apart wider.

As soon as she was out of sight, Alcmene’s face contorted into a grimace as she squatted down, her hands turning into fists as she gripped the fabric of her clothes to pull it up her knees and pushed.

Now, it was as if all the progress that she should’ve had in the past hours was coming all over her in one fast and furious wave. It was as if her baby was ready to come out, but her body wasn’t cooperating.

She slid her hand between her legs, tracing the bulging shape of her pussy lips, and a low groan vibrated in her throat. Her shoulders tensed and her knuckles turned white as she gathered all the strength she could think of at the moment, forcing her chin to her chest as she pushed.

Her nails dug into her thighs as she let out a strangled cry. Her eyes squeezed shut and her arms trembled from the effort, but it seemed like she was going nowhere.

"Ughnn!" Alcmene pressed the palm of her hand against the crowning head, and she felt it move slowly for a bit before it slid back inside. "Ah! Ugh…!"

***

"Stand up!"

 "Do not you dare!"

On one side: Hera's voice, on the other: Zeus' screams.

The screaming contest was driving Ilithyia crazy. The goddess of childbirth moved her hand to rub her fertile womb, feeling the life inside of her squirming. Hera was very clear with her order: to prevent Alcmene from giving birth today. But it also meant to face the rage of Zeus for ruining his little party.

Cross-legged, Ilithyia cleared her throat, shifting her hips to accommodate and find a more comfortable position with the imminent life that was coming down her birth canal.

"Ilithyia!" Zeus barked, "Stand up now, you don’t want to face the consequences later!"

The goddess gulped, feeling the familiar pressure that accompanied the impending push start to grow and spread through her body. She looked between Zeus and Hera, her face scrunched up in irresolution.

***

Alcmene felt her whole upper body tense up as she breathed in, closing her eyes and focusing on pushing. She pushed with all her might. Panting, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she couldn’t help but cry out when the weight of the baby moved down her birth canal.

Her knees buckled beneath her, and Alcmene fell to the ground. Her body was trembling with every contraction, hands clutching tightly to the material of her clothes as a loud moan escaped her lips when she finally felt the head, this time moving forward down her entrance with a push.

A bit, just a little inch, but it was enough to make Alcmene let out a loud breath, sighing in relief that this time her efforts were actually doing something. She inhaled again, her hands clenching as she closed her eyes and pushed again, biting her lips to contain a scream.

"Mhgn!"  Her face became red, and sweat was now covering her whole body. "Gods…!"

With a loud groan, her hands pressed against the cold floor as her body tensed in another push, the contractions now piling on top of each other as her body was washed over by an overwhelming urge to push that baby out.

The pain, the pressure. Alcmene gritted her teeth, her eyebrows furrowing as she focused on pushing with all her might with the next contraction that ripped through her stomach.

"Aughn!" Alcmene cried out, her head falling backward as her eyes flew open.

The baby’s head pushed on and stretched her entrance, Alcmene’s legs trembling and treating to close, trying to escape from the pain, from the burning feeling of the head stretching her open.

She remained there, puffing as her chest rose and fell wildly. It was that she wanted to feel the painful stretch of the head coming to its biggest point, but she was afraid to tear if the head came out too fast.

She moved one of her hands over her stomach to grace her fingertips over the shape of the baby’s head. Someone was coming from the other side of the hallway, their footsteps echoing in the air, but everything Alcmene could focus on was the baby crowning between her legs. She had left all decorum and modesty behind a long time ago.

Taking a deep breath in, pulling her chin to her chest and closing her eyes, she pushed. Her hips moved upwards in the air, her forehead resting against the cold floor and her legs trembled as the head slowly made its way out.

With a grunt, her hips jerked upwards again, and she screamed into her clenched fists.

A gush of amniotic liquid rushed out of her, the wet fabric of her gown sticking to her thighs and to her sweaty body. All of her ached, from her sensitive, leaking breasts to the taut skin of her contracting stomach; the worst of it was her crowning pussy. 

Alcmene pushed, every muscle in her body tensing with the effort, and with a gush, the massive head of the baby popped out of her. She gasped, and then she felt the feeling of a warm hand pressing against her lower back.

She tilted her head over her shoulder to find a man kneeling behind her, catching the baby’s head.

Alcmene closed her eyes again, resting her forehead against the floor as she panted heavily. Her lips turned into a thin line to keep the moans contained. Taking a deep breath, she focused on pushing as soon as the next contraction took over. Slowly, the shoulders started to make their way out of her.

"Nhgn!"  Alcmene whimpered, her back arching in an attempt to escape the pain. "Ohhhhhhhh!"

She cried, gripping onto the floor desperately as she gritted her teeth, her body tensing as she pushed again. After what seemed to be an eternity of pushing and squirming, the shoulders were out, and the rest of the baby's body came out.

Alcmene gasped for air, her eyes screwed up as sweat trickled down her temples. 

Breathing hard and fast, she remained there, trying to catch her breath.

Next one? Alcmene opened her eyes, looking around to see what he was talking about, but she was interrupted when another cramp hit her. She grunted, and her eyes opened wide when she felt something coming down her birth canal.

As she felt the mass descend rapidly, Alcmene panted when a contraction hit her again. Soon, she felt that familiar feeling taking over her again: she needed to push. 

Again.

The head of another baby was descending slowly through her birth canal. Faster than the last one, her body seemed to do what she knew, and pushing with every contraction, the head descended faster, crowning in a matter of just a few pushes. 

This one was smaller than its brother.

"Ughn!"  Alcmene groaned loudly when the head stretched her open again, and with a small grunt, she pushed it out. "Ah!"

The rest of the body came out easily, and soon Alcemene found herself holding two small babies against her chest, the two boys sucking frantically at her breasts.

"Alcides...and Iphicles," she whispered to the children. The names sounded strangely beautiful rolling off her tongue.

[gravidwithlore]

Part 2 of my Usurper x Prince piece

Augustin couldn't shake the fact that something was wrong. Something was unsettling him, drawing his mind out of the pleasant hazy fog he'd been happy to wade through the past… how long had it been? 

It couldn't be the children, he had just checked on them, fed them, left them to be burped by their amazing nursemaids. It wasn't the little ones in his belly, safe and content, just starting to stretch and explore the shelter of his womb. It wasn't his husband, caressing his body, swaying him back and forth, whispering praises as he pressed kisses to the crook of Augustin's neck. His husband… his husband-

Augustin's eyes shot open, and in the mirror he could see a sickly green flash leave his eyes as the enchantment over him was banished. It all washed over him. The call to travel home, the looming threat of war from within his kingdom, news of General Kane's treachery, his carriage ambushed on the woodland path, being kidnapped, being held hostage, Kane's enchantment fogging his mind and rendering him under his thrall. More clearly now, he remembered his wedding, his so-called honeymoon, his brain-washed joy as his belly began to swell with the would-be usurper's babies, his heavy gravid form paraded through the remains of the battlefield of his home, waddling through the debris as his so-called husband led him to the royal vault, draped his naked form with all the jewels and finery from the vault that he could. Augustin shivered with revulsion as he remembered sitting on Kane's lap as his father, though greedy and incompetent, still his father, was led to the usurped throne in chains, staring in horror, as all that Augustin's enchanted clouded mind cared about was finding pleasure on the traitors cock. He remembered giving birth to his first-borns, his magically altered mental state making him find the pain pleasurable, made him whine and pout at the thought of his babies leaving his body, how Kane encouraged him to spread his legs and push by promising to knock him up again as soon as possible, he cringed as he remembered how eagerly he labored after, how many times just the sensation of giving birth alone made him cum. And how Kane made good on his promise, making sure he was well and truly knocked up with another set of heirs, how much pleasure it gave his little brain-washed broodmare brain to feel his second-borns move in his belly as his first-borns suckled at his constantly weeping tits. 

Which is how he arrived at that moment in the middle of the night, in front of the mirror, Kane's amused villainous chuckle reverberated through his blood, as he gently swayed them back and forth, one hand fondled one of Augustins tits, already leaking even after having just fed their children, another tenderly but firmly wrapping around what may have once been his waist, his hand resting across the already expansive dome of his belly. 

“Caught up quickly, have we?” Teased the usurper, his husband, Augustin thought with disgust.

Augustin felt like he'd just tried to run the length of his kingdom, all the suppressed rage and shame bubbling up at once, leaving him frozen in place, staring at a reflection of himself simultaneously familiar and shockingly different to what he remembered.

“Or do we need another minute to process?” Kane teased again, frustratingly unconcerned, almost dismissive in how he continued to fondle Augustin's body, which had gone stiff and un-receptive in shock. Augustin's breath hitched, and he swallowed as he tried to form words of his own for the first time in over a year. 

“You're a monster.” Augustin whispered, still in shock, suddenly afraid that Kane would snap his fingers and he'd be a just brain-addled empty-headed broodmare yet again, a few seconds of realization and clarity to see the fear and despair in his eyes before sending him back to foggy oblivion. 

Kane just chuckled again and shrugged, not phased in the slightest. Augustin opened his mouth again to speak, but no words came out. His mouth clicked shut in an attempt to start over and try again. His mind swam in confusion, still parsing which over the past year or so had been real and which had been the enchantment. There was so much he wanted to say, he wanted to curse Kane out, he wanted to rail against him, denounce him, and cast him out, to call the guards, to have him bound and in chains. With no little amount of horror, he realized none of that would work. Kane was officially the King, and though Augustin had been Prince all his life, by birthright should be the one to hold the throne, everyone in the castle served Kane, and he was simply just Kane's royal baby-maker, there or gone by Kane's command. 

“Why?” His breath hitched, and it came out as barely a whisper, but nose buried in his throat Kane clearly heard him, as his eyes snapped to meet Augustin's in the mirror and a devilish smile spread across his face. 

“Well, well, well. I underestimated you, my love.” The last he spoke with honeyed venom, clearly trying to get a rise out of Augustin. “I expected at least a few more rounds of name-calling before you actually started thinking. Now, why, what, my dearest?” 

Augustin fought down the urge to punch Kane right in his shit-eating grin and spoke again.

“Why dismiss the enchantment? And why now?”

“Hm. Well…” Kane paused, Augustin assumed for dramatic effect, and shifted their positions so that his arms loosely wrapped over Augustins already prominent baby bump, his chin easily resting on his head. “I remember you used to be quite a smart lad, the pregnancy brain might get in the way of that now, but I could always use someone like you by my side.” He drawled. 

“So, basically, you're such a sad paranoid old man, that you no longer trust anyone or anything, much less your council and advisors, and now you're desperate enough to come crawling to me, your brain-washed broodmare.” Augustin rolled his eyes in disdain. “Pathetic.” 

He could feel Kane tense, his jaw tighten, in the mirror his eyes cold and hardened, the mischievous glint gone. “Perhaps, it simply has been getting annoying to tell you it's not the right time to be dry-humping my leg and begging to be railed about 50 times a gods-damned day.” He spoke evenly, an eyebrow arched in annoyance. 

“Oh please, you love that shit, you degenerate freak. I've seen that look in your eye, when you bring me to council meetings, knowing I'm going to beg to impale myself on your cock, in front of everybody. I'm sitting on your lap, you traitorous snake, I can feel how hard you get at everyone's scandalized faces. Now, what do you really want?” Augustin’s eyes shone in the mirror as he glared at Kane, focused for the first time in a long time. 

“Yes, well.” Kane briefly broke eye contact to glance down at the swell of Augustin’s belly, running a hand down it's expanse to cup it at the base of his womb. “Perhaps, you're correct. The other councilors and nobles aren't quite bonded in the way that we are. Perhaps, I think, with time, we would make an excellent team.” 

Augustin let the statement, the admission, the metaphorical baring of his throat hang in silence around them. Kane must feel like things are dire, or is just extremely lonely, a little voice in the back of his mind offers, to take on the unbrain-washed former enemy as his closest ally. He was putting on a convincing front, as if he was the one offering Augustin the opportunity of a lifetime, a deal he was hoping he would be desperate enough to grab before it was too late. But Augustin had been born a prince, not the village dunce.

“What if I said no?” Augustin whipped around to face Kane. He wanted, no, needed, to see his reaction firsthand. No more mirrors, no more illusions.

“W-what?” Kane stumbled back, narrowly avoiding a bludgeoning from Augustin's belly. For the first time in a long time, he appeared genuinely shocked.

“ What if, I said, no?” Augustin repeated more firmly, keeping unrelenting eye contact. For a moment Kane seemed to be at a genuine loss for words. His eyes drifted down Augustin’s form, and surprisingly, something in his eyes softened. 

“You know-” He paused, a huff of a laugh escaping his lips. “You know, I only set your enchantment to enthrall you to do 2 things. To marry me, and get pregnant with my heirs.”

“Your point being?” Augustin crossed his arms, annoyed.

“I never commanded you to love them, to genuinely care for them, our children. And yet, here we are, wide awake in the middle of the night, because you knew it was time to feed them. Despite the fact that we have the best wet nurses in the kingdom at their beck and call, sitting by their cribs day and night, might I add. Despite everything, you still love our babies.”

“Are you threatening my children?” For the second time that night Kane looked genuinely taken aback, greatly offended even, a very relieved part of Augustin observed.

“No, I am not threatening our children! Don't you want a better world for them, a better world than the one your father would have left them, a better world than those insipid greedy bastards on the council would leave them with?” He pleaded. “We could make that. Together.” 

“And let's say I believe one word of your ‘leave the world better than you found it’ bullshit, you traitorous liar. How are you going to explain the sudden return of my complete mental capacities to those bastards on the council, hmm?” Augustin raised an eyebrow. 

“As if I care what they think.” Kane rolled his eyes in disdain. 

“You should.” Augustin jammed a finger into his chest. “How long do you think you're going to last on this throne if you don't? Because I'd say you'd last maybe about as long as my father did, if you're lucky.” 

For a moment, Kane took in his words and considered them, carefully. Very carefully.

“So then, what do you propose?” He asked with unfamiliar hesitation. 

“Once we figure out an reasonable explanation for why I'm suddenly back to my intelligent old self again, you'll treat me as an equal. Not a royal baby-maker, not as a common concubine, not even as an advisor. An equal. Who you listen to, and respect. Got it?” 

“And?” Kane pushed his luck even further, confidant he'd be able to get away with it. 

“And I won't slit your throat in your sleep.” 

Kane laughed. A man so used to sleeping with one eye open, it wasn't that he underestimated Augustin’s resolve, but that he already expected it, planned for an inevitable betrayal from everyone he'd ever met. A different tactic was needed then, but it wasn't as if Augustin had much left to bargain with. Looking back on the events of the past couple of years, the only thing he had left were his children, and they were off limits as bargaining tools. Except maybe…

“And-” Augustin snapped, bringing Kane’s attention back. “And I'll keep fucking you.” 

Augustin watched as he started to laugh again, then realization dawned on his face, the seed planted the thought began to spread, much like the babies growing in Augustin’s womb. Kane was a man who had climbed his way to power, tooth and nail, and against all odds he'd won it. And as a man who had clawed his way to power, over time he'd become accustomed to the trappings of power, some things he'd never grow accustomed to the way that people born into nobility are. But certain things he'd grown quite accustomed to in his, so far, short reign.

“I'll keep up the act, doting loving adoring husband, who only wants to please his King. And whenever you want, I'll spread my pretty little legs and beg you to fuck baby after baby after baby in me. Even when I'm about to pop.” In spite of himself, Augustin was making himself wet, teasing Kane, reminding him of how quickly he'd gotten hard again after he'd broken Augustin’s waters his last pregnancy. From the way Kane’s eyes darkened he could tell he was thinking the same thing. 

“Then it seems we have a deal.” Kane’s devilish smile spread across his face, his expression both relentlessly teasing and desperately wanting all at once. 

“Good.” And for the third time that night, Kane’s face twisted into shock as Augustin pushed him several steps back, his knees hit the edge of the bed and he landed heavily on his back. “Now that that's over, you’ve gotten me all hot and bothered, playing with my tits and rubbing your hard-on all over my ass earlier, so why don't we hurry up and seal this deal, hmm?” 

Augustin ripped down Kane’s sleeping pants, then lifted his own short shift as he climbed onto Kane, pinning him down between his thighs, their throaty groans of relief harmonizing as Augustin sank down onto his cock. 

[let-me-fill-you]

here's a little scenario for you~

my long-term asshole boyfriend knocks my tboy pussy up. of course, he skips town to avoid the responsibilities of being a parent

you're a good friend of mine, and you help me through all the ups and downs of pregnancy. im having triplets, and on my short frame, i start growing waaaay earlier than expected

in my sixth trimester, when km already as big as a house, you manage to track down my baby daddy, drag him back to my place, and encourage me to swallow him whole. hes only good as nourishment for my babies, if he's not going to provide money

he's so much bigger than me... if i do manage to swallow him down, would you give me belly rubs after? 🥺🥺

It's not a question of if, darling, but how long it will take you to swallow down this good-for-nothing asshole.

The nerve of him to run out on you like that, after knocking you up with triplets for Christ's sake... You were miserable after he left, inconsolable - and you deserve recompense. So I tracked him down, and I dragged him, kicking and screaming, back to you. He needed to see you, see what you had become thanks to his indiscretion. You are massively gravid, and beautiful for it in my humble opinion - and he forsook the chance to be your husband, to be a part of this...

So now, he's going to be a part of you. I shook him down, see, and he isn't exactly liquid, having blown all his funds on starting a new life without you, while you were busy here creating new life... Correction: He will be liquid by the time you're done with him - a thick, nutritious chyme passing through your intestines, feeding you and your babies. It's the least he can do for all the heartache he's given you.

Channel your rage toward him, draw strength from the lonely nights without him, the deep hunger you've felt in his absence, think about how much you love your babies, and he will - in spite of his size - slide down your throat with buttery ease~

And once you're done, once his fate is sealed inside your stomach, of course I will give you belly rubs~ We wouldn't want your heartache to turn into heartburn.

[burstingwithbellies]

The bishop commands: "Step forth, whore." But that's easier said than done, in your gravid state. Your belly hangs out in front of you like a overripe fruit, ready to drop and burst--even though you feel deep inside you, you're not close to due. It reaches down to your knees, pulling on your back horribly, but your hands are bound behind you, unable to heft and support its despicable weight. That's the point after all. You're being marched through town on a walk of shame, your shameful body on naked display. They want you to struggle each step of the way, as punishment; the fruits of your wanton lust. Of course, this is the fault of the bishop himself, who would take you in secret during confession. But who would believe the word of a whore? A lower clergyman dips his fingers in red dye, and paints a scarlet letter of shame on your bump, the sheer size of which necessitates wide strokes so everyone can see it. Your sensitive taut skin trembles at the contact, beneath the cold fingers. The bishop then tells you, "Stand straight." Then, sliding clothes to whisper in your ear, "Or I'll place more bastard into you."

I shudder. I whine. My back is bent from the weight of all our children and the weight has proven to be heavy for me just sitting down.

My pregnancy has burdened every facet of me.

My walk of shame takes ages. My gravity prolongs it. My size makes it arduous. Without my slow motion movements, it would have been easy enough to spot me. The writing was pointless in the task of dishonoring me. Over 200 lbs of disgrace sat in my womb and made itself known.

The eyes on me made me feel heavier too. I wanted to run away from my cruel fate but the escapades of our vices prevents me. My humiliation adds the weight. I get named “the engorged whore”. My vile status didn’t need introduction, it didn’t need to be written; it was all evident on my skin. My stretched, angry red skin.

The misconception of the whore was that I landed myself like this, all on my own. And to some degree, yes, I did. I got pregnant but it was never to be to this extent and it was not my intention to carry the burden of my misdeeds and the bishop. I couldn’t save myself in time from this fate and now, I am a slave to him.

My belly groans and rumbles, the immensity is proving too much. I groan in unison with my belly and then, take a moment for myself without permission. I know that you want me to keep trudging, but my body is at its limits. Our children felt mad at me as well. They rage at me like it’s my fault I had given them too many siblings at once.

I hold as much of my belly as I could. “No more!” I cry. I have too many children inside of me. My due date isn’t near me, I am not in labor but there was this visceral pain.

I needed no more of this, but my body obviously isn’t finished.

[wannabepapa]

There's something to be said about bashful pregnant boys, but what about the opposite? Gravid lads who are very proud of their pregnancies, bordering on obnoxious. They're big and swollen and loving it.

bashful boys are always talked about. they're cute when they're shy and trying to hide their growing bodies because the feel like blimps.

but boys who are loud and proud about their pregnancies? they are the best. the second they get confirmation they're pregnant their whole personality—every second of every day he talks about all the details he gets on his pregnancy app about the little bean growing in his belly. his wardrobe takes on a tighter nature, shirts cling to him like a second skin so no paternal curves are left to the imagination.

all i can think of for someone so obnoxious about his pregnancy is a gym bro that had finally gotten pregnant after years of trying with his partner. he is loudly pro-LGBTQ+, pro-choice, pro-black lives matter, and a raging feminist that will throw down with any asshole that tries to be racist or sexist. he will still be a regular at the gym through his whole pregnancy because he wants to keep up a healthy habits while pregnant. everyone in that gym knows him and has seen every single ultrasound photo or got a lesson about the size of the baby from one of the many apps he uses. he may look mean or like a walking red flag but the second he opens his mouth everyone falls in love with him

[supersaiyanjedi14]

Part of my Star Wars AU, adapting more characters from Star Wars: Visions. This time, it's Screecher's Reach, with Daal and the Sith Mother. Or, as they are officially known here, Darth Unseelius and her apprentice, Darth Morriga.

Following my personal headcanon, the Sith Ghost seen in the short was the Mother's former Master, here known as Darth Keenshee. Keenshee and Unseelius are part of the Rule of Two Line, operating roughly 400 years before the events of the films. Per Banite tradition, Unseelius bests her Master and seizes the mantle of Dark Lord, but instead of killing the mentally broken crone, she sequesters her in a cave on a remote planet, cruelly intent on using her as a means of gauging a prospective apprentice. Per the episode, Daal passes the test by slaying Keenshee and is taken in by Unseelius, the latter having killed two birds with one stone.

Upon leaving the planet, Unseelius formally begins Daal's Sith training, dubbing her Darth Morriga. Operating under the guise of a wealthy mid-rim philanthropist and her adopted daughter, the two build up their wealth and public image in preparation for their successors to eventually move into the higher circles of galactic politics and society. To the public, the pair are kindly, charitable women who generously donate to improve infrastructure and social services. In truth, they are building the vast network of corporate and political connections that will become critical to the Sith's final revenge. At the same time, they secretly spearhead a clandestine project to recover ancient Sith artifacts and lore, a critical step following Darth Gravid's heresy.

Daal plays her part well and thrives on her vastly improved lot in life, the luxury and stability of her station being far removed from her meager origins. However, Unseelius begins to question whether her apprentice is truly committed to the Sith way following several hesitations in dispatching troublesome figures. Believing that Lady Morriga is still bound by some chains to her former life, Unseelius arranges for the kidnapping of her former friend Baython, intent on having Daal kill him to prove her committment to the Dark Side. Despite Baython's desperate tearful pleas, Daal cannot separate herself from the path she has chosen, understanding that refusing her master would only result in her own death. She cuts him down, and Unseelius is satisfied, convinced that her apprentice will now fully serve her now that her last potential ties to the light have been severed.

She is dead wrong.

While Daal does finally embrace the darkness, the murder she was forced into drives her into a rage, recognizing her master's manipulations and abuse for what they were, culminating in the murder she was forced to do now. Turning on Unseelius, Daal declares that she will no longer be bound to anyone, least of all her "mother". Following a titanic struggle, the apprentice uses her enhanced dark powers to destroy her master, claiming the title of Dark Lord of the Sith for herself. Darth Unseelius, Baython, and Daal all die that night...and Darth Morriga is truly born.

Credit for my pixels here.

[moonmoonwerewolves]

Moonmoon Sims Cursed Context Post

This all started as a joke and I mentioned it to @/georgenootfound when i was on anon and so she wanted to see pictures of the babies and i didn't want to make a sideblog bc i would totally give away my normal tumblr via asks or some stupid shit like that. So now you have a whole ass blog and when you combine that with my adhd, uh...sorry?

But yeah like somehow i ended up making dnf as sims and moved them into moonwood mill to make them werewolves and sap got left out bc i think i was making them on limited time and i just forgot to put him in. And then I left them for like two fucking seconds to pay attention to something else (idk maybe i was raging over the fireplace they keep fucking leaving on damnit dream) and then they did the horizontal tango and all of a sudden simnotfound was gravid. Now, of course, these two had already gone exploring and stuff around moonwood mill and so both of them were bitten by some wolf in the tunnels at some point so i kind of just left it as a "lol wonder how many of them will be werewolves".

Some more context: okay so basically i gave them fake surnames so dream originally had the last name "white" but then he took george's surname ("novak-flynn) after they got married in their backyard and anyways george went into labor like right when they were saying their vows which was...a whole thing.

Of course, because I have MC Command Center and a few other mods, they had a whole ass litter of six babies, it was a whole thing. So now they have six babies, who are now toddlers, and that's kind of where we're picking everything up. So here's the whole group of kids (the middle names for some of them are for fun you can thank ro and anons for that):

Orion Woof--"Greater Blood" werewolf

Phoenix Dee--werewolf

Perseus--dormant werewolf

Lyra--dormant werewolf

Andromeda--dormant werewolf

Casseiopeia--werewolf

Also yes I did in fact stick them in the wolf onesies so here's a picture of that

haha i lied! you get two pictures (normally i play with the outermost walls up but i couldn't do that and get the picture right ig)

Lyra is the one with the purple clout goggles and yes she had those naturally. like three of them had george's fucking clout goggles and i don't know how

[anon-e-miss]

Jazz with big swollen external reservoirs- hell just dump his excess into prowl and *really* make him waddle

Humiliating Chromedome had become a hobby for Jazz and Prowl could not deny he enjoyed the way Chromedome flushed with impudent rage when they crossed paths. After all the times and all the ways Chromedome had humilated him, it felt like just desserts. Whether Jazz was fragging Prowl’s processor out or they were just cuddle, Chromedome could not keep his optics to himself. Though Prowl had heard Chromedome tell someone that Prowl was making a spectacle of himself, they had quickly turned it around on Chromedome telling him what a spectacle he was, overloading all over himself and creaming his panel watching another mech frag his ex.

Prowl might have been a spectacle but he was inclined to relish it. He let Jazz have his way and did not try to cover up his belly with high cut armour. Ratchet would never have gone along with it anyways. Because this was his first carrying and he was only new turned, making certain his forge could expand properly was the medic’s priority. It was an excellent excuse to show off the fertile frame Jazz had given him and to make all those Alphas who though Omegas just mindless fragtoys deeply uncomfortable. They gave him more cause to give them the discipline they had long deserved for their blatant insubordination.

Optimus was terribly protective of Prowl and he did not wear a rose tinted visor when Prowl addressed issues with command, his subordinates and the army itself. Now that Prowl was a gravid Omega, the Prime listened better than he ever had and Prowl took full advantage. He was content, more content with the direction of his life and the Autobots than he had been in some time. Though Prowl was forbidden from going anywhere near the frontlines, Prowl was not especially perturbed. Any injury Prowl could suffer might cost him his newspark and Prowl was not going to risk his treasure so casually.

No one had expected that the enemy would be able to breech Iacon to breech the base. They most definitely had not expected that it would be Prowl that would be the target or that he would have been taken alive. It was fortunate Jazz had been close, close enough to reclaim Prowl before any harm could be done. The Decepticons watched in horror they came upon the Constructicons, impaled on pikes, very much still alive and made to watch as Jazz thoroughly reclaimed his Omega. The Autobots arrived not long after the Decepticons and everyone watched.

It probably should have disturbed Prowl a little but they had been arguing over who would have him first and whether or not he could take Devastator’s spike had been horrifying. He clung to Jazz as his Alpha reclaimed him, the filthy squelches and heavy as Jazz drove his spike into Prowl’s core over and over as his heavy reservoirs struck Prowl’s array. Prowl’s peds curled as Jazz flooded his gestational tank and he sagged, strutless to the ground. Jazz knelt over him and stroked his face. Behind them, someone moved and Prowl waited for the energon bath.

“Dee...” Megatron spoke.

“Don’t,” Optimus ordered. “You’ll have a dagger through your throat if you’re lucky. Don’t anyone move until he’s made his point.”

“We’re supposed to stand here and watch as that rapid Polihexian frags your Second in the dirt?” Megatron asked.

“Yes,” Optimus replied.

“This is ridiculous,” Megatron growled.

“Oooh,” Prowl moaned as Jazz rolled him onto knees and took him from behind. Over the sound of their interface, Prowl could hardly hear the grumbles and awkward groans.

He threw his helm back as Jazz fragged him so deep. Jazz covered his doorwings with kissed as he blanketed his back and Prowl felt safe and secure. The scents and sounds of interface filled Prowl’s every sense. His lustful joy radiated in his field and spread out beyond where he and Jazz were making love. Already his tank was so full but Jazz filled it further. Prowl was sure he would burst but it never occurred for him to ask Jazz to stop or to slow down. Jazz fondled his cum-filled belly and grunted as he spilled his seed in Prowl’s well fragged frame.

“My reservoirs are still heavy,” Jazz groaned huskily in Prowl’s audio. “Spread yer aft segments, Beautiful.”

“Oof,” Prowl grunted as he rested his helm on the ground and reached behind himself and spread his aft-segments wide. He was not wearing a plug at the moment but Prowl’s hole was no tight furl and covered in his slick, Jazz’s spike pressed in, punching the ventilations from his frame.

That stretch... it had been a while since he had felt such a stretch, just on the edge of bliss and agony. If Jazz had gone any faster at all, it would have been agony but Jazz was slow. He fragged Prowl’s aft with just the tip of his spike as Prowl groaned under him. When he overloaded in Prowl after just a few strokes, Prowl was surprised. But he should not have been, Jazz did not soften but delved deeper now, using his transfluids lube to ease his way as he carved open Prowl’s aft. It took for ever for Jazz to bottom out, to feel the smack of his reservoirs against his aft. Prowl panted and whined, he felt so full. Jazz let him processor the fullness and the stretch for a moment, before he pulled all but the tip of his spike from Prowl’s aft and then buried it all to the root again.

Prowl was speechless as he felt Jazz’s knot begin to form. It strained his aftpipe to the very limits of Prowl’s endurance. Jazz groaned against his doorwings as he held Prowl in place and bore down until his knot popped passed his Omega’s tight rim. His hot spill flood Prowl’s aft as he lay momentarily mindless. The pain of the knot shattered him but also gave him one of the strongest overloads of his life. As his aft pipe was filled with gallons of transfluids, Prowl’s belly swelled further. He felt Jazz’s reservoirs shrink but he was not freed from Jazz’s knot for another bream.

“Oh Primus,” Prowl groaned as Jazz finally pulled. “There will be a river when I stand.”

“Not to worry,” Jazz purred. Prowl’s jaw felt open as Jazz fit an enormous plug into his gaping aft hole. “Y’re gonna keep every drop til we get home.”

“Jazz,” Prowl moaned. “Oh Primus it’s so big.”

“Only as big as my knot,” Jazz replied.

“Your knot is massive,” Prowl countered.

“Not so big,” Jazz stroked Prowl’s face. “Ya manage to swallow it just fine.”

“Oh frag,” Prowl cursed as lubricant oozed from his valve. He let Jazz help him to his peds. Flicking his doorwings at the impaled combiner, Prowl waddled towards the Autobots and Decepticons gathered. His belly hung low enough it almost covered his array, almost. There was no replacing his girdle with a toy that big sticking out of his aft. Prowl looked Megatron dead in the optics as the Decepticon flushed and tried to look away. Plip, plop, there was an audible ping as lubricants and excess transfluids dribbled from Prowl’s slack folds. “You can go now.”

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

I JUST GOT HOME FROM WORK AND SAW YOUR POST SO I HOPE I SENT THIS IN IN TIME, BUT DADDY!CLYDE TRAINING HIS BABYGIRL TO LACTATE WITHOUT BEING PREGNANT (BECAUSE THAT IS 100% A CLYDE KINK) AND BEING SO PROUD OF HER WHEN SHE FINALLY STARTS PRODUCING AND HE CANT STOP SUCKING ON HER TITS. OKAY LOVE YOU BYEEE!!❤️❤️

@clydesfavoritegirl SO, I HAVE BEEN WRACKING MY BRAIN ABOUT THIS AND I HAVE A WIERD THOT ABOUT IT. 

So, little fun facts about Sara, I have had a baby (she’s five now), I breastfed for about a year (very hard to keep up), and I have also donated my eggs for other people to have babies in the future. All of this mentioned above is not easy to accomplish and requires patience and willpower to do. 

Any way you have a child is valid no matter which avenue you are given in life. If you want kids by all means have them, if you don’t that’s totally and completely fine. If you want to use formula to feed them, do it queen all the power to you, the same goes for breastfeeding. Adoption is just as important as shooting baby out yourself and surrogates are true angels in my eyes. I had not considered this lactation thing until I did research on it, because I really wanted to know if it was possible to accomplish, and it is. 

Upon my research I saw that it takes months and months of hormone therapy to produce milk without being pregnant and even then, doctors prescribe it for couples adopting and or trying surrogacy for new babies coming into the family. SO, that being said, I can twist this into maybe Clyde and yourself looking at adopting or using a surrogate for a child, and you want to try to breastfeed them because you want to bond with your new baby. And of course Clyde is ALL about it because anything that makes you happy and comfortable!

PLEASE INDULGE MY THOTS ON OUR SOUTHERN BELL CLYDE AND HIS INEVITABLE LACTATION KINK.... 

**I’m gonna put warnings on here because it mentions some heavy stuff (plz don’t read if you are triggered by any of this): Infertility, hormone therapy, angst, depression, adoption, and surrogacy**

“Baby girl?” Clyde calls from the living room, his nose deep in the baby books you both had purchased over the months of trying to start your big happy family, fumbling though his phone at the same time.

“What’s goin’ on big bear?” you chime, busy fixing yourself up in the mirror after a relaxing shower to wash the sex from your skin after a session with big daddy. 

Adjusting you hair, wincing as you lifted your arms, “Jesus,” groaning out, feeling the soreness from your heaving breasts as they felt like concrete on your chest. 

_______________

Ever since you'd begun the injections and pills, your body was hating life. The raging hormone cocktails running through your bloodstream causing every single emotion to emit from your body at once. 

You’d be happy and cheery one second, followed by crying in your shared bed under the sheets in the fetal position, and finally raging about the fact that the TV was turned too damn loud in the other room, when it all actuality it was the same level you’d always kept it at. 

No matter the tears and agony, Clyde and yourself took all of this one day at a time, just as you had when you found out that children may not be a possibility when it came to the old fashion way of doin’ it. The pain was so hard to bear that day. You cried and cried, locking yourself away from the world as you cursed whomever was in charge of your fate, feeling like less of a woman the more the days droned on. 

It took a few months for you to smile again, Clyde painstakingly trying to solve your problems with everything under the sun, reading books, catering to your needs, holding you when you sobbed yourself to sleep over your vacancy. 

Cradling you when you felt like less of a person for not being able to accomplish one simple thing you’d both hoped for in the future. He’d hush your tears away, forcing you into him as he felt you shudder during the night, silent tears falling from his face as he prayed for some kind of sign or solution to all of this. 

Then it all fell into place one day. Clyde was working his ass off during the nights, leaving you to stew about things at home, which inevitably led you to the internet. 

You looked up all kinds of solutions, message boards talking about infertility, therapies, injections, adoption, and surrogacy. All of them possible in your eyes if it played out like it had for the folks at the various agencies you’d looked up. Finally, a glimmer of hope in this shit-storm of uncertainty, as you glanced over the testimonials and pictures of various families, so happy with their children healthy and happy. 

“This is it,” you had muttered under your breath, a flutter from deep in your stomach causing tears to well up in your eyes as you thought about Clyde and you taking home a sweet new addition. 

You’d brought it up to him immediately upon entering the house at and ungodly hour, to which you were scolded by your big bear after you’d made your sales pitch to him. 

“I think it sounds perfect baby girl,” he cooed as you both laid in bed that night, caressing your sweat sheened skin after a good punishing from his cock, “if ya want ta do it, m’ happy with anything ya want,” whispering as he felt you sink into him to relax for the first time in months. 

“I jus’ wanna make ya happy to big bear,” kissing his thick chest as you inhaled his musk, “I think this is the way we can have that family we want,” ghosting your lips up his sternum as he sighed into your touch. 

“Mhmm,” he embraced you further, “I’ll adopt as many babies as ya want honey. Yer jus’ gonna be the best momma regardless,” hearing your light cries in the quiet of the darkened bedroom. 

“T-thank you big bear,” you strained out, still hiding in his neck as the tears spilled, “I can’t wait ta make ya a real daddy finally,” gripping the back of his neck as you fell into another chorus of cries. 

_____________

“What’s up?” your v-neck t-shirt straining on your heaving tits, the bra you’d picked certainly not fitting you as the days went on and on. 

“I think I found the pump ya were wantin’,” he gulped, seeing the peaches poking through your top half as you bent forward to look at the contraption he’d found. 

“Oh ya!” you jumped slightly, your tits bouncing in a ripple at your excitement, causing Clyde to salivate at the sight. 

“Thank ya big bear!” jumping into his lap as you pulled him to you, kissing his cheeks as he buried his face in your pillows, running his thick hands over your sweatpants. 

“A-anythin’ fer ma baby girl,” he panted, burying his prominent nose deeper into your rock hard tits, “Gah damn yer so juicy darlin’,” lifting his head to place pecks all over the tops of them. 

“Ya like ma milky titties baby?” biting your lip as he started sucking a mark over the soft skin, “ya wanna taste a mama’s milk?” cooing in his ear as he moaned into his make out session with your chest, rubbing his head to press it further in the valley of them. 

“Ya think they’re finally full baby girl?” he glanced up, his eyes glimmering with love and lust in the same gaze. You pet his precious face, the hopeful look only making this more special as he’d been helping you with your injections since you’d gotten the go ahead from the doctor and the agency. 

“I think so daddy,” feeling them tense up at your words, the soreness pulsing all the way to both nipples as you tried to avoid making faces in front of him. He helped you remove your fresh top, exposing your lacy bra, the skin popping out with colored veins, gravid from the fullness of them. 

“Fuck me,” he drooled, reaching behind to undo the clasp, eyes widening even further when he saw them perked up out of their hiding spot. The nipples taut and ready for his lips to suck on at his leisure. 

“Ya look so damn perty baby girl,” raising his hand to grip the skin, feeling how heavy they were on your chest, “ya want daddy ta see if they’re ready ta go?” practically begging as he ran a thumb over the sensitive nipple. 

You reared your head back at the slight touches he made, “please daddy,” whining as he watched you fall apart from his motions, “suck on my tits big bear,” shoving your chest closer to his waiting mouth as he inhaled deep, a growl brewing as he went to latch his pink lips on your areola. 

“Mother fuck!” you cried out, the pleasure releasing from your throat as he sealed himself on your tit, massaging the sore skin as he coaxed the sweet liquid to fall from it. 

He vacuum sealed his lips, sucking lightly at first, feeling you writhe and find the back of his to grip his mane, pushing him further into your warm skin. 

“O-oh g-god baby,” you moaned out, feeling a burning feeling build in your boob that felt both uncomfortable and welcoming as he sped up his jaw on your nipple. 

“Mhmmmm,” he whined out, feeling the body temperature liquid seep from your tit, coating the insides of his mouth in a warm embrace as he sucked more and more. 

Just then, you felt your other tit release a trickle of fluid, the stream of white beautiful in contrast to your skin as you glanced down in awe and pleasure. The cement block feeling escaping as Clyde sucked down your sweet nectar. 

“Oh f-fuck d-daddy,” you gasped, a mixture of elation leaving your body, “I-I’m l-leakin’,” you winced out, feeling Clyde let up on your boob, picking his head up to reveal a white sheen covering his lips and part of his mustache. 

“That ya are darlin’,” he eyes completely dilated as he looked over at your stream sliding down the underside of your neglected tit, making its way down your stomach in a perfect line, “yer doin’ such a good job baby girl.” 

Gripping the other tit in his large hand, coaxing the nipple into his mouth sucking your sweetness down in a frenzy. Your hand massaging the back of his head as you arched your back into his motions, feeling a huge relief as he emptied your other aching tit. 

He lifted his head in a gasp, wiping his mouth from the mess he’d made, watching as your sultry eyes bored into him. The both of you panting and elated at the hard work it had taken to accomplish this huge step. 

“Ya perfect, baby girl,” inching his lips to yours as you tasted your milk in his mouth, sighing into his tongue wrapping around yours. 

He pulled away for a moment, the noticeable bulge in his jeans ever present as he fulfilled his fantasies he’d had since he’d met you, “I don’t think m’ gonna be able ta keep up with these tits though as much as I’d like ta suck on ‘em fer every damn meal,” giggling as he lowered his mouth to your neck, sucking more marks on the skin as you mewled under him. 

“Don’t worry big bear,” you purred, gripping his hair again, arching yourself into his lips, “ya can help me when I get that pump we saw,” feeling him smirk under your neck at the prospect of him watching that show. 

“But fer now,” you lifted him by the ears to gaze into his precious eyes, “I think mama needs ta take care a daddy,” gesturing to his now tented erection. 

“Please mama,” he begged, watching you get up from your spot to curl and index finger as you backed into your bedroom again for round two. 

___________

God I hope I did this ask alright for you honey! Thank you for sending it in so I could learn something from it, as well as indulge in this juicy Clyde thot!

oneshot taglist: @maybe-your-left, @safarigirlsp, @clydesfavoritegirl, @emeraldsiren20, @thepalaceofmelanie, @bpdbensoloblog, @hopeamarsu, @caillea

🖤,

ray-nal-beads 

[gravidwithlore]

In order to fulfill a new treaty between heaven and hell an angel and a demon get wed in both holy AND unholy matrimony. The seraphim tries their best to be a good spouse to the demon lord, dutifully fulfilling the terms of the treaty by putting aside their pride and sharing a marriage bed.

Although they are a little peeved when they find out they're with child. When they angrily approach their demonic spouse, the demon lord smugly tells them, "Angels are built to serve, and your body knew it would serve me best by getting knocked up with my brood." Well, two can play at that game, can't they?

When the demon discovers they're also with child, they approach their spouse in a rage. The angel rubs the growing swell of their belly and sweetly smiles as they tell their spouse "Demons are controlled by selfish desire, your body must have simply caved to my own selfish desires to see you as thoroughly with child as you've made me."

Both sides are amazed at how well the political marriage is going, proud of their respective agent's commitment to keeping the terms of the treaty and the fragile balance between both sides. Meanwhile, the twice expecting couple are locked in competition, who can make each other even more knocked up, who can make the others hips wider, their tits fuller, belly rounder?

It gets even worse once their first child is born, half angel, half demon, and has totally stolen their parents hearts. Once both their parents experience holding them, smelling them, hearing their soft cries, feeling them suckling on each of their teats for the first time, it practically sends the couple into a frenzy. The competition has changed as they both desperately give in their new primal need to make their new family as big as possible, constantly comparing the gravid dome of their bellies, how full of milk their chests are, how perfectly made to give birth to, practically, litters of each other's children they are.

When heaven and hell reconcile, their exceptionally successful marriage is credited as paving the way for peace between both sides. Neither of them are even aware of the newfound peace, far too focused on caring for and growing their infinitely growing family to pay attention to anything else.

[ben-the-hyena]

I didn't draw them because I hesitate which HC to pick for Maiden Cheena (either she stays a swimming ring forever with magical logic applied to her or Skur actually finds a way to progressively turn her into a real monster to make her life easier) and thus what design and biology they would have, but HC that years after the show Skur and Maiden Cheena would have in the course of the next 20 years following it they would have 4 kids, the 3 eldest in both scenario ring shaped like their mom, the 1st and 3rd having limbs like their dad, the 2 first with wings like him, the 2nd looking the most like her mom, the 1st and 4th like their dad and the 3rd like a mix and the 4th would be blue which is the one standing out compared to the others. Except the 4th Skur was used to carry all the first 3 around his tail given their shape, which would become impossible as they would grow which Skur would regret. If I opt for the HC Maiden Cheena is still a toy, she would mostly talk while Skur being able of motion would talk but also act and do things. Shared if I opt for her to move, but he would still be more active and efficient since he has arms and wings anyway. Skur may be a coward and a sadist able to kilm children, they would be HIS children he had with the love of his life now they would be free to be together and he would adore them and grow OOC fierce whenever there is the slightest potential threat around them or their eggs or gravid Maiden Cheena thanks to instincts. Big conflict between Maiden Cheena and Skur as the kids would grow about their monster identity Maiden Cheena wanting them to know their monster traditions and see others whereras Skur finally feels free and safe and that his family is too now they are far from Monsterburgh's tyranny he used to want to rule but doesn't want again now he got his little utopia. Conflict with the kids' choices and the fact they are no longer all little from that moment (aka a fanfic I would never write lmao)

The eldest is Youssa (named after a USA shirt floating ashore), unsure if a boy or nonbinary yet, one thing is sure he/they admires his/they dad as a kid but basically wants to fight him and become the leader of the family as a teen monster hierarchy consisting of alphas and omegas and inbetweens as we saw. If I ever opt to keep Maiden Cheena a pooltoy, he/they would have no vocal chords either and speak telepathically too, and have no stomach so no eating either

2 years younger than him is Madden "Maddie" (Skur wanted to name her Maiden as a tribute to her mom but Maiden Cheena suggested to make a derivate to differentiate better ; he opted for madden since he predicted that as a teen she would be a handful and boy was he right), the only girl. Used to be daddy's girl but as a teen keeps rebelling and is curious about boy monsters which drives Skur crazy in rage since she looks like her mother (therefore is as beautiful as her in monster beauty standards) and her mother attracted creeps besides him so he fears she too would. No change for her depending of the version

3 years younger than her is Taheewan (from a Made in Taiwan label on a toy box that floated ashore too), the shy and introverted boy scaredy cat and a mama's boy due to his lack of wings making him having to stay on land whereas his older siblings get to fly with dad. If I opt for Maiden Cheena as a pooltoy, he wouldn't have a stomach either and thus no eat but also no internal organ, vocal chords aside, in short he would "immortal" like her

Then 9 years later came the baby of the family they had because Maiden Cheena missed having a little one (and if I opt for making her turning into a real monster she would want before menopause would come) and so did Skur come to think of it, Murgancy Ligtz "Murgan" (over an emergency lights box that came with a shipwreck) A boy, the only one with a normal body shape so Skur just carries him like a normal baby instead of "wearing" him like he always did with his family. Always happy or at least curious and giggling. If I ever opt for keeping Maiden Cheena as a pooltoy he too would not eat or would speak telepathically because his face would be drawn and thus expressionless like hers too

[polymorphousperve]

hummy haunty hive

damaged nothing leopard joint get kick jim ova opera hex ova magic boa quotes caduceus jode oh rage holy pointed fellator ia ia ia better worthy away exit magic web fucker we eat gravid toads eat true womb duty bloody name in prime riper brain

[slippinmickeys]

Circle

This was for the #XFSmut2020 exchange. I had the lovely @kyouryokusenshi whose prompt was: “Post MSIV pregnancy sex. Scully’s hormones are raging and everything is tender.”

To look at her, curled up on her side in their bed, you couldn’t tell she was pregnant.

Hair fanned out on the pillow like it had been styled by a beauty team; curled about her on a wave of titian silk, her face soft, but composed -- stately in her age, but still beautiful.

He moved a hand lightly under the covers and ran it over the swell of her stomach, felt the firmness push back at him. A baby swam inside; cells dividing, constructing and nurturing, half him, half her. It felt like even more of a miracle this time though they’d done it once before. He adopted the same credo he had the last time, with William: best not to question it.

They had a firm due date. It was easy to calculate -- the vibrating psychosis of Little Judy leaving an indelible mark on not just their psyche, but their calendar, too. He remembered back to that night. Lying with her in his arms, Scully wondering aloud if he could and would find someone new to start a family with. Like he could just go to a market and select a bride. Here, this one.

Somebody else? Didn’t she know that wasn’t possible? He hadn’t been able to see anyone but her since she’d clipped into his basement office and blinded him with science.

She sniffed slowly to awareness beside him, eyelids fluttering open as she moved to put her own hand on top of his.

“‘Morning,” she rasped.

“Hey,” he said.

The morning sun shot bands of light through the shades and over the floor of the bedroom, creeping incrementally closer toward their bed as it rose.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, he leaned over and kissed her, once, twice. Breathing in the sleepy musk of her breath, the smell of hair that had soaked in a jasmine bubble bath the night before and dried on a feather pillow. He couldn’t get enough of her. Not for 25 years, not for 25 more.

“Mm,” Scully hummed as he fell back against his own pillow, and she reached out with a foot to burrow it under his calf.

She had told him only the night before how much she was enjoying this stage of pregnancy - past that miserable first stage and well on into the second trimester. How the last time she’d been so miserable missing him that even the little joyful things -- getting that first sonogram picture, feeling the first flutterings of movement -- were lost in the haze of her grief. How now she was enjoying them twofold, three. Once for herself, once for him, and once for William, who was still out in the world, connected to them by the tethers of biology and shared jeopardy.

He felt her pull her foot out from under him and then started running just her toes gently up the skin of his leg, and he cocked his eyebrows at her in question. She cocked hers right back. Right, he thought. This stage of pregnancy also came with the full flush of hormones, as likely to turn her amorous as they were to make her say “I’m turning food into a person, you get to fold laundry.”

His crotch leapt to attention. ...Leapt wasn’t the right word, he thought. Things didn’t much leap anymore, but they rose admirably to duty whenever called upon, and that was something considering this day and his age.

“Agent Scully, are you coming on to me?” his voice rumbled in the quiet of the room.

She nodded solemnly.

The nights were for passionate, sometimes desperate coupling in the dark --  but mornings were for slow, languorous bouts of lovemaking that they’d been denied so much in their lives together. This morning felt no different, the acreage of their bed laid out for exploration of each other, in the sluggish time before that first cup of coffee. He rolled toward her, nosing her cheek before darting out a tongue to taste her lips.

How strange to imagine his world with her still in it; that short, cheerful physicist with her herringbone suit and extended hand; she’d looked like a co-ed. He’d planned to launch her into the stratosphere, had known her game, with her little notes — she’d been a spy but too much of an ingenue to know it, and seven years later he’d slept with the enemy and fallen irreversibly in love with her. Or was it the other way around?

She climbed onto him deliberately, without haste, the camisole she’d slept in pulled off somewhere between his nostalgia and her lips.

“Where are you?” she asked breathily, the dew of her mons coming to rest on his thigh.

“With you,” he said, running a lazy hand up her side, grazing the side of her breast with fingertips. He was always with her, even if she wasn’t around, his internal radar tuned to her frequency like a NOAA buoy pinging in the dark.

She breathed out deeply, her hot breath ruffling the wiry hairs on his chest. A solid third of them were grey now, as were those in his beard, and he liked to think he’d earned them in the field, chasing mutants and monsters, but the bare truth of it was, he’d gotten them while pining for her like Pyramus, held at bay by a wall of his own making. The last few years without her had been tough.

At times he could see that Scully wasn’t yet used to this more thoughtful Mulder, and occasionally braced herself for his abrupt departure, his inevitable decline into a dog on a scent, falling into the habit of sisphysian search. But instead he would stand there, remain quiet and true, and she would ease back into him with her renewed faith.

She reached down and grabbed both his hands, lacing her fingers through his, and then raised his arms up and over his head. Her mouth was even with his and she took sipping kisses at them, the arc of her belly brushing against his torso.  

Her curves were rounder now, more carnose than sharp, lending her an air of lushness that made his cock ache. He would take her any way he could get her, but this gravid Scully was of Nanaya, Eostre, Hedone. A fertility sculpture come to life.

She slowly ground her sex into his thigh and he chased her mouth with his own as she pulled back a few teasing inches. He longed to hold her, touch her, but he let her take the lead and slowly, so slowly, she relaxed her grip on his hands and inched down his body, the hard points of her nipples just grazing the skin of his chest as she moved lower and lower.

She shifted until her mouth was hovering over the tent of his boxers, and she flicked her eyes to his and gave him a slow, lascivious grin. He suddenly felt short of breath. She worked her fingers into the waist of his underwear and he tilted up his hips to help her pull them off.

The anticipation of her hot little mouth lowering itself onto his cock was almost more exquisite than the act itself. But then, oh then her tongue was swirling around him and the heat and the slick and the pull of her mouth was, as always, a revelation.

This woman, this woman who would shoot him to save him, who would tell off bosses and brothers and fish him out of the Atlantic. He liked to remind her that she’d been held in contempt of Congress for him, like some 70’s era Post reporter, and she’d mimic driving a snow cat and he would get quiet with the brass-tasting memory of fear. They were foxhole soldiers, brothers-in-arms, each willing to hug the grenade while telling the other to run. Their love was a devotion, a decades-long experiment in tolerance and gravity. It was the only supernatural thing he’d never once doubted.

She hummed happily around the length of him, and Mulder sank boneless into the bed, moving one hand gently into her hair, not pulling or pushing, just needing to touch her. She had one hand cupping the base of him, and her mouth slid over him like a silken sheath. He had never wanted to ask her how she’d honed her blowjob prowess, but she was an artist of the genre, a true master, a Catholic schoolgirl fantasy come to life.

Just in time to save his reputation, she let him slide out of her mouth and crawled back up the length of him, settling tightly into his side, her tongue finding the sensitive spot just behind his ear.

With a low growl he raised himself to his elbows and canted himself on top of her, situating himself between her legs, their child resting between them in the cradle of her hips. He ran a hand along her belly reverently before gliding straight home, eliciting a breathy sigh from her lips.

Her head sunk back into the pillows, the rumpled cotton framing her face which was a mask of carnal harmony, her look one of both pleasure and pain, the sock and buskin of sexual euphoria.

He rocked into her slowly but firmly, the blunt head of his penis bumping into her sensitive cervix at the apex of every thrust. God, how was he to survive this? She was humming under him, rocking her hips forward slightly with his every thrust, her ample breasts bouncing, keeping time.

He thought back to their first sexual encounter, that heady feeling of discovery; shucking off her apple green sweater and uncovering a sex bomb underneath. She’d been wanton, just a season or two past quarter life and thrumming with sexual energy. The pent up longing; seven years of such a desperate love that when they came together, it had been practically atomic.

Now, their bodies knew each other, clicked into place with ease and comfort. No less passion, but more than enough love. He flashed on an old Harry Chapin song: and the years keep on rollin’ by.

He grabbed her leg and pulled it higher and he sunk into her flesh almost more than he could bear, her pregnant flexibility wreaking havoc with his restraint.

He felt more than heard her moan, a quiet rumbling in the base of her throat and he knew that she was close. He pressed his middle finger into her mouth and she sucked it with enthusiasm, and once again he feared he might not be able to hold out long enough for her to come. With a wet pop, he pulled his hand from her mouth and reached in between them, brushing the nub at the top of her sex with his slicked finger. She jolted under him.

“More,” she whispered.

He gave her as much as he could. He always had.

When she came apart beneath him, it was purling, languid, a roll like thunder. He rode out the crest with her and then let himself release, and it felt like every promise he’d ever made to her and a few he hadn’t.

He collapsed next to her, careful to avoid putting weight on their growing child.

“How is it that we just keep getting better at this?” he asked, his face half buried in the covers, his voice muffled.

She smiled at him, a little sweat beading on the top of her lip. The cockcrow light had panned up their bed, and a slant of it shone on her hair like aurora. “Years of practice, I suspect,” she said, her brow arching at him, reflecting a sliver of light. Then her face got a small surprised look, and she reached for him. “Give me your hand,” she said.

She took his hand and pressed it to her belly, and he felt it roll softly under him, like a golf ball under the skin. He felt tears spring to his eyes.

Peace and wonder fell over him in equal measure and they lay there together, not moving as morning turned to afternoon, settling into the horse latitudes of their life.