👀👀 may I request some angst x reader fic where it’s about how John’s bday falls on Mother’s Day this year 👀👀
Snksnw this is such good angst material
Im sorry this took so long im finally kicking the writers blocks ass so i finally got around to writing it. Hope you like it! Such delicious angst
John Constantine x gn!reader, angst!, im rereading hellblazer so my ass is trying too hard to be Delano now so bear with me, reader uses petnames because i felt like it, established relationship, many random headcanons about his birthday and childhood, also im not from the UK obviously so... Bunch of made up things here in sense with mother's day so roll with it
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His mind is empty yet full, numerous thoughts and nightmares running around that bloody nogging of his as he watches a little boy and his mum go about. Smiles on their faces, seemingly fun.
The little snothead has given her some drawing. As the English go, they're now im the pub, invading Johns personal space for wallowing in pity and self hatred. How dare they?
He sinks deeper into his booth, the cigarette burning evenly in his hold. Spark by spark. The ash drips into the ashtray, feeling unused and lost.
It is quite ironic innit? The universe decides to pull one last funny card it can. Not only is his birthday a bloody nightmare by itself but it also falls on the wretched day, mother's day.
Objectively it's a nice holiday. Celebrating the labor of women who have to bear their children and also handle their husband's on top of it. Not that every mother is a capable woman but those that are get a little drawing and flowers. Its nice, its lovely, its bloody fantastic.
Wasn't like that for him. No.
He'd have to listen to Cheryl crying. And when she wasn't she was praying for their pop to be out so she wouldn't have to get beetwen him and little old Johnny.
Because its Johnnys fault, its his fault that his mother dropped dead-
"You old geezer! Look at you, sitting all by yourself mister huh? Happy birthday sweetheart.".
He flinches at the sudden voice.
"Srewth luv- yer gonna give me a bloody heart attack like that! The hell ya doin sneakin up on a man in his years?"
You just smile like a Cheshire cat, that same stupid grin you make whenever you catch him by surprise. There's a stupid amount of euphoria that passes through your veins at that look.
You sit down in the booth next to him, gently cradling his jaw to peck his lips before sliding the small box onto the table. It has a bow.
"I hope you didn't think you can hide from me John. I know you're under the impression you can slip out of your own party unnoticed but im more perceptive than you give me credit for.".
Oh yeah, the party.
His good darling lover and Chas figured itd be a great idea to throw him a party. It wasn't anything special, few of the mates hes got left and a couple more people he couldn't really understand. It was great, fun, alcohol and cigarettes that burn more than his current ones do, but he needed air.
A lot of air. Preferably nicotine flavored.
"Took ya a bit to be fair." he mutters, his fingers tapping against the pint of beer Infront of him. He can feel the alcohol storming his bloodstream, warming his body but not whatever fucked up version of a soul he has.
"Mh dont joke with me.".
You lean back in the booth, your head tilting back as you observe the surroundings. He can see it, the hint of danger inside your eyes. You never fully relax, not even in your sleep. It intrigues him quite a lot.
The two of you sit silently but as the silence continues and no words escape your lips he grows anxious. Why are you not talking, why aren't you making quips, you should be trying to drag him back up to the party or to go for a walk. Not whatever this is.
His throat tightens and there's a need to say something. Anything. Just to distract you from what the issue clearly is.
One that he doesn't even want to admit to himself.
"Quite a gathering they're having over there." you suddenly comment, staring at the little boy and his mum. His brows furrow and his jaw clenches, trying to keep it down.
"Yeah. Funny lot.".
Somehow he couldn't escape it. As if mother's day is the biggest holiday in England. So many kids with their mums, flyers, sales, everything to make it profitable because of course it has to be.
Cards. Small little parades.
Its...
"Johnny, come on...." you turn to look at him properly, eye to eye.
He sighs, the sigh becoming a forced chuckle "Yer not exactly the comfortin type luv. You dont have to try.".
"I know but-".
"Leave it.".
You dont stop staring at him with your mouth open, still trying to find something to say. It begins to make his blood boil. His warm, alcohol fueled, inside churn and he begins to tense.
He needs air. More air.
Just when it seems you've found something to say he gets up, swiping his pack with a easy hand and throwing his coat on as if it doesn't matter. He leaves the table without a word, not even placing a few bills to cover his tab, knowing you'll do it anyways and that itll take you a bit of time, slowing you from following his trail.
The cold wind hits him straight in the face, contrasting to the urges inside of him that grow. It doesn't calm him, no, only makes him furthering frustrated.
So on, he begins to walk down the street, moving without a direct cause or purpose. Searching for something he can't actually find.
Birthday, his birthday. Its not really something to celebrate. For the first few years of his life they didnt. For Cheryl its a painful memory while his old man did anything to forget about it. They figured it wasn't important. At the end, it isnt. Like he would be able to remember his third or fourth birthday.
It was only until his fifth that Cheryl got the idea to actually do something interesting for his day. Despite it all she is a pretty good older sister. Everything was complicated but she got trough. Even if he was a little shit at times.
Another brash sale hits his eye.
How stupid. Grown man of forty nine getting pissed about things like this. He should have grown out of it. Sappy stories for stupid sad boys.
Then again you can't really grow out of not having a mum, can you?
It usually doesn't hit like this. Hes able to look the other way whenever those kind of dangerous thoughts pop up.
But as it was said before, the universe is playing a cruel joke on him today.
As he turns another corner he hears the footsteps running after him. He wants to get away, he needs to. Maybe he doesn't want you seeing like him this or maybe its just that awful need to push it out and let the anger linger. Misery is a good friend afterall, never leaves you.
You dont call out to him. Instead you slow down your pace, following him at a distance. After a few more minutes it becomes irritating.
He turns around, a scowl on his features "What?".
You stop, the nervousness clear. Your hands are clenched and its obvious that its taking you a hell of a lot effort to stand there.
"Sweetheart, what can I do?" you're not only asking, youre pleading. The desperation reeks off of you.
He grits his jaw, gripping the pack of cigarettes in his pocket tightly "Sorry luv but ya can't help. Best leave me alone.".
"I dont think you want to be alone."
His blood boils. Whatever misery or tragedy in his mind is turning into something darker. Sometimes he cant or doesn't want to control.
John scoffs "What do you expect me to do? Cry on yer shoulder?" he shakes his head. He feels a mocking smile crawl upon his features "Dont try. Only thing you can do is piss off with that expected sympathy.".
Your head tilts, a pained expression flashing across "Sweetheart-"
"You want me to tell you how much it hurts?! How bloody annoyin it is to pass by and see those little buggers singing to their mums? I know what yer thinkin-" he yells suddenly, his voice loud and tight "Aw poor little Johnny hasn't got a mummy, he must be so sad to celebrate his birthday without his mummy, piss off!" he grits his jaw, moving his arms around "Piss off alright! Piss off! Im sick of this bullshit! Im not messed up cause I havent got a mum, im not-" he bites his tongue "Women look at me and want to fix me. Men think i try too hard. Its fuckin-".
He grips his hair, taking in a few breaths.
Nothing is right.
Nothing is fine.
"Its not my fault. Its not my fault. It isnt. It isnt. It isnt, its not-" his shoulders shake as he stares at the pavement, his voice slowly growing quieter "Its not my fault. Its not. No, no, its not. Its not. I couldn't know, i couldn't, its, its not my fault, its not its not-"
He feels it. The thing inside of him bubbling up, burning his stomach and his throat before exiting it as a pained sob, the water from his eyes flowing.
It's pathetic. He knows how pathetic it is. He isnt supposed to cry like this, especially Infront of someone, right on the street. Hurts his man pride... Or whatever the fuck that means.
He feels two hands on his shoulders, gently steadying him. Unconsciously he leans into the touch, allowing you to take him.
"Its not my fault, how can it be my fault? I was only born, i didnt..." he shudders. Nontheless he pushes his head against your shoulder, burrying his nose in the nape of your neck "Its not my fault please. It isnt.".
"It isnt sweetheart. It cant be. Its not your fault." you whisper softly. There's no attempt at calming him or ushering him to suck it up. There's no pressure. You're letting him feel it out. Even if you're out on the middle of a busy street. Still, its London. A big city. People ignore.
His fingers curl against your back, fisting the fabric that covers it.
It cracks and cracks and breaks further.
He cant deny it. He really cant.
"I needed my mum. I really did." he whispers, his voice breaking "But I killed her.".
You swallow, shaking your head as you continue to stroke his hair "No, no, its not your fault. You didnt kill her John. You didnt.".
"No, no, I killed her. I killed her. But I need her- I need her, I... I need her so badly, i-" he gasps "I dont know why- I don't know. I dont- i just know i need her, I know I..." he grips you tighter "Fucking hell...".
"Its okay John. It isnt your fault.".
So on. He continues to cry till he cant anymore
Once the tears run out you two stand in a embrace. He breathes, he feels empty, he feels worthless. He cant be whole.
At the end you two end up in bed together. He smokes, staring at the ceiling as you gently hold him. Nothing else happened. No sex.
Its hard. Its terrible.
Many times hes thought about how different itd be if he had his mum. How shed sit there in the kitchen, waiting for him, smiling, ready to make everything right. He never knew her, didnt know many stories either. He cant help but imagine her as a good person. Someone in this family has to be. Someone.
"Closest I had was my aunt." he mutters "Though that was never... The same.".
"I know.".
"Cheryl tried. She did.".
You nod.
"Is it stupid?" he mutters, glancing at you in the dark "I didnt lose anything. Not really. I never knew her. There isn't anything to mourn.".
You shift, frowning.
"... Every boy needs his mum John. That's nothing to be ashamed of.".
He lets out a weak chuckle. A boy? Makes him sound like a child.
“Oh Batman is abusive in comics” “how many times does a character need to be mischaracterized before it’s just their character”
I DON’T CAAAAARE
Batman being abusive to his kids is so fundamentally wrong and makes him a one dimensional character and I personally hate it.
“Oh the dark gritty character is dark and gritty and mean” hey how about the dark gritty character is dark and gritty because he has to be. He’s such a bleeding heart that he can’t let his enemies (and sometimes allies) know how much he loves and cares. He loves so much. He loves his city, he loves his kids. He’s full of so much love yet he can’t express it because he’s never been taught how. And maybe he’s harsh but it’s because he couldn’t imagine what he would do if he lost another kid.
Batman is a hero, not a villain and it’s a disservice to make him behave like one.
The urge strikes me suddenly, pulling a ragged gasp from my throat as I rock back and forth on my hands and knees. "I-I think it's... oh, it's time to push," I grunt, sliding one hand between my thighs to press against my cunt.
There's a slight bulge there, the force of the baby's head pushing through my canal causing my labia to swell outwards. I provide counter pressure as I groan through the tail end of the contraction, fighting against the urge to bear down.
"It's coming," I pant, trailing my fingers over my red hot labia. "You're coming, baby. I feel you c-comingggg." Not even 45 seconds had passed since my last contraction, but another pain had taken hold. Starting in my back and spreading around to the front of my belly, pulled low and heavy with the pressure of the pain, the iron band grips and seizes, shoving the baby down with such power that I have to shift my hips further open to make room.
"Oh god, oh god, oh- fuckkkk." I keep my hand firmly in place, all but holding the head back as it barreled through my cunt. The pressure is unlike anything I'd ever felt, tapping into the most primal side of me. Contraction on top of contraction, I tried to groan and not scream, though the urge, much like the urge to push, was becoming unbearable. "Mmmmmphhh, GOD."
I am finally overwhelmed by my instincts and I bear down, and the baby's head surges forward and begins to emerge as a small, wet teardrop pressing against my fingertips. "Nooo," I whine, half delirious with the pain. "No, no. Not yet." I couldn't give birth yet. I couldn't give birth alone.
I drop my head, resting my chin against my heaving chest. After taking a moment to catch my breath, I brace one hand on the edge of the bed and struggle to push myself up, keeping my hand firmly over my bulging hole. My efforts amount to nothing, however, when the action of shifting my hips pushes the baby down further into the birth canal. I cant hold it back any longer. I cry out in shock, and the cry turns into a scream as the head begins to crown.
"OHHHH, IT BURNS. FFFFFUCKKKK, BURNING." I land back down on my knees and give in to the pressure, fisting the hand that isnt supporting the head into the blankets as I push, and push hard. My labia, angry and red and burning, spread to accommodate the skull, and I let out another wild scream as they begin to sting. "Coming outttt. Gotta get it OUTTTT."
A hazy fear of tearing crosses my mind, but its gone with the next contraction. As my womb squeezes down around the baby, I throw my head back and wail, bringing the head to a half crown before it slides back in. "One more. Just... one more. Oh goddddd." I grunt and feel my labia stretch around the head, feeling impossibly tight for a few seconds, and then one hefty shove brings the baby to a full crown.
I struggle to catch my breath, stroking my fingers over its soft hair. "Almost," I whisper, half to my child, and half to myself. I inhale deeply and tighten my hold on the blankets as the next contraction builds, using it to anchor myself. "Almost, almost, alm-ohhhh, here. HEREEEE. ITS COMINGGGGG MMMMMMPFFFFF-FUCKKK!"
My words become an incoherent screech as I scream through the final stretch of the ring of fire, pushing until the baby's head pops free in a torrential gush of fluid. "Come on, baby," I grunt, feeling the presenting shoulder rotate and come free. "Here you are. Oh, here."
With one last tiny push, the second shoulder pops out, and the baby slides into my hands. I hadn't needed help after all.
Despite being nearly three weeks overdue, Danielle had prepared for a calm home birth, one where she would be sure to have agency and privacy with her husband, Vash. They deep cleaned their small apartment in the hopes that it would give Danielle peace in labour. She had planned to labour in the shower, in the tub, in their living room space where they set up a birth pool, and maybe on the bed as a last resort. Danielle was very adamant to not give birth on her back. This was her time, and her baby, and she would deliver on her own terms with only the support of her husband, one registered midwife, and her sister-in-law Srin–also a midwife in training.
Forty-two hours of labour later, and it did not turn out that way at all.
It’s three in the morning. The quiet of their neighborhood is brutally interrupted by the fact that they opened the balcony door a crack, to bring in some clean spring air for Danielle. The horrible sounds of her birthing effort can be heard all down the street, waking neighbors. The other tenants in the apartment complex had been notified about the home birth, and there’s a good chance they haven’t slept all night due to Danielle’s noise. But she can’t help it. By Srin’s visual estimate, the baby is massive and has wedged herself deep into Danielle’s pelvis.
When the idea of a water birth quickly fell through, they helped Danielle move to the bedroom where they could turn off the lights and help her concentrate on pushing.
Three hours later, and she’s currently standing at the side of the bed near the end, one leg high up on the mattress and one planted firmly on the floor, both hands gripping the bottom bed post like claws and nearly bending the wood straight out of the frame. Srin can see the back of her head, her mess of a high bun after hours and hours of hard labour, and her bare back and bottom. She’s been trying to push the baby’s head past a crown for at least fifteen minutes. The baby is just sitting there, stretching Danielle impossibly wide open, the head so large it looks like less of a dome and more like a big solid plug. Danielle’s tissue is red-hot and already ripping a little, nearly translucent where it’s stretched so thin around her daughter’s huge skull. Her anus is sitting right above her massively stretched tissue, puffed out with hemorrhoids and a dark dusky shade, all from pushing extremely hard for so long. As Srin stands by with the doppler, Danielle bears down again, roaring hard and strained through her teeth, her vocal chords raw and torn at this point, as she grips the bed post. Vash puts a hand over hers, his face tight and pinched with sympathetic pain as he watches his wife’s grimacing face as she tries with all her might to give birth to their daughter.
It’s terrifying to watch. Srin is still a midwife in training–this is the first time she’s attended a real birth this intense, and especially one so close to home. This is the birth of her first niece, after all.
Her brother looks terrified, intensely focused on his wife from his place standing at the foot of the bed, a supportive hand rubbing up and down Danielle’s sweat-slicked back while the other one gently covers Danielle’s hands gripping the post. She can just about hear Vash muttering through Danielle’s hard sounds of effort.
“Doing so well, baby, her head’s almost out.”
Hearing her husband’s promise, Danielle makes it to the end of that push and then inaudibly gasps in before bearing down again, hard, grunting and roaring with all of the strength in her body.
Srin watches the baby’s head struggle down, down, down through Danielle’s massive push. Heather, the experienced midwife and her teacher, is supporting Danielle’s stretched-to-the-limit tissue, rubbing a gentle finger along the translucent skin while Danielle pushes her daughter down hard.
Srin isn’t needed during this contraction, so she just stands there and watches, speechless, as again and again and again Danielle works incredibly hard, roaring and grunting with every push, bending her bottom down deeply, her one leg on the bed staying wide open. The baby’s head gradually nudges out on a slightly crooked angle, then bounces back to the stuck point, then with barely a second wasted, OUT again harder harder harder as Danielle roars, refusing to let go of the push. Her noises are intense, echoing in the small room and making Srin tremble.
Vash can barely be heard encouraging her: “Pushpushpushpushpush honey, so hard!”
In response to her husband, Danielle bears down with one more gargantuan, shuddering push, her vocal chords cracking and tearing, the sound of her roar going up and down as she slowly, agonizingly, pushes the baby’s head out to just above a wrinkly brow.
They all react to Danielle’s progress, finally, as Danielle screams, bouncing up a little to try and escape the sudden sharp pain. She tore a little more, Srin noticed, but no one will scare her by drawing attention to it. Srin has also noticed the baby’s head is on an uneven angle, and facing Danielle’s right thigh slightly. Heather, of course, noticed first. Srin knows they’re both very concerned now about the possibility of a shoulder dystocia.
Srin has to remember to breathe, or else she’ll pass out at the mere thought.
“Good job Danielle, take a big breath now,” Heather guides. “Just breathe.” Then she raises her voice. “Tones!”
Srin takes her cue and puts the doppler under Danielle’s belly, trying to get heart tones as Danielle gulps in gasps and cries, Vash helping her stay upright. Danielle grunts lightly with each breath and Heather has to guide her through every single inhale, trying to encourage her not to push right now.
Srin has a hard time getting the baby’s heart tones. She’s about to remove the doppler and signal to Heather to tell her it’s time to lock down, but just then she manages to get a slight sound: a steady heart beat, but much too slow for her liking. The baby is struggling, likely stressed from being squeezed so hard, if she’s as big as they both think.
When Heather hears the tones, she gets her hands back on stretching Danielle’s tissue, applying lube, and says, “OK Danielle, I want you to push very hard now. It’s no holds barred, just get her out.”
Danielle doesn’t need a second more of instruction. She gasps in hugely, then her entire body, sweat-drenched and naked, SHOVES down hard, opening wide, as she roars deep into her chest and her gut.
Srin watches the baby’s head coming out, coming out, trembling with Danielle’s effort as she tries so hard to push the gigantic skull past her tissue that refuses to stretch any more. With her fingers rubbing around Danielle’s translucent and red tissue, Heather says very loudly, “Sound in Danielle and big breath in!”
Danielle gasps hugely, Vash holding her shoulder and grimacing in sympathy, looking at her face.
“And PUSH HARD!” Heather orders, as Danielle’s entire body bends down, her leg still wide open and up on the bed. She barely makes a sound beyond some quiet, strangled strains as she pushes SO hard her entire body flushes red, her head shaking hard, her hands bending the bed post out of its wooden socket.
“All your might, baby, get her out,” Vash says tightly.
Srin can see the baby’s head slide out a little more, Danielle’s ripped and bleeding tissue peeling back over the swollen shut eyes, then the nubby nose, as her entire body trembles hard enough to shake the bed. Then she can’t hold her sound in any more, but keeps that massive push going.
From there on it’s one brutal push after another, as Danielle knows she needs to get her out now. Srin doesn’t count. She’s too lazer-focused on the baby’s face coming out, and the dusky purple shade of her skin. She keeps the doppler pressed under Danielle’s huge belly, trying to get heart tones, as Danielle just pushes like a demon. At least ten gigantic, earth-shattering pushes go by, Danielle’s throat completely raw and her voice animalistic by the tenth one, and she still hasn’t gotten the baby’s chin out. Baby’s head is on a sharper angle now, with one chubby cheek more out than the other, and each time Danielle lets go of a push, the head bounces back in as if something is holding her back.
Past Danielle’s horrible animal grunting and straining, Heather looks over her trembling, shining back to seriously tell Vash: “Call 911.”
Vash leaps up from his spot immediately to grab his phone from the dresser. Without him there, Danielle continues to labour hard, trying with every muscle in her body to birth their huge daughter. Srin isn’t even sure Danielle notices Vash is gone from her side. There’s no real way to know if she sees or hears any of them in her current state. That is until Heather, sticking her gloved fingers in around the baby’s huge purple head, tells Danielle to stop pushing.
Her gloved fingers are bloody as she places her wrist on Danielle’s tailbone, trying to calm her. “I need you to stop pushing Danielle, just try to blow! That’s it, good, blow blow blow! C’mon you can do this.”
Srin talks over to Vash, instructing him to tell the operator on the phone what’s happening. She can barely get the words out, knowing this is happening to her brother and her sister-in-law.
“Shoulder dystocia. Head is out.” She looks back at Heather, who has her fingers in again, trying to maneuver the shoulder out as Danielle screams shrilly. “Trying to get the anterior shoulder.”
Stuttering but sounding robotic as he goes into shock, Vash relays the exact words to the operator. He’s still looking at his wife, tears in his eyes now.
Srin helps Danielle get both legs on the floor as she and Heather both realize that she can’t hold it. Every push brings the baby harder against her pubic bone, lodging the shoulder and clavicle deeper, making it very difficult for Heather to release her. Srin knows Heather’s original in-the-moment plan was to prevent Danielle from pushing so she could reach in and release the anterior shoulder, which looks to be the one that’s severely stuck judging by the angle of the baby’s head. She’s worried about what else they might have to do… There’s a possibility that Heather will get Danielle on her back so she can physically push the baby back inside a little in order to release the stuck shoulder. But she’s not going to tell Vash or Danielle that.
With both of her feet on the floor, Srin helps Danielle bend and open her legs wide, the baby’s giant head dangling darkly between her legs, blood dripping down the baby’s thick hair. Heather’s hands shake as she manages to get her fingers all the way past her knuckles inside Danielle’s vagina on the front, pulling and wiggling hard as she tells Danielle to “PUSH now! Push hard, Mama!”
Through the balcony window, some lights come on in the apartments across the street as Danielle tucks her chin and roars gutturally, bending down deep so she’s sitting in the air, supported by Srin and the bed where she grips the sheet hard.
Srin keeps glancing at her glow in the dark watch as a few minutes of this go by, Danielle pushing and pushing and pushing with brutal force, roaring and screeching her baby deeper into her pelvis. There’s blood on the floor. Vash keeps speaking into the phone, telling the operator what’s happening, even as he runs over to turn on the light.
Heather manages to pull one of the baby’s arms out as the paramedics buzz up. Vash runs to the door to let them in, regrettably leaving his wife in agony, but Danielle is too busy to even notice. Fully naked and primal, she tucks her chin to her chest, tears the bedsheet with shaking fists, and bears down with all the force in her body again and again as Heather and Srin continue to encourage her.
“Keep pushing Mama, don’t stop! Heart tones?”
Srin shakes her head. She can’t get a good read, especially not with this intensity and with Danielle pushing so constantly. It’s up to her now.
“OK,” Heather breathes out, still pulling down hard on the baby with each of Danielle’s pushes. “GO mommy, GO! PUSH! PUSH! Get her out!”
Losing her mind to the pain of birth, Danielle grunts and screeches out her first words in what feels like ages.
Vash comes running back in with three paramedics in tow. He gets on the other side of the bed, facing Danielle, reaching for her hands. One of the paramedics drops his large bag on the floor and immediately starts getting gloves on as Srin tells him what’s going on.
“First baby, shoulder dystocia–we’ve tried to release the anterior shoulder. One arm is free, but the posterior shoulder is still wedged.”
Danielle’s grunts start to turn into ragged screams now, part pain and part terror, as the paramedic nods and quickly introduces himself to Danielle, speaking softly and professionally. He tries for the length of two huge hard pushes to wiggle the baby free, with Heather’s help, before he stands up and tells them to help him get Danielle on the bed.
Together, they quickly instruct Danielle to flip around and get flat on her back. McRoberts, Srin thinks, the panic making her think in singular terms. Danielle is shouting and gasping as they all take her legs and bend them way open and back. Srin focuses on the baby’s head, her arm out next to her chunky face, limp and floppy. Her head is massive, her big fat cheeks squished up against Danielle’s body, and her complexion is a very scary shade of dark purple. As Danielle pushes and grunts horribly, her head tossed back, the baby’s head lifts up just a bit, trembling and struggling with her effort, before falling back and sucking back in to its stuck spot.
Very quickly, they get Danielle’s legs as wide open as they can be and all the way up, her knees pressed into her shoulders, making her giant belly stick straight up, her large breasts cushioning her chin as he gasps. Vash is at her head, holding both of her hands above her head and switching his serious gaze from Danielle’s face to the baby’s.
Then they all work together at once. They tell Danielle to PUSH HARD, and her belly launches up with a push as Srin presses down as hard as she can on Danielle’s pubic bone, and Heather and the paramedic both pull the baby’s purple head and neck down dramatically far. Danielle makes the most horrible sound in the world, ragged and alien, as she brings her head up and digs her chin into her bare, sweaty breasts, mouth wide open and tongue sticking out as her grunt goes strangled and she looks at her baby’s humongous head being pulled upwards now as they all try to release the other shoulder.
This is the pivotal moment. The baby’s head has been fully out for several minutes, at least six. Danielle pushes and pushes and pushes and pushes and PUSHES, bringing her head up and whipping it back again and again, gripping her husband’s hands, arching her back and her bare feet, way up in the air, as she screams and grunts gutturally hard and brutal. Heather and the paramedic both need to hold the baby as the other shoulder releases with an audible crack of Danielle’s tailbone and she screeches raggedly, but keeps pushing SO hard. They both pull the baby up and side to side, wiggling her huge body out, as Danielle gets her out to her chest with one massive push, then another, and another, and another. SO many massively hard pushes to get her body out.
In the chaos, they all encourage her.
“PUSH BABY, PUSH! C’MON SHE’S COMING!” -Vash.
“Almost there Danielle, one more big push!” -Srin.
“PUSH HARD, Danielle, AGAIN! Big breath and PUSH!” -Heather.
While Danielle screams and grunts her baby out, hardly even human anymore, completely lost in the throes of hard labour.
Little by little her huge chunky body comes out, with the effort of Danielle and Heather and the paramedic, and then just like that: Past her hips, she flies out in a massive spray of water and blood with an audible ripping sound and Danielle’s ragged, animal scream. Fluids hit the floor loudly as Heather immediately puts the massive baby on Danielle’s deflating belly as she’s still screaming and gasping, and all professionals get the resus kit ready.
It takes only a minute, but the longest minute of their lives, for the baby to start crying so quietly and weakly, and then she’s shrieking with life and everyone in the room heaves a massive sigh of relief.
When she’s weighed at the hospital later, they learn she’s a whopping 12 pounds three ounces.
It’s the last birth before Srin gets her official certification, and the first intense one of many.
Happy Sunday, bunnies! Hope y'all are having a lovely weekend so far. I just want to share a free-for-all story that hopefully y'all enjoy reading.
Status: Complete
Word count: 2,091 words
Summary: A woman gives birth in the back row of an economy cabin over international waters.
Warnings: MDNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit depictions of pregnancy, labor, and birth. Unassisted in-flight birth, graphic crowning and delivery, gushing fluids, concealed labor and birth in a public setting, a nursing infant, a husband who jerks off to his wife giving birth secretly in public. All characters and scenes are purely fictional. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
"Ma'am, can I get you anything? A pillow, some water?"
The flight attendant — young, neat ponytail, name tag that said Cara — was already reaching for the overhead compartment before Reggie could answer, and Reggie kept her face as composed as she could manage, which was getting harder by the minute.
"Water would be great, thank you," she said, and her voice only caught slightly on the last word because the contraction that had been building for the last thirty seconds chose that exact moment to crest, rolling through her lower back and down into her pelvis with a deep, grinding force that made her press her thighs together under the blanket.
Cara set the cup on the tray and moved on down the aisle without a second glance, and Reggie let out the breath she'd been holding in a long, controlled stream. "Hoo... hoo hoo... hhhh."
"How far apart now?" Dax asked from the aisle seat beside her, not looking up from his phone.
"A minute forty," she said through her teeth. "Maybe less."
He set the phone face-down on his thigh and turned to look at her then, and she knew that look. She'd known it for twenty years, had catalogued every version of it, and this particular version had nothing to do with worry.
His eyes moved from her face down to the enormous, low-hanging globe of her belly, round and gravid and pressing heavily into her lap even with her knees drawn up as far as the seat would allow, and something in his expression settled into that private, focused attention that made her want to hit him and also made her stomach flip despite everything.
"You're fine," he said.
"I know I'm fine," Reggie said. "I'm just telling you how close I am."
Three rows ahead of them, their older three were out cold in a heap of travel pillows, the eldest with her mouth open and her neck at an angle that was going to hurt later. Nobody back here was awake.
The nearest passengers were a row up on the opposite side, both wearing noise-canceling headphones, completely sealed off from the world. The back of the cabin was dim and close and, for the moment, theirs.
“I knew we shouldn’t have flown to see your mother.” Reggie said bitterly through another tightening.
Theo stirred against her side and she guided him back to her breast without thinking about it, and he latched and settled immediately, his fat fist curling against her with the total confidence of someone who had never once in his eleven months worried about anything.
"Get the leggings down," Dax said with a wry smile.
Reggie stared at him. "We are in economy, lest you forget."
"And you are about to have a baby in economy," he said so calmly, it’s getting into her nerves, "so get the leggings down and keep the blanket over your lap, and nobody is going to see anything."
She hated that he was right.
She hated it with a specific, well-worn bitterness that had been accumulating since the seventh month when he'd first floated this whole scenario as though it were perfectly reasonable, but hating it didn't change the fact that not only their fifth baby currently lodged in her pelvis had a non-negotiable opinion about its arrival but she also deep inside love this whole idea.
She worked the leggings and her underwear down her thighs in the cramped space, shifting her hips, and got them free of one ankle and bunched around the other before she pulled the blanket back over herself.
She pressed her palm between her thighs and felt the swollen, taut heat of herself, her labia already full, bulging and aching, the baby's head bearing down so far into the birth canal that even the light pressure of her own hand sent a sharp wave of sensation flooding up through her core.
"It's right there," she said, and her voice had gone very low. "Dax. The head is about to come…hoooo–hooo hooo hoooo–”
He reached over and lifted the edge of the blanket just long enough to look, and she watched his jaw tighten in a way that had nothing to do with alarm.
"Yeah," he said, and let the blanket fall back. "It is." He grabbed his own blanket and set it over his thighs, too, trying to cover is growing bulge there, too.
The next contraction didn't give her a warning.
It arrived hard and low, seizing her from the base of her spine and driving straight down with a force that shoved the baby’s fat head forward against her hand, and she crammed her face into Dax's upper arm and bit down on the sound that tore up her throat.
"MMMPHH — nnHH — oh god —hooooooooo–hooo hooo hoooo–" She ground her teeth into his sleeve, her fingers pressing desperately against her vulva, feeling the head surge against them with every pulse of the contraction. Her perineum burned, already stretching, the whole front wall of her vagina pushing outward. "HhhhNNGH — Dax, it's pushing through, I can feel it pushing —"
"Don't fight it," he said, low in her ear.
"I'm trying to slow it down, if I just —" She shifted her hips and immediately regretted it because the movement brought the baby down another fraction and the pressure from her movement and the toddler she was carrying went from enormous to total. "HHMMPHH — okay, okay —hoooo hoooo hooooooo—"
"Stop trying to slow it down, Reggie."
"There are people on this plane," she hissed, lifting her face just long enough to say it.
"Half of them are asleep and the other half have their headphones in," he said, perfectly level.
She pressed her face back into his arm and bore down because her body had already made that decision, and she felt her labia spread around the advancing head, felt the deep hot stretch of her perineum pulling taut as the baby worked through her cervix and down through the last of the birth canal with the focused, patient insistence of a fifth child who had done this before.
"HhhhNNNGGH — MMPHHH —" The sounds came out in bursts against his sleeve, each one half-swallowed, pressed into the warm bulk of his arm. Her free hand fisted into the blanket. "It's coming through, I feel it coming through —"
"I know you do," he said, and his hand came up to press against the back of her neck, heavy and unhurried. His breathing had changed, she could hear it, the way it had gone slightly uneven, and she knew exactly what that meant.
"You are such an ass," she breathed into his arm.
"Head down," he said.
She put her head down on his arm.
Her palm cupped against herself felt the shift — the teardrop shape of the head pressing outward between her folds, small and firm and wet, pushing against the stretched ring of her labia with a force that made her clitoris ache from the inside out. The skin of her perineum was pulling to its absolute limit, and amniotic fluid was already leaking steadily over her fingers and soaking into her leggings beneath her.
"HHhhNNGH — MMMPHHHH —" She pushed into the next contraction, long and grinding, and felt the head advance another fraction and hold, lodged at its widest point with her labia stretched in a burning, stinging ring around the crown. "Ohhhh — MMPHHH — it burns, it burns so much —"
"Breathe through it," Dax said.
"Hoo hoo hoo — hhh — hoo hoo —" She panted through the worst of the stretch, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes from the sheer searing heat of it, her fingers spread wide against her perineum to ease what pressure she could. Her vulva was swollen and flushed and stretched fully open around the baby's skull, the shape of the head clearly visible to her own touch, every ridge and curve of it pressing against the taut walls of her vagina as it inched forward.
Through it all, her toddler suckled and slept, milk-drunk, it seems, on her engorged breasts.
Down the aisle, Cara passed through again with a drinks trolley and Reggie felt her go past without looking up, face pressed into Dax's arm, the blanket pulled high, breathing in hard controlled bursts through her nose.
Cara paused.
"Is she alright?" she asked Dax, keeping her voice low.
"Migraine," Dax said, without missing a beat. "She gets them on long flights. She just needs to stay still and keep her eyes closed."
A brief pause, and then the trolley moved on.
Reggie would have laughed if there had been any breath left in her body to do it with, but another contraction rolled in on the heels of the last one and she pushed, hard, bearing down with everything she had left, and felt the head inch forward into a full crown — fully out, fully free, sitting heavy and wet and slick in her cupped hand with amniotic fluid running in a warm, gushing stream down her inner thighs and pooling in the leggings beneath her, catching on the hem of the blanket.
"HHNNNN — MMMPHHHH —" The sound tore out of her muffled and desperate, her whole body trembling, and she felt Dax's hand press harder against the back of her neck. "Haaaahh — haaaah — okay — okay, the head is out, Dax, the head is —"
"I know," he said. "Keep going." at this point, he looked around and brought a hand under his blanket to reach inside his sweatpants, giving his hard and leaking cock a few pumps.
She snorted at what he did but bit her lip and stroked her thumb over the wet hair plastered against the skull between her legs, feeling the baby shift and rotate under her fingers, the presenting shoulder turning into position.
She knew this feeling. She loved this feeling, even now, even here, pressed into the back row of an economy cabin thirty thousand feet over the Pacific with her husband's arm as the only thing keeping her from making a sound that would wake every sleeping passenger from here to the galley.
She genuinely, in her bones, loved this.
“Dax,” she whispered hoarsely, and he looked down on her, eyes glossed over, hand pumping himself as discreetly as he can.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Kiss me…”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned down and kissed his wife as he continued to pump himself, feeling his balls start to tighten a bit as they made out.
The next contraction built and she pushed into it, and the first shoulder eased through with a long, wet, squelching resistance that pulled a sharp, muffled cry from her throat.
"HHNN — MMPHHH — there — that's it —"
“Let me see, Reg.” He tells her and she sat back and slightly lifted the blanket just enough for him to see it.
“There you go—Mmmmpphhh—haaaaaah–hooo hooo hooo–”
One more push, shorter and decisive, and the second shoulder came free with a slick, gushing rush, and then the rest of the baby slid out into her waiting hands in a warm, wet flood of fluid and relief, trailing the last of the amniotic sac, and Reggie pulled her daughter up against her chest under the blanket and held her there, next to the nursing toddler.
Dax made a grunting sound as he came into the blanket draped over him.
“F–fuck yeah…”
Cara came back through with a stack of napkins six minutes later and stopped at their row again, looking at the blanket-covered situation with eyes that had gone rather wide.
"Oh my god," she said, keeping her voice very low. "Is that — did she just —"
"She did," Dax said, entirely unbothered.
Cara stood very still for a moment. Then she said, "I'm going to get the first aid kit and the senior attendant, and I'm going to need you to not move," and she was gone before Dax could answer.
Reggie looked at the babies on her, one toddler now milk-drunk and deeply asleep and the newborn just latching, her hair sticking to her forehead, her new daughter warm and breathing against her chest.
"You know she's going to file a report," Reggie said.
"Probably," Dax agreed.
Reggie looked down at the babies, then back up at her husband, and she laughed — short and exhausted and completely helpless, the sound muffled quickly against the top of her daughter's head.
"You are so lucky I actually love doing this," she said.
Dax's mouth curved, slow and satisfied. "I know," he said. “I can’t wait for us to do it again.”
-fin
------
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Guy carrying an egg in his belly that grows so large he doesn’t so much go into labor as simply run out of room. The egg is already staggeringly massive when it begins to peek out of his hole, and it slowly spreads him over the course of days as it gets bigger and bigger. With his muscles so stretched, he has no strength to push, so the only way for the egg to come out is to wait for it to naturally stretch him past its widest point. In the final days of carrying the egg, it’s so large that the guy can’t even stand or sit, so he can only crawl, groaning and whimpering, the strained skin of his belly dragging on the ground. And with his agonized hole hypersensitive to the touch of fabric, he can’t bear to cover his ongoing birth with any garment, so everyone sees the dome of the egg bulging through his swollen-red ass as he crawls around. He could attempt to wear something that’s simply open-backed, but there’s no point in trying to protect his modesty when his cock, stiff and dripping from the constant pressure on his prostate, will always tent the fabric and leave an obvious stain every time he cums from still being so pregnant while so deep into the throes of birth.
Words 1478 | mpreg, birth, elven customs, public masturbation, giving birth in public, giving birth in clothes
He had done as the healer had instructed, turning the screw in the machination every hour. His passage was screaming for something to fill it. The emptiness of the open ring was horrid.
It was late morning already when Aldoran forced his tired and pained body out of the bed. His belly hung so low, but it was rigid with a contraction, and Aldoran fought against pushing. He rubbed his belly and dressed into a simple robe. He had to eat.
Walking was a shameful thing in his condition. His belly was so heavy that the king had to carry it with his hands, and now the metal ring spreading his anus open, forcing him to waddle even wider than before. He could feel fluid dripping from his gaping hole with every contraction. He couldn’t keep from pushing as he walked, but he kept them short and gentle.
Breakfast was served for him as he arrived in the dining hall. He looked at the food, leaning on the table for support while approaching his seat.
”Ouhh!” Aldoran moaned as he sat down heavily, the contraption in his ass feeling unnatural in every possible way. ”Ahhh…” his hips bucked, hard cock searching for some friction. Oh, what he wouldn’t have done to have something fill his opening. Preferably his baby.
Breakfast was slow to progress. He was struggling to eat as his belly contracted. He had to hurry, as he was to meet a lord soon after, and he still had to change his clothes.
His servant had picked out a robe for him. It was a glorious golden shade with metal ornaments along the whole front. Lacing in the back made it all the more beautiful. Struggling to fit into his robe while his anus was constantly stretched open was torturous. Once the robe was on him, a servant took up the task of lacing the back tightly. Aldoran moaned as pressure increased in his belly each time the servant tightened the laces. The metal detailing in the front of the robe didn’t allow room for any expansion.
He had asked the servant not to tie it up so tight, and still, once the robe was on him, his belly was tighter than a drum against the fabric and its detailing.
The elegantly dressed lord of his kingdom was waiting for him at the meeting table when Aldoran finally made it to the chamber. He tried to stand with his head held high, but the compression of his clothes on his contracting belly made him want to curl forward.
”King Aldoran, thank you for meeting me”, the lord said as he stood up upon seeing his king. He bowed his head, but Aldoran saw the scrutinous look that he gave at his midsection.
”Please”, Aldoran said and motioned him to sit back down, ”how may I help you. Is everything alright?” He tried to hide how difficult walking was for him. One foot in front of the other, he made his way to the opposite side of the meeting table. His belly was so tight, his ass so stretched as he sighed and sat down. He wanted to moan, but did not.
As he sat, he could feel the pressure inside him growing as the fabric and metal detailing of his robe bunched up and pulled downwards.
”Yes, my king, everything is fine. I was sent here by the council of the lords and ladies to check on you. To our understanding, your labor so far has not progressed quite as expected.”
Aldoran’s eyebrows shot up. They’d noticed.
”No, no no, everything is perfectly fine and progressing as should. Maybe ever so slightly slow to our liking, but progressing nevertheless.” Aldoran responded, waiving his hand in dismissal. He steeled his face against the agony his tight robes caused him, paired with the contraction that now squeezed his womb as well. His anus twitched around the stretching mechanism, and the king’s hand went to hold his belly.
”Oh? Would you mind describing your progression, my king? The council will be happy to hear of it!”
Aldoran smiled even as his teeth were grinding against each other as his body forced him to push. He could feel the mass inside his passage move lower by the second. The pressure of his tight robe pressed down on the huge mound of flesh and kept moving it lower and lower.
”Of course!” The king chimed. He breathed deeply as he pushed again, gripping the table. ”Or even better, I can show you. Have the council fetched here and you just might see the birth tonight. The head is about to come out!”
The face of the council member lit up as he stood and bowed, scurrying towards the door.
”Oughhhhh…” Aldoran moaned now that he was alone, and immediately regretted inviting the council to watch. He would have to stay elegant, stay effortless. The king’s hands flew to palpate his belly. It was so tight against the embroidered tunic that he wasn’t able to make even the slightest dent in the dome. And it was so low. The huge mass inside his pelvis made it impossible to close his legs.
If he could just birth the child before the council arrived.
Aldoran moaned as he hurriedly stood up, the momentum causing an uncomfortable churn inside him. He heaved against the table, belly hanging heavy from his middle. Back arched, he pushed with the next contraction. A sharp grunt forced itself from the king’s throat as the stretching device clattered to the floor.
He didn’t bother to quiet down his moans as he felt the head of the baby closing in on his entrance. He brought his hand underneath the hem of the tunic and found his leaking anus. Oh gods, how his flesh was swollen and bulged out. The head felt huge, almost impossibly so. But he could feel the hot skin of his child inside, and as he pushed, it came closer.
”Hoooo!” He heaved, grasping the table white-knuckled, knees bending to make more space in his hips. He was practically squatting in the meeting hall, hand feeling his anus, cock hard and dripping against his belly, as his asshole slowly but surely opened up to accommodate the emerging child.
”Oh I can feel it!” King Aldoran moaned at the feeling, ass twitching and trembling.
”It’s coming outtttt!” He groaned low in his throat as the burning stretch assaulted his senses. ”Ooooh…. Ah…” moaning openly, lewd and wanton as his hips bucked to rub his cock against the hot skin of his belly, Aldoran pushed to birth his baby. The stretching was horrible, his rim burning. His lips were drawn into a grimace as he hissed through the pain.
The door to the hall opened and the council, consisting of highly esteemed lords and ladies of the kingdom, as well as some friends and advisors, pooled in. Aldoran bit his lip as he stifled a scream from tearing from his throat as his anus opened around the babe’s head. The council watched in silence as the backside of the king's tight tunic began to bulge. It was slight at first, but as the king pushed, more and more started to show.
It was clear there was progress now.
The council was suddenly surrounding the king, watching without blinking as his hands gripped the edge of the table and he squatted low. His large belly was protruding like a torpedo between his bent knees. It was mesmerizing. They had never witnessed a birth so difficult. The babe had to be large and strong to make their king struggle so.
The king pushed, face reddening with effort.
Then suddenly he screamed, his hips bucking one final time, and he collapsed to the ground, on his hands and knees. The backside of his tunic was straining with a bulge so big that it was obvious to everyone what had happened. The front of the fabric was stained with a wet splotch where the king had ejaculated while birthing the head.
“It’s out… it’s out”, the king panted, exhausted. He reached for the tunic’s hem and struggled to pull it over his arse.
Everyone in the room gasped as the babe’s head was revealed, for it was not a head.
From inside the king’s obscenely stretched anus, parting his smooth ass cheeks, was a pair of legs and the bottom half of a torso.
“It’s the wrong way!” Someone yelled in horror. One of the ladies was already halfway to the door, her mission to tell the entire kingdom what was going on inside the castle.
“What?” Aldoran moaned as his belly tightened again in a contraction. His hand flew to touch between his legs and indeed found… legs.
He collapsed onto the floor on top of his contracting belly as his world went dark.
Hey bunnies, how are y'all doing? It's been SOOO LONG since we've had a FREE story. And I've been asked so many times on Tumblr and Deviantart if I would ever post one again, and so here it is lol
Vault members, please don't worry; a BONUS story is coming your way today, too 😉
Now, for the sake of not violating Patreon's guidelines, I've posted the free stories in the following places:
Vault members, of course, would find it in the Vault.
Free members and readers from other platforms will find it on Tumblr and DeviantArt.
We good? K.
Thank you and love y'all! ❤️
Status: Complete
Word Count: 2,079 words
Summary: A woman goes into labor alone during a massive storm that's knocked out all power and communication.
Author's Notes/Warnings: MDNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit content involving pregnancy, labor, and birth. Graphic solo home birth during emergency situation, fast labor, water breaking, crowning descriptions, surprise twins, second baby in posterior position (sunny-side up), significantly larger second baby, difficult shoulder dystocia, sexual content including masturbation during birth, multiple orgasms during delivery, clitoral stimulation, lactation and milk spraying, breastfeeding during active labor, gushing fluids, profanity, and detailed anatomical descriptions. Very large babies. Reader discretion advised due to intense birth and sexual themes.
The storm had been raging for two hours when Nina's contractions started.
She'd been sitting on the couch trying to read by candlelight when the first one hit, a deep cramping that wrapped around her entire belly and made her drop the book. At first she thought it was just more Braxton Hicks, but then five minutes later another one came, and then another three minutes after that.
"Shit," she breathed, pushing herself up from the couch. Her belly was massive, hanging low and heavy between her hips, and as she stood she felt the baby shift downward with a pressure that made her gasp.
She needed to call someone. Her midwife. Her sister. Anyone.
But when she picked up her phone, there was no signal. The storm had knocked out the cell towers along with the power. She tried the landline in the kitchen, pressing the receiver to her ear, but all she got was dead silence.
Another contraction hit while she was standing at the kitchen counter, and this time it brought her to her knees. The pressure was incredible, the baby sinking so low she could feel it between her legs. Her water broke without warning, a hot flood that soaked through her pajama pants and pooled on the tile floor beneath her.
"No, no, no..." she panted, gripping the edge of the counter as the contraction peaked. "Not yet. Please not yet."
But her body didn't care what she wanted. The contractions were coming faster now, each one stronger than the last, and she could feel the baby moving down through her pelvis with terrifying speed.
She tried to stand but her legs wouldn't cooperate, so she crawled instead, making her way through the dark hallway toward the bedroom. Every few feet another contraction would hit and she'd have to stop, spreading her knees wide and arching her back as her belly tightened like a rock.
By the time she reached the bedroom she was already feeling the urge to push, a deep, primal need that she couldn't ignore. She pulled herself up using the bed frame and collapsed onto her knees beside the mattress, her forehead pressed against the sheets as she tried to breathe through it.
"Okay," she gasped. "Okay, you can do this. Women do this all the time."
But not alone. Not in the dark. Not during a storm with no way to call for help.
Another contraction came and her body pushed without asking permission, the muscles bearing down hard as the baby's head dropped through her cervix. The sensation was overwhelming, a burning stretch that made her cry out as she felt the massive bulge form between her legs.
She reached back with one hand, yanking her soaked pajama pants down to her thighs, and her fingers found the enormous swell of her opening already stretching around the baby's head.
"Oh god," she whimpered, feeling how huge it was. "Oh god, this baby is so big..."
She pushed again and the head moved lower, her body opening wider and wider around it as fluid gushed out and ran down her thighs. The burn was intense, a ring of fire that made her gasp and pant, but she couldn't stop pushing.
"It's coming," she said out loud, her voice shaking. "It's really coming. I'm having this baby right now."
Talking helped. Hearing her own voice in the silent, dark room made her feel less alone, so she kept going as she bore down again.
"I can feel the head... oh fuck, I can feel it stretching me..."
The baby crowned in one brutal push, the entire head forcing its way through her opening until it sat there, heavy and huge in her hand. Her legs were shaking so badly she could barely stay upright, but she reached back with both hands now, feeling the baby's face, checking for the cord.
Nothing. The cord was clear.
She looked down between her legs and saw her reflection in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Her thighs were spread wide, her opening stretched impossibly around the baby's head, fluid and blood streaking her legs.
"Almost there," she panted. "Almost..."
The shoulders were the hardest part. She pushed and pushed but they wouldn't come, stuck behind her pubic bone as her body strained to expel them. She shifted positions, rolling onto her side on the floor and pulling her top leg up toward her chest, opening her hips as wide as they would go.
"Come on, baby," she groaned, pushing harder. "Come on..."
One shoulder finally popped free with a gush of fluid, and then the other followed, and suddenly the entire baby was sliding out onto the floor in a rush of warmth and wetness.
Nina grabbed the crying infant and pulled it onto her chest, sobbing with relief and exhaustion as the baby wailed against her skin.
But something was wrong. Her belly was still huge, still contracting, and before she could even process what was happening she felt another gush of water and a familiar pressure dropping low in her pelvis.
"What..." she breathed, looking down at her stomach in shock. "No. No, that's not possible."
But it was, and there was another baby already dropping through her cervix before she could even catch her breath.
Nina's belly contracted violently, still massive and round despite the baby she was clutching to her chest. The first infant was screaming, and instinctively she brought it to her breast, trying to get it to latch as another contraction tore through her.
The baby latched on and sucked hard, and immediately milk sprayed from her other breast in a hot stream that soaked her shirt and dripped onto the floor. The sensation of the baby nursing combined with the contraction made her entire body clench, and she felt the second baby's head drop lower, pressing against her already battered opening.
"Nnngghh... oh god..." she gasped, her hips spreading wider as the pressure built. This baby felt different. Bigger. The head was pressing against her in a way that didn't feel right, grinding against her pubic bone instead of sliding smoothly down.
She reached down with her free hand, keeping the nursing baby clutched against her chest with the other, and felt between her legs. Her opening was already stretching again, but this time it felt wrong, the bulge harder and more angular.
The baby was facing up.
"No, no, no," she whimpered, realizing what that meant. Sunny-side up babies were harder to birth, took longer, stretched you more. "Please, baby, turn around..."
But the baby wasn't turning. Another contraction hit and her body pushed anyway, forcing the massive head down against her backward. Her clit was pushed out and exposed, the pressure on it so intense it sent sparks of sensation through her entire body.
She was panting now, milk still streaming from her breast as the first baby nursed frantically. The combination of sensations was overwhelming - the baby sucking at her breast, the milk letting down in painful spurts, the second baby's head grinding against her clit and stretching her wider than she'd ever been stretched before.
"Haaaah... haaaah... fuck..." She bore down again, and the head moved another agonizing inch. Her opening was stretched into a massive teardrop, and she could feel how much bigger this baby's head was compared to the first.
The burn was unbearable. She reached down and felt her clit, swollen and pushed completely out from under its hood by the baby's head pressing against it. Without thinking, she started rubbing it, desperate for any kind of relief from the pain.
The pleasure hit her like a lightning bolt. Her hips jerked and she moaned, her fingers working her clit as she pushed again. The baby's head stretched her wider, the pressure on her clit intensifying as she rubbed faster.
"Oh god... oh fuck..." she gasped, milk spraying from both breasts now as the first baby lost its latch and started crying again. She didn't care. She kept rubbing, kept pushing, her body caught between agony and pleasure as the second baby's head crowned.
The orgasm hit her without warning, her entire body clenching as she came hard, her pussy spasming around the massive head trying to emerge. She screamed, her back arching, and the baby's head surged forward with a gush of fluid.
But it still wasn't out. The head was too big, the angle all wrong, and she was stretched so thin she could feel every ridge of the baby's skull as it pressed against her.
"NNNGGGHHH... AAAHHHHH..." She pushed again, her fingers still working her clit desperately, trying to bring herself to another orgasm to help get the baby out. Milk was everywhere now, spraying with every contraction, soaking her chest and the floor beneath her.
The first baby was wailing beside her, but she couldn't focus on it. All she could focus on was the massive head crowning between her legs, stretching her impossibly wide as she rubbed her clit and pushed and screamed.
Another contraction slammed into her and she bore down with everything she had, her fingers frantic on her exposed clit as the baby's head pushed forward another fraction of an inch. "HNNNGGGHHH... FUCK... AAAHHHHH..."
The head was crowning fully now, a massive, hard bulge that filled her entire hand when she reached down to feel it. This baby's head was so much bigger than the first, and the fact that it was facing up made every push feel like she was being split in half.
"Come on... come on..." she panted, rubbing her clit harder as another orgasm built. Her milk was gushing now, spraying in arcs across the room with every heaving breath, her breasts so full and sensitive that even the air against them felt like too much.
She came again, her body clenching hard around the baby's head, and this time it moved. The face started to emerge, chin first instead of the back of the head like it should have been, and the stretch was agonizing. She could feel the baby's nose, its mouth, every feature dragging against her inner walls and making her scream.
The head burst free with an explosive gush of fluid that sprayed everywhere, and Nina collapsed forward onto her hands, gasping and sobbing. The baby's head hung between her legs, face up, staring at the ceiling, and she could see in the mirror how impossibly stretched she was.
But the shoulders were still inside, and they were even bigger than the head.
She didn't have time to rest. Another contraction hit immediately, and her body pushed whether she wanted it to or not. "HNNNGGGHHH... HAAAAH HAAAAH... FUCK FUCK FUCK..."
The shoulders wouldn't budge. They were stuck, wedged tight behind her pubic bone, and no matter how hard she pushed they wouldn't move. She shifted onto her side, pulling her leg up as far as it would go, opening her hips wider as milk continued to spray from her breasts.
"Please," she sobbed, reaching down to rub her clit again. "Please come out..."
She came a third time, her entire body shaking with the force of it, and finally, finally, one shoulder started to move. It bulged against her opening, stretching her even wider than the head had, and she screamed as it popped through with a sickening squelch.
More fluid gushed out, mixing with the milk pooling on the floor, and she pushed again desperately. "NNNGGGGHHH... AAAHHHHH... GET OUT... GET OUT OF ME..."
The second shoulder pushed through and the rest of the baby's body followed in a rush, sliding out onto the floor in a massive heap of limbs and vernix and blood.
Nina collapsed completely, her body shaking, milk still leaking from her breasts as both babies wailed beside her. The second baby was enormous, easily twice the size of the first, its body thick and long and impossibly heavy.
She lay there in the dark, surrounded by her crying newborns, and started to laugh. A broken, exhausted sound that turned into sobs.
"I just birthed twins," she whispered to the empty room. "Alone. In a storm. What the fuck."
The power flickered back on just as she reached for the second baby, the lights blazing to life and making her squint after so long in the dark.
And her phone, lying forgotten on the nightstand, started buzzing with missed calls and messages.
-fin
------
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bringing in the changing of the seasons with harvester and john
usually the harvester is this barely understandable figure that only john can see properly, all the seasons at once pressed down into a form, the roots from the earth curling and twisting like bone and muscle and sinew, but sometimes
he sticks around in a form more recognizable as a man, gets down in the dirt on his knees, and helps deliver the upcoming harvest with his own hands
Jude stumbles into the clearing, a ragged moan falling from his lips as another contraction grips his frame. The pressure is so low now, far to low for him to go any further.
He'd done the best he could, now he just had to hope that the Forest Spirit will find him and accept the offering.
He doesn't dwell on this thought for long though, the pressure inside him suddenly turning vicious as it rolls through him.
Jude pitches forward, hands on his knees as he lets out a low groan. His sides heave, drawing in tightly against his heavy belly as things begin to click and slide into place inside of him.
The offering is moving down, coming closer to the outside world with each passing second. Jude can feel it slipping lower and lower, a heavy pressure that drives him mad as it wrenches through his body.
Around him the forest is still and shivering with anticipation, the air heavy as Jude squeezes his eyes shut and cries out, a gush of shimmering fluid spilling from his hole and soaking into the ground beneath him.
"Oh- mhhhhhhnnnnn!" Jude grunts wildly, his hips rocking and dipping as he feels the first true spark of stretch between his legs, "Oh gods, my waters! My waters are.. ohhh, they're breaking!"
As his body continues to work it's way through this new stage of labour, his broken waters soak into the snow covered ground. They melt away the snow at his feet, replacing them with green grass that has no business being as lush as it is this late in the winter.
The grass continues to creep out from under the snow, steady movement across the clearing until the entirety of it is more like a spring meadow then a refuge from the cold.
Jude doesn't have long to focus on the odd display of magic that's come from his body. He's too focused on the sinking feeling in his pelvis and the sudden desperate need to push.
He has to push
Has to get this thing out of him right now
"Oh- oh please!" He cries out, all but throwing the cloak aside and dropping heavily into the newly formed grass.
Jude draws his legs up, framing his heavy figure and pulling his hole taunt.
His massive belly heaves above him, shaking and quivering with each hiccupy breath he takes.
His cock is twitching in interest at the odd sensations crashing through him, the overwhelming pressure in him off put by the feeling of being so incredibly full - the thought of being stretched so tightly around the offering.
Imagine labouring in the tub, submerged in nice, warm, comforting water, mellow contractions rippling through your gravid womb. You can feel your body slowly guiding the baby downwards, feel your hips gradually filling with the bulging mass of it- the forebag of the unbroken sac distending into your birth canal.
You savour the sensation of the next contraction as it wreathes your pregnant belly in pressure and pain, the most beautiful force of nature operating within you to bring forth the burgeoning new life growing nurtured inside you these many long months.
Suddenly, lost in the intensity of this particular contraction, you feel the bursting of the waters between your legs, and you can't help but it moan at the release of pressure.
Hands on your belly, you can feel it shrink beneath your fingers in slow motion. Over your emptying belly you watch as the blood and water of your womb spill out between your legs, floating like winged tendrils to dissipate into the water around you, until your own skin is submersed in the same amniotic fluid as your baby.
The tranquil release of pressure does not last a moment before the baby's head lurches forward into your pelvis to fill the space. You gasp as the head emerges from your cervix and lodges itself in your birth canal. There's a whole new flavour of sensation, a stretching, burning fullness the likes of which you could never have imagined. The sounds coming from your voice are animal and uncontrollable as you fight to process the intensity.
The baby's coming. You can feel it fighting to be born, headfirst and big.
The waters around you flow and splash again at your body as your hips roll and convulse against the pressure. Right on queue you feel the urge to push.
You spread your legs in the bloody water and let out a big PUSH. In one way it's a relief, but once you begin, you can't stop. The pressure is enormous. Gripped in the throes of childbirth you squirm and push, the head beginning to stretch you wider and wider and wider with each second.
It's beautiful, it's otherworldly, this sensation of giving birth. It's coming so fast, though- you can feel the ring of fire so intensely you desperately wish you could stop pushing, but the birth is unrelenting. Before you know it, the head has popped free, followed by the shoulders, and the rest of the body slides out with a gush.
You reach into the bloody fog in the water between your legs and retrieve the newborn, its limbs splaying reflexively, and lift it finally into your arms for the first time.
The contraction was a force that could not be bargained with, so much pressure distilled into such a small space that suddenly nothing was left within him but a blind, instinctive need to push. He reared back to grab the counter lip with his other hand, dropped his chin to his chest, and finally, finally did what his body had been screaming at him to do: he pushed.
Read the rest of Dave’s twin birth story here!
Gonna try to add the uncensored version in the reblogs 👁️
pixelskylines
discoholicmusic
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
titsay
