#forced preg

[shockspectrum]

partner who treats you getting pregnant as an inevitability that will happen no matter what, before you two even talk about it, before you even agree, before you tell them whether you ever even WANT to get pregnant. because none of that matters. it's unavoidable. it will happen sooner or later. the only question is when.

[exploringflesh]

I wish i could find audio of someone telling me theyre going to get me pregnant over and over. Theyre pounding me hard, skin slapping skin, building up speed and failing to keep their voice from getting more demanding and possessive. They tell me how im going to have their baby, theyre going to fuck me again and again until im knocked up for sure. Their intense drilling into my cunt picks up and they get to the point of screaming for me to take their cum and get. pregnant. Then they fulfill their promise and flood my thirsty womb with their seed, stuffing me so full, I hear load after load get dumped inside me, theyre groaning in ecstasy and pleasure.

[soulinthewasteland]

Valarr was evil as hell towards y/n i can imagine when she gave birth to their first child she cannot bear to look at baby or even hold him at first due to the fact the baby is Valarr's copy paste and memories on how the baby was conceived flooded in her head 😭

Childbirth

Dark Valarr x reader

CW: rape/non-con implied, notions of forced pregnancy and baby trap, unilateral happiness, rejection of an infant, mention of attempted abortion.

WC: 1.4 K

A/N: Part of Achievements, Success. Can be read separately.

Pregnancy never truly felt like yours.

Everyone spoke about the miracle, the blessing, the new life growing beneath your heart, but every congratulation, every gentle hand resting on your swollen belly, and every excited smile seemed meant for a different woman. You nodded, smiled whenever you were expected to, allowed the seamstresses to measure you for maternity dresses, listened politely as the nurses spoke about childbirth, and let Valarr spend hours with his palm spread across your stomach, captivated every single time the baby moved. He radiated such complete, unrestrained happiness that it was impossible not to notice. There were nights when he stayed awake for no other reason than to feel one tiny kick beneath his hand, laughing quietly to himself as though he had just witnessed the greatest miracle in the world.

You would watch him from your pillow, trying to share that happiness that he radiated when feeling the baby's kicks or replicating his smile at your absurd food cravings.

There were moments when the weight of the child beneath your ribs reminded you far too vividly of how he had come to exist. Nof the love Valarr already felt for him, but of the night he had been conceived, of the feeling that you had never truly been able to choose, and of the suffocating certainty that your life had begun slipping beyond your own grasp long before you realized it.

Sometimes your hands would instinctively settle over the gentle curve of your stomach, and with them came memories you wished had never existed at all, from the time you deliberately rolled down the stairs, of desperate moments when grief had whispered impossible thoughts into your mind, of days when you had caught yourself praying that the pregnancy would simply... end before it became real. Those thoughts had horrified you almost as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind nothing but a guilt so profound it became difficult to breathe beneath its weight.

Then you would press both palms more firmly against your belly, as though trying to apologize through the touch alone, squeezing your eyes shut because the baby wasn't to blame. He never had been.

And yet the memory refused to leave. Silent, Persistent.

The labor ended in an emergency cesarean section after endless hours of pain.

Your contractions had begun before dawn, and for nearly an entire day you endured a kind of agony that seemed to have no end. Exhaustion slowly replaced fear until even breathing became a conscious effort, while the voices around you blurred together into rapid instructions, the metallic clatter of surgical instruments, and the relentless beeping of monitors.

Someone said the baby was in distress, and everything happened far too quickly.

The lights of the operating room blinded you. A blue surgical drape concealed your body while the anesthesia stole every sensation below your chest. You couldn't feel pain anymore, only strange, unnatural pressure, as though someone was rearranging your entire existence from the inside out.

Valarr remained beside you in sterile scrubs, holding your hand so tightly it almost hurt. He kept whispering that everything would be all right, though his own voice trembled with fear.

You barely managed to answer. You were too exhausted, too empty.

That's how the cry came. Your baby's first cry. The entire operating room seemed to relax at once. The nurses smiled, the doctors let out relieved breaths, and Valarr broke down in tears.

"It's a boy."

The words echoed through the room amid congratulations and relieved laughter as a nurse carefully wrapped the newborn in a soft white blanket before carrying him gently toward you.

"Would you like to hold him?"

You lifted your head, saw him. The world seemed to stop.

He had the same hair, still damp, the same pale skin, and the same delicate features that, even on a newborn, resembled Valarr so painfully that your breath caught in your throat. It was like looking at a miniature version of him.

Suddenly every memory came flooding back.

The car. Your dress. The tears. You didn't see your son, but the beginning of everything you had never wanted. Air vanished from your lungs. Instinctively, you leaned away, only a few inches, but it was enough.

"No..." The word escaped in a broken, barely audible whisper. "No... not yet."

The nurse hesitated, visibly confused, before gently trying to bring the baby closer to your chest once more. You shook your head again. More firmly this time.

Tears began slipping silently down your cheeks before you even realized you were crying. You couldn't look at him. Every time you did, you saw Valarr.

His nose. His mouth. The shape of his tiny closed eyes.

It was as though your husband's face had been made small enough to fit inside a white blanket, and it was destroying you.

Valarr stopped crying. The overwhelming joy that had illuminated his face only moments earlier slowly dissolved into something you had never wanted to see directed at you: confusion, disbelief, and a hurt so raw it almost seemed childlike. His eyes moved from the baby to you, then back again, as though he were desperately searching for an explanation that would make the moment less impossible.

"My love..." His voice cracked so softly it barely sounded like his own. "He's our son."

You knew.

God, of course you knew.

You had carried him beneath your heart for months. You had felt every movement, every kick against your ribs, every restless night, every ache that came with bringing another life into the world. There had never been a single moment when you forgot he was your son. That was precisely why it hurt so much.

You weren't rejecting the baby.

You were rejecting everything his face awakened inside you. His hair, his pale skin. The unmistakable resemblance to the man standing beside your hospital bed. Every feature seemed to pull another memory to the surface until you could scarcely breathe beneath the weight of them.

It wasn't your child you couldn't bear to look at. It was the past staring back at you through his tiny face.

You wanted to love him. God knows you wanted to.

You wanted to reach out, gather him against your chest, and feel that overwhelming rush of devotion everyone promised would arrive the moment a mother first held her child. You wanted to look at him and see nothing except your baby. Instead, all you could find was guilt, a grief so immense it seemed to hollow you out from the inside. Grief for the woman you had once been, for the future she had imagined, for every version of your life that had quietly disappeared long before you had realized you were mourning it.

The baby let out another small cry, his tiny hands curling instinctively inside the blanket, completely unaware of the storm his existence had just awakened. The sound shattered whatever fragile composure you still possessed.

A sob escaped your throat before you could stop it. Then another. Tears blurred your vision until the room dissolved into streaks of white lights and indistinct faces.

You pressed trembling fingers over your mouth in a futile attempt to contain the sound, your shoulders shaking despite the fresh pain radiating from the surgical incision across your abdomen. Every movement hurt. Every breath pulled against the stitches that had only just been closed, but none of it compared to the ache spreading through your chest.

"I..." you whispered, the words breaking apart before they could fully form. "I can't..."

You hated yourself the moment you said them. None of this was his fault, he hadn't chosen the circumstances of his conception. He hadn't asked to be born.

He hadn't done anything except arrive in the world, small and helpless, searching instinctively for the safety of his mother's arms, and you couldn't bring yourself to give them to him. The realization tore through you with a cruelty unlike anything you had ever experienced. You felt monstrous. Broken. What kind of mother, you thought, what kind of mother wouldn't want to hold her newborn child?

A nurse glanced uncertainly toward Valarr, silently asking whether she should intervene, but he didn't answer. He remained frozen beside the bed, his eyes never leaving your face, his own expression crumbling beneath the weight of emotions he clearly didn't know how to process.

There was nothing he could fix. No reassurance he could offer, no amount of love, money, protection, or certainty could bridge the distance that had suddenly opened between you and the tiny child lying only a few feet away.

The fresh incision across your abdomen throbbed with every sob, yet even that sharp, physical pain felt insignificant beside the one blooming inside your chest. This was a wound no surgeon could stitch closed, no medicine could numb, and no amount of time seemed capable of healing.

[ravenousmoon]

I’m soooooo needy it’s not even funny… I want cock so badly I just need someone to pin me down and fuck me senseless, tell me they’re going to fill me with load after load until I’m pregnant and my tits are swollen and leaking

[sillygoose-pup]

Sometimes I wish you could feel exactly the moment an egg is fertilized in you- like imagine you can feel when the sperm hits the egg. The womb heats up a little an feels fuzzy, feeling food in all the right spots. Maybe it’s a little painful for a moment but way more pleasant High afterwards,,,

imagine trying to deny to your partner/owner that your not shaking and moaningfrom feeling their cum flood your pussy and knocking you up as he fucks back his load into your weeping gushing cunt- no your not pregnant that was just a cramp! A cramp and the hardest orgasm if your life- and your totally not clenching around their dick so hard because your cumming from becoming a mommy- your partner was just being unfair!!

But when the next weeks pass and your belly has grown and your tits are so sensitive and sore, your hips are getting bigger ,it gets really hard to deny it anymore. And your partner likes to rub it in your face by always holding your belly or playing with your tits

[heatdrunk]

i wish pregnancy pacts were like...magically binding contracts. I wish they forged permanent, life-long connections between your wombs.

you make the pact young, probably in middle school or high school, that's when most pregnancy pacts are forged. at a sleepover, you and your friends make a promise that when one of you gets pregnant, the rest will too. you're all young, you don't know any better, the only thing you're thinking about is how fun it would be to have babies at the same time as your friends. it seems like a great idea, none of you will ever have to go through pregnancy alone. you giggle about it a bit, fantasize about what it would be like, discuss baby names, but don't really put much stock in it. pretty soon, you've forgotten all about it.

years down the line, after you've all grown up and mostly gone your separate ways, and you see that one of them has made a pregnancy announcement on social media. you leave a comment congratulating her, and move on with your life. a few weeks later, another posts the same thing. funny coincidence, that two of your old friends ended up pregnant at the same time. you congratulate them and move on. not even a full week after that, two more have announced their own pregnancies, and it doesn't really feel like a coincidence anymore. come to think of it, you've been feeling pretty exhausted lately, your cycle is definitely more than a few weeks late, and that stubborn bloating at the base of your stomach just won't go down.

turns out it doesn't matter what kind of birth control you use, or how careful you are. it doesn't even matter if you never have sex. if one womb in the pact is seeded, the rest are too. it only takes one of you being careless, or selfish, or even unwillingly impregnated, and the rest of you are stuck growing round with child alongside them. There's no way to prevent it, no way to reverse the pact.

you reconnect with all of them and form a group chat to compare bump photos, cycles, and due dates. trying to make the most of a bad situation, you set up maternity photoshoots and schedule sleepovers and spa days. it takes a while to get everyone on board, but eventually you do, though with varying degrees of excitement. you're hoping you can all at least enjoy your pregnancies together like you originally planned when you made the pact at that sleepover all those years ago.

maybe you all go into labor at the same time too, at one of your many sleepovers. or maybe your labors are staggered but you'll always give birth at the same time, so one of you might be left laboring for days while the others nervously wait for their own contractions to hit. either way, you get to share the experience with all of your friends, just like you wanted all those years ago.

for a while, it's nice. fun, even.

but when you're several babies deep, each of you overworked and exhausted, that one friend who "doesn't believe in birth control" sends a photo of her most recent ultrasound to the group chat. your phone explodes with furious texts as everyone berates her for getting you all pregnant again, when you're still recovering from the last baby, but you can only stare in horror at the sight of three distinct shapes on the ultrasound.

[dilfpregcentral]

Thinking about a king who’s yet to have any heirs begging the gods for fertility. When his queen’s blood continues to come for many months regardless of his pleas, he curses the gods for abandoning him; he has no reason yet to believe that his own growing gut is anything other than winter weight.

When spring comes, people begin to notice the protruding roundness of his belly, his physician recommending him more exercise and his tailor having to let out his royal garb every few weeks.

Still, the king attempts to plant his heir in the queen’s womb every night, though now he must rest his belly on her back to complete their union.

Nine months since he appealed to the gods, murmurs of concern follow the king wherever he goes. His gait has slowed and widened, a ponderous, rocking movement as his great belly hefts side to side. His physician looks more and more disturbed every time he examines the tight ball growing beneath the king’s gently swollen chest, warning him that he must have an imbalance of humors that have led to a massive tumor. The movement the king has felt, and the physician now feels and even sees from outside, must be the cankerous wolf, the physician surmises grimly, a malady that eats the flesh of the afflicted. Most often found in the breasts of women, it could nevertheless affect any part of the body, and the king should be prepared for a painful illness and untimely death.

But something else happens, instead. The king’s cock begins to swell. At first it’s barely enough to notice, but after a few weeks, it’s so thick and bloated that he can barely stand to touch it. He shudders at the slightest brushes against the tender, stretched flesh, and just the most tentative touch of the queen’s lips makes him cry out and dribble seed.

The physician warns him that the wolf might be on the move throughout his body, that this is likely a tumor that could destroy his member, but the king has another thought. He remembers pleading with the gods, and believes that they must have finally answered his prayers, and this large and sensitive cock is a sign of fertility.

The overstimulation is excruciating, but he barely manages to squeeze his massively swollen cock into the queen. She gasps and squirms and trembles, feeling split open by him. Tears cover his face by the time he reaches his climax. Both of them cry out as a sudden torrent of fluid erupts from him, believing this outpouring to be seed given to him by the gods. Once the servants change their linens, they go to sleep convinced that their heir will come soon.

They’re right—it will just be much sooner than they think.

The king wakes in agony at dawn. His belly cramps so tightly that he can do nothing but bend over it and groan. Assuming his illness must be consuming him, he remembers the physician informing him that there is no treatment or cure for the canker, and he resigns himself to his fate. His queen stays by his side as his body is wracked with fits of tension. She finds herself thinking that his agony reminds her of a laboring woman, especially the way the low-hanging bulge of his belly lifts and contracts with each wave of pain, but she fears such an observation would simply upset him, and keeps it to herself.

The king is lying on his side when the change comes. He groans, hair sticking to his sweat-drenched brow as he shakes his head against the soured sheets. He moans for the gods’ mercy, and instinctively lifts one leg, spreading his thighs wide. That’s when the queen sees how the flesh above his member, normally a relatively flat, triangular space, bulges as if around something hard and spherical. She stares as he thrashes and groans, watching as the tendons below his belly tighten and the shape sinks a little lower.

She figures it out, then. She stares at him, her jaw slowly loosening as she realizes what she’s witnessing. The heaving belly, contracting around a babe. And the head… the head descending towards his member.

She tells him she needs to get help, and he begs her to stay, but she leaves anyway. Terrified and in agony, the king feels something shifting deep within him, and is sure he must be dying. When the door bursts open and several people enter, he barely notices, eyes blurry with exhaustion and tears.

The physician and the midwife stare at the laboring man, stunned, but it’s the midwife who leaps into action first. She ducks between the king’s legs and begins to gently palpate around his bulging crotch, holding his thighs open when he screams and tries to close them. He demands to know the meaning of this, and she tells him. He’s giving birth. He tries to laugh at her, but a contraction steals his breath. His hands knot into the sheets and he groans long and low, while the midwife, physician, and queen all watch his crotch grow heavier and heavier with the head, until the base of his flushed cock begins to stretch with it. He hisses in pain, totally unaware of what’s coming.

He screams with the next contraction, eyes flashing wide with shocked terror as the base of his cock stretches a little more, trying to widen enough to accept the head. No, he begs. Not there. Please not there! The queen can do nothing but cradle his head in her lap. The midwife rubs his hip and tells him how well he’s doing. The physician, pale-faced, sits at the king’s desk taking notes and wondering if anyone will believe him.

Oh god, no, the king sobs as he feels another contraction coming. He cries for someone to stop it, but nothing can be done as his body squeezes, and the crown of the head peeks into the base of his cock. The king begins to thrash, and the midwife has to call the physician for help to hold down his legs. It gives both of them a prime view as, over the course of several contractions, the base of the king’s penis slowly wraps around the babe’s skull.

For many hours, he labors. The king screams for help, for mercy, for his mother, for death, as the hint of head inside his cock slowly eases forward. Finally it crowns into him, his base rendered nearly translucent around the widest part of the head, skin stretched pale and veins bulging blue with the tension. His chest rattles with tearful wheezing, his hands cramping from gripping the sheets.

The next milestone comes with a thrash of his whole body and a wail of, simply, Fuck! as the head pops into his shaft. His tip is beginning to stretch, now, an angry, weeping red, slit pulling open. He rests, then, such as a man can with a baby’s head deforming his cock, eyelids fluttering shut and chest heaving as he pants for breath. The queen dabs his forehead with a wet cloth and tells him how brave he is.

The midwife begins to gently stretch his hole, and he whimpers, but lets her, knowing she’s preparing him for—

Oh, nooooo, no, no, it won’t fit, it won’t fit! he sobs, but his cockhead splays all the same, pulled nearly flat as it comes flush to the crown. His crotch bulges again, too, as the shoulders push at it. Make it stop, just cut me open and take it out, I order you! Do it! he screams, but his three helpers exchange looks grimly, knowing that the flesh of his birthing member is much too thin to be cut without hurting the child, nevermind the risk of the king bleeding out. He must endure.

A litany of No, no, no no nonono no nooo noooooo! fills the room as his body pushes the child forward. The slight splay of his slit opens eye-like over slimy hair, his spongy cockhead reduced to something like a heart shape as it hugs the emerging head. His crotch stretches sharply, then the head eases back, his slit closing a little. He whimpers with relief.

But the midwife begins to rub around his base, trying to stretch him. She tells him he needs to push with the next contraction, or the child will never come out. He weeps bitterly.

Yet, he pushes. A high, wobbling agony gargles in his throat as he clenches his teeth and heaves air through the cracks. Veins stand out in his forehead and his shaft. His cockhead flares to the point it had reached before, and then a little further, a little less than a thumb’s length of the baby’s head visible through the slit. The shoulders don’t enter his cock, yet, but the base stays wide, ready to accept them when he does push them through.

He begs the midwife not to touch, sobs that it hurts, but she assures him gently that she’s keeping him from tearing, and keeps running her fingertip around the reddened edges of his birthing slit.

His belly lifts and tenses, and voices encourage him to push from every side. He’s only able to bear down for an instant before he loses the air in his lungs to a shriek as his slit-lips open wider. He whips his head in delirious denial, barely conscious.

This is when the midwife leans forward and pushes on the top of his belly. His eyes snap open and he screams like a dying animal as a shoulder bursts into his cock and the head surges against his tip. The bruise-purple tissue of what used to be his cockhead is indistinguishable as any part of a penis, more like a cunt now, if anything. This new cock-cunt twitches and pulses around the broad teardrop of crown now visible.

With the next contraction, he does his own pushing, fearing the pain in his belly again. He pushes until his face goes red and his whole body trembles, cock lopsided with the single shoulder and cunt lips peeling slowly down the dome of the head, until finally—

“AAAAAAAUUUUUURRRRGHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

The king’s agony echoes off the walls, his back arching and chest heaving as what was once his cock crowns around his child’s head. It holds him perfectly round and open, leaving him wheezing for breath with a high, tortured whimper threaded into his voice. He tries to keep pushing, but the midwife tells him to wait. He screams that he can’t. It’s too big! It’s gonna rip his cock off! But his attempts to push are futile, the head simply bobbing slightly, and he must endure the torment of the crown.

The next contraction should bring relief. But when it comes, his pushes only bring an awful pressure at the base of his cock, the drag of the shoulder inside his shaft, and the stinging tickle of his birthing slit struggling to release the babe’s skull. It’s stuck.

It’s stuck! It’s stuck! he shrieks.

The midwife tells him to keep his head on, and makes him roll from his side to his back and pull his legs up by his knees. He does as he’s told, though his hands tremble so badly that the queen must pull his legs back, leaning over him until his belly juts out between his upturned thighs, and his knees nearly touch his shoulders. His cock sticks up at an angle, though it wilts at the end with the weight of the babe’s head until the midwife supports it.

When pushing in that position does nothing, she continues to support his cock as she forces him to get on his hands and knees. His limbs tremble. He buries his pain-paled face in the queen’s breast and pants while he waits for a contraction. His hot breath and loose saliva seep into her dress as he pushes, but he finds no relief.

The midwife doesn’t warn him before she starts to physically tug his birthing slit down. He screams and tries to kick her, but the physician holds his legs still and the queen wraps her arms around his head to quell him. Her gown muffles his shrieks as the tip of his penis is dragged over the widest part of the skull, and he goes limp and wheezing when the head finally bursts free of his birthing slit. The gaping mouth of his cock crumples loosely around the neck, until the midwife keeps pushing it back to expose the shoulder.

When her fingers worm past the shoulder and dip inside of him, he lurches and gags. His wife is quick enough to let him loose, and he vomits over the side of the bed at the sensation of a foreign hand digging into his cervix. It leaves him tear-streaked and dry heaving, but finally, the midwife frees the second shoulder. He can do nothing but gargle in reaction.

Finally, a contraction comes, and he pushes with all he has left, his whole body trembling and his eyes rolling back. He bleats out a delirious whimper as both shoulders stretch his birthing slit at once, but they linger for only a moment before the midwife pulls the heir to the throne from his quivering body. His former penis falls limp, nothing but a gaping birth canal leaking blood and fluid.

He knows, in that moment, that the gods answered him. The first time he beseeched them, they gave him a womb with a miracle babe within… only for him to curse them, not knowing he already carried their blessing. This was his punishment.

At least it’s over.

Or, that’s what he thinks, until he consults his looking glass a few months later, and finds his sagging belly beginning to swell and harden once again.

[taluscite]

Knocking up a cute innocent bunny sub but not letting them know what’s happening to their body and why their tummy is getting so big- and then their tits get huge as well and start leaking, but you tell them that’s just normal!

When they go into labor, they come to you whining and sobbing because their tummy hurts and they don’t understand. You just shush them softly and sit them on the biggest dildo you have, telling them it’ll help, keeping everything nice inside while stroking their cute, fluffy ears that twitch with every painful contraction that wrecks their sweet little cunt.

Only when they’re crying in hysterics from the pain of their contractions will you let them off the toy and finally give birth to that “stomach ache” they’ve had for months.

Only for you to repeat the cycle and get them pregnant with more babies this time <3