Belly Kink Kingdom

He’s dreaming again. They’re on the run, and he’s so tired. So hungry. His belly is a hard knot, aching, something like a coal sinking into his pelvis. His feet burn as he tries to keep running, dead limbs leaden. His pater turns to look at him, lip curled as he snarls.

He can’t keep going, and falls to his knees as the burning pain crests.

He wails as he holds the tiny body to him, cold and quiet. It was pure hubris to think he could bear living young.

He wakes up sobbing. Marcus tries to console him, unable to before the sun sets. Gus sees the text as soon as he wakes and rushes to the next room.

Narcís is still crying, holding on to Marcus like a rock in a stormy sea.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

Narcís manages to explain the dream he had, so real, and the painful stillbirth. Gus looks like his heart might break. He joins Marcus on the bed, cuddling Narcís between them. Marcus’ shirt is soaked with bloody tears. Narcís cries out as his baby kicks, surprised and relieved. He wheezes as he cries, his system inflamed and irritated by the onslaught. He snuffles into Marcus as he calms down, his adoptive parents rubbing his stomach and back.

He staggers downstairs for a late breakfast, Gus and Marcus fussing over him. They put him on the couch with one of the enormous squishmallows, letting him hug it and use it as a bolster pillow. He still looks fragile and teary, hiccuping every so often.

They put a movie on and sit with him, Gus playing with his hair and Marcus massaging his feet and ankles. Narcís can hardly believe his luck. He half-dozes off, holding the squishmallow to him.

“Do you think we should call Dr. Rubardt?” He hears Marcus murmur through the haze of not-quite-sleep.

“I think I will before dawn, just to keep him updated,” Gus whispers. He doesn’t stop petting Narcís’s hair. “Hopefully it’s nothing.”

Narcís tries to not let on that he’s awake, but grunts slightly as Peanut surprises him with a kick to the side. Marcus chuckles and puts his hand on Narcís’s stomach over the protrusion.

“Looks like she’s okay,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb fondly over the foot or elbow within. Gus puts his hand over his husband’s. Narcís falls back asleep with the warmth of their hands on his belly, reassuring and comforting.

He wakes later with a start, face coming off the squishmallow and leaving a string of bloody drool. “Where-” he says instinctively, blurrily, still sleepy.

“Hey, you’re good! You’re still at home,” he hears. It’s Kristofer.

Narcís struggles to sit up, tweaking his back slightly as he attempts to lever himself up from the couch like he would in the past. Kris is there, and he lets the Nosferatu sit him upright. He looks around the room, trying to get his bearings. It’s still the drawing-room of the Clary house. Something is on the TV. He rubs his hand over his stomach, feeling for Peanut. “Um, what time is it?”

“It’s just after 4,” Kris explains. “Do you want anything to eat? I brought home extra from Duke’s.” He opens the takeaway box, showing the blood pudding within. Narcís could cry.

“Oh, yes, please,” he says, realizing how hungry he is. He falls on the leftovers, shoveling it into his mouth with the plastic fork. “It’s so good. Was Curtiss working?” He asks with a mouth full of the enriched blood.

“Yeah, he said to give you this for you and Peanut,” Kris laughs. “He said the team misses you but they understand, you can’t be on your feet like that.”

He hums with pleasure, happy that his friends remember him, soothed by the food.

“Dad said you had a bad dream. How are you feeling?” Kris asks softly.

“Much better,” Narcís says. His fork scrapes around the takeout container, chasing all the crumbs. “It just felt so real.” He shudders slightly in instinctive unease.

“I’m sorry,” Kris says earnestly. “I hope you don’t have any dreams today.”

I couldn’t stop staring at myself in the mirror, I rubbed my soft belly, half expecting to feel a kick just from the size I was even though I knew it was weeks too soon. With my hand still on my belly, I thought about how badly I wanted to show with my first pregnancy. I couldn’t show fast enough and I didn’t pop out enough either. And now I took a test because I thought I already looked pregnant and the test only confirmed it.

The first time you got me pregnant I asked you every single day if you could tell I was pregnant yet, If I looked it, if you thought people we knew could tell, if you thought strangers who saw me in public could tell. I wanted people to know I was pregnant so bad and I carried that pregnancy so small. The milestones felt like they took forever and a day to reach. At that time I always wanted to be bigger. I saw moms on their second and third pregnancies and saw they had the bellies I wanted. And now, on my fourth, I’m bigger than I thought to be at this stage and I can’t believe how fast everything is happening.

You walk in and look at me grinning, pleased with yourself. “I love seeing you like this. It lets the world know you’re mine”

“Im too big for this early!”

“Are we sure they measured you right?”

“Yes!! How am I supposed to hide this from anyone when this bump is already taking shape under my clothes! Look at how much I’m already protruding!”

“So we can’t have another after this…?”

I roll my eyes. “That’s not what I said”

And I was right. I couldn’t hide it. People were already looking at me. Strangers not knowing any better looked at my belly more than any other pregnancy (or maybe I just paid even more attention) and friends and family that noticed my shirts fitting snug or round asked “another one…?” Since I had recently just had our last.

And to make it worse, it was June. There was no way to cover up and hide it. Much too warm for that. At home I wore a bra but no shirts. In public I wore loose flowy clothing.

Everything hit sooner and harder. I was sleepier. I wanted more naps. I was hungrier. My cravings were so intense and I felt like I couldn’t stop eating.

I was also worried that I’d need to get even bigger maternity clothes than I already had. My belly button was already starting to change! From an innie to getting more and more shallow by the day.

By August, the four months mark, I was already starting to slow down how quickly I could lift myself up from sitting down. I started seeking out chairs that had arm rests so I could gently let myself down and push myself up. I started needing to pause what I was doing to take deeper breaths. I could not believe I was already breathing heavily and groaning to push myself up. When I had to sit on a bench, you knew the drill. You automatically got up and gave me your hand to pull me up when I had no armrests to help hoist myself up. And we both used those moments to gauge how much heavier I’d become since whenever the last time was that you had to pull me up. I didn’t need to beg you to notice how much I grew each day anymore. We could feel me weighing more each time.

I also carried this pregnancy much lower than my previous ones. My third was low but this felt even lower. If I wasn’t wearing a dress, my stretch mark filled belly was peaking out the bottom of any top I had. I realized quickly that it would only be a matter to time before dresses as shirts were going to be the only thing that fit me.

As I progressed stomach looked like it was carrying and being weighed down by a bowling ball. Besides the fact that I was putting on weight more quickly, the way I was carrying the extra weight was affecting my posture. I had given up on trying to prevent stretch marks after my second pregnancy. And they definitely were here during this fourth.

My belly was not the only place I was full of stretch marks on my body- I was spilling out of my shirts. Everything I wore looked inappropriate because it all was too tight. You loved telling me how much you loved to see my boobs jiggle as I walked around. When we lay in bed at night together you often gently use a finger to trace the stretch marks on my body, it helps with the self consciousness that kicks in when your body slowly stops remaining to be just yours.

By five and a half months I was already starting to feel the onset of waddling. People were constantly asking me when I was due and shocked at how much time I still had to go. I would get asked it I was having multiples constantly. And I was already able to start using my belly as a desk.

My body was always a play toy for you and my pregnant body was your favorite play toy. Whether it was absent-mindedly, while you were driving, when we were spooning, when you were lifting my belly to give me relief, or just because you wanted to feel, I loved it. Feeling your hand on me whenever I am pregnant feels better than having your hands on me when I’m not.

Now officially I my third trimester, I already looked ready to pop completely. I was so uncomfortable, I was starting to grow from big round belly to a belly that has nowhere to grow but forward. What was before a bowling ball shape now has a become a heavy round belly that has distinct downward curve that forced me to lean even further back whenever I have to walk (waddle slowly) in order for me to counter the weight pulling me forward. A layer of fat adds permanent love handles that fold at my hips.

I feel ridiculous in my own body. Every part of me is beyond the size of how I had previously carried. My widened hips are forcing me to waddle and prevent anything I owned from fitting. I feel like a caricature of myself. My heavy downward curved stomach refuses to be fully covered unless I wear maxi dresses. My tits is spilling out everything I own. Everything has stretch marks. Under my belly button, my tits, my widened hips, my bigger and softer ass.