Hello! You can call me Pumpkin (34, she/her), welcome to my blog! 18+ content only here, minors do not interact you will be blocked. Likewise, if there is no age in your bio or a pinned post, you'll be blocked on sight. Them's the rules.

Here you'll find mostly pregnancy/birth centric content! Be sure to check my profile description if writing requests are open, although they're rarely (if ever) closed. All stories can be found under the tag 'pumpkin writes'.

I'm pretty flexible in terms of what I can write for you, but here are a few hard no's, just to be clear:

watersports/scat

underage

bestiality

hyperpreg

gore/violence/death

rape

no pre-existing children/students/etc. present in the scenario

Asks only, I do not respond to IMs, and I am currently not open to roleplaying.

If I have not answered your prompt then either 1) Tumblr ate it, or 2) I either couldn't think of anything for it or just wasn't feeling it. Please don't take it personally if your prompts aren't answered.

Under the cut is some extra info so you can get a better idea of what I love writing about. Enjoy your stay!

You don't know why you wake up equally achy and horny, but what you do know is that you have way too many tasks to get done today to properly tend to either of those feelings.

Once you're up, you stretch and yawn before wincing slightly, the movement seeming to have aggravated the ache even further. Grumbling quietly to yourself, you rummage in your bedside table for exactly two things—a half empty bottle of ibuprofen, and one of your personal favorite silicone plugs. You take the painkillers first, swallowing with a mouthful of tap water and hoping it tackles that dull throb in your lower back, before pulling down your sleep shorts and underwear in order to slowly, slooowly ease the plug into yourself, until a shaky breath escapes you once the base is fully snug against you.

There. With any luck, your body won't be sore for much longer, and the thickness of the plug should hold you over until you can tend to your personal needs properly. Tossing aside your shorts and pulling off your shirt, one of your hands idly rubs at your stomach as you go about getting ready for the day. It's been firmer than usual, rounder, but you don't really pay it any mind; you've always been on the thicker side, and you figure the pendulum is just swinging a little on the heavier side for now.

After getting dressed and heading outside, it's relatively easy to fall into your usual routine of cleaning, checking up on your livestock, everything else that's become muscle memory to you by now. Except, you find yourself needing twice as many breaks as usual; the ibuprofen clearly hasn't worked worth a shit, and at one point you find yourself bracing against the outside of the barn, breathing shakily through a cramp that takes forever to finally let up. The only thing that keeps you even mildly distracted from the pain is the plug still nestled deep within you, but even that is starting to lose out to the discomfort wracking your tired body.

You're about to say forget it and just head back inside, but by this point you only have one thing left to do, and if you quit now it's gonna bother you for the rest of the day. There's absolutely no way that you're going to walk the entire perimeter of your fencing, not in the state you're in, so you opt to take one of the compact tractors instead. It takes a little doing to heft yourself up and onto the seat, but when you do you find yourself pleasantly rewarded by the pressure of the plug being nudged just a little deeper inside of you. A small grin rises to your face as you start the tractor up, thinking that perhaps this will be more pleasant that you thought it would.

True enough, the consistent rumble of the machinery beneath you and the slightly uneven terrain of the ground make for the deepest pleasure you've felt in quite some time, and there are a few moments where you very nearly lose track of where you're steering. The cramps, however, persist just as deep as the pleasure does, leaving you gripping the wheel so tightly that you're positive that your knuckles must be turning white beneath your gloves.

It comes to a head when, in the midst of groaning and panting through a cramp, you run over a particularly large boulder that you hadn't seen in your way. The tractor jolts, luckily staying upright, and you let out a startled yelp as you feel something give inside of you. Rivulets of liquid leak out of you, trickling unevenly around the plug and soaking the seat of your jeans. Fumbling to put the tractor in park, your hands shake as you turn the key, needing the rumbling to cease so that you can figure out what the fuck is happening to you.

An embarrassed flush rises to your cheeks at the mess you've made, but before you can try and calm yourself down you feel it again, a banding of intense pressure around your bloated midsection that seems to have only gotten worse in the wake of your accident. "What the fuck, what the fuck—" you pant as you realize that it feels like there's something moving down inside of you, something big. Your heart races with a bolt of panic; whatever is happening to you, you can't do it out here. In a stroke of cosmic misfortune, though, another deep rippling pain clenches at you right when your hand grips the keys, and in your rush to clutch at your belly you end up accidentally ripping the keys out of the tractor's ignition.

An aggravated sound escapes you as you hear them fall to the ground somewhere, although where exactly is unclear right now. What is clear is that there's no way you're going to be able to hobble back to the barn like this, and whatever is moving inside of you doesn't seem to care. Clenching your teeth, you find yourself bitterly grateful that no one is around to see as you manage to lift yourself up off of the seat just enough to shove your wet jeans and underwear halfway down your legs, before settling back down with a labored huff. Sitting down again sends a clear reminder that the plug is still firmly in place, and your eyes widen as you realize you can feel whatever else is inside of you pressing against it.

"Sh-shit, shitshitshit—" you moan, straining to reach down between your legs. The base of the plug is slippery now, and it takes you a couple of tries before getting a solid grip onto it. A long, low sound escapes you as you ease the thick plug out, another warm current of pleasure mixing with the pain, and the moment it's freed you feel even more liquid come rushing out of you, no longer being held back. Your hands move to your entrance, surprised to find it still gaping slightly, but it becomes clear that it's because whatever's inside of you is very nearly out.

"Hhhgh come on, come o-ohhhhnn!!" you heave, your chin nearly touching your chest as you bear down against the overwhelming pressure inside of you. With one hand still resting between your legs, you can feel something hard and firm stretching you open, and the texture is all too familiar as it fills your palm. "Is…is that a f-fucking egg??" With every push, it becomes clear that is exactly what is coming out of you; not only that, but it's big. Your hazy mind estimates that it's definitely well over the size of an ostrich egg, if the way it burns as it stretches you to the widest point is any indicator. With one more ragged, desperate yelp, you give it one more heaving effort before the egg fully slips out of you, and you very nearly drop it thanks to how badly your hands are shaking.

By now you're an absolute mess; eyes bleary, head pounding, your body thoroughly soaked from the waist down with more trickling fluid. Your belly is slightly smaller, but it still feels extremely firm near the bottom, and you swallow thickly as you realize there's still something inside of you. Keeping the egg nestled in the crook of one arm, your free hand moves down between your legs again, and when you dip a couple of fingers inside you can already feel the shell of another egg.

Another harsh contraction grips you, but by now you know what to do, and your cheeks bloom scarlet with effort as you push hard. Your entire body aches and trembles with effort, and the only thing you can cling to is knowing that this egg is coming a little easier since you've been stretched so much by the first one. It isn't as easy as you hope, though, and you once again find yourself screaming through the stretch, before just barely managing to catch the last egg as it slides out.

When it happens, I can tell exactly when it really hits you; that deep, insistent ache from inside.

To be fair, that in itself isn't entirely new, it's been happening on and off all day, but all it takes is a little firm reassurance on my end for you to leave the matter where it lies. After all, you trust me entirely; you trusted me when I explained away your weight gain over the past several months as nothing more than an unfortunate concentration of water weight around your midsection, and you even trusted me when I easily rationalized your water breaking an hour ago as just a spontaneous accident, and certainly nothing that would warrant us missing out on our trip.

That was your first mistake.

"Stop squirming," I murmur, noticing the way you've been trying to find a comfortable position for the last fifteen minutes. Your apology is quiet, marked by a hitch in your breath, and I don't miss the way your hands are currently grasping at the edge of your seat. "People are going to stare, you know," I add, although it's a little late for this; just about everyone on this train has taken notice of the clearly uncomfortable and quite heavily pregnant girl, and some have already whispered among themselves, wondering if it's even safe for you to be traveling in your condition.

Of course, you haven't heard a word of it, not when you're so focused on trying not to sweat and squirm in your seat beside me.

"I-I don't feel good…it feels like s-something is—"

"Didn't you hear me the first time? It's nothing, now stop it," I admonish you coldly, narrowing my eyes down at you. God, you look so good like this, with your cheeks flushed and brows furrowed, trying so hard to be good for me no matter how much your body is screaming that something is wrong. "Just sit. Still. No wriggling, no whining, and no pushing."

Confusion flickers through your eyes at the last words, but before you can even ask what I mean, you press your lips firmly together, whimpering as another tight, dreadful pain tightens its grip around your midsection. Sweat beads at your temples, and I can see the way your belly visibly contorts with the force of the contraction. I want to touch it, want to feel the sensation of those babies I put in you moving steadily downward, but I keep my hands to myself. For now.

Unfortunately for you, it becomes clear that whatever is happening to you is getting impossible to ignore, and when you shift in your seat once again I can see a significant bulging in your leggings that wasn't there when we had first sat down. Tears stream down your face as you try to tell me that something's wrong, something is stretching your poor little pussy wide open, but the pain has stolen all the sound from your throat and left you a whimpering mess as you try to obey me, try not to push.

You last all of fifteen seconds.

"It h-hurts, it's burning, I can't—" you moan through clenched teeth, and the bulge in your leggings grows bigger as whatever it is seems to be forcing its way out of you whether you make the conscious choice to push or not. When you finally give in and bear down against my wishes, a strangled mix between a yelp and a sob tears its way out of you, and all at once the soaked fabric between your legs stretches outward with a solid, squirming mass. I make no move to help you as you fumble to pull them down enough to reveal the wriggling, wailing baby that had just been born into your pants, a baby you had most certainly known nothing about.

Loud murmurs and hurries whispers of our fellow passengers erupt around us, and as you look up at me with a desperate question in your eyes, all I can do is shake my head disapprovingly. "You just couldn't do the one thing I asked of you," I click my tongue condescendingly. "and now all of these people are going to have to watch you give birth again."

Your face drains of what little color remains, but before you can open your mouth to ask what I mean, you feel it again; that awful, contracting tightness from within you, that feeling of something massive inching its way down. The cry that tears free of you almost seems to harmonize with the wails of your first baby, but instead of giving in and pushing, you shakily try to press your thighs closed.