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Ask: No. 19 during a dystopian tv game show where contestants have to do ridiculous physical challenges while fully dilated and ready to push. Last one to fully give birth wins fabulous prizes.
Thank you Anon, this is the most amazingly ridiculous prompt ever and was a joy to write. The story is completely satire, unrealistic, and purely for entertainment purposes. Special thanks to the talented @exponenshul for writing the third challenge, and to @gravid-transluna for being my incredible beta. You’re both amazing humans! 💜 (8k words)
Prompt: “I can’t stop it… nnghhh I’m pushingg!”
~•~
"Goooooood evening guys and girls. It's Saturday night, we're live, and welcome to another episode of..."
"Keep That Crown!" Cheers the studio audience.
The TV presenter, Danny, continues. "For those of you who are new to our little corner of television, this is a game show where we take five mothers-to-be and put them to the test in a number of household challenges. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, the catch is that each mum-to-be is in active labour...and fully dilated! Whoever can complete all five challenges without giving birth has a chance to win our grand prize, and the last one standing will win a whopping £100,000.00!"
"Oooooooh." The audience awes on cue.
"Now let's meet tonight's contestants." Danny says with a staged smile, his overly white teeth glinting under the spotlights. Walking across the studio floor the camera pans to five heavily pregnant women, each standing behind a podium displaying their name. "Contestant number one is Mandy. She's 41 weeks pregnant with her first baby, a girl. How are you doing tonight Mandy?" The presenter asks casually.
"Ooof- I'm good thanks Danny. Focused and ready for the challenges. It's my first baby so hoping that works in my favour... hooooo...." A contraction cuts off Mandy's fighting talk and she grips the podium and hangs her head, panting heavily.
"First time mums are usually the most successful at this game, so good luck, Mandy! Next up we have Anna." The TV presenter walks across to the next pregnant woman, who's holding her contracting belly and swaying her hips side to side. "Anna is also a first time mum-to-be, 39 weeks pregnant with a baby boy. Do you think you're going to win tonight, Anna?"
"Mnnnghh I'm gonna g-give it my best shot." Anna says timidly with a grimace and a forced smile.
"Contestant number 3 is Becky. Becky is 37 and a half weeks pregnant with her third baby. Some of you eagle eyed viewers may recognise Becky from her second pregnancy and birth. You were unsuccessful last time, managing only two rounds before the head popped out during the dishwasher challenge. Reckon you can make it to the final round this time, Becky?"
"I hope so... hooohooo.... But ohh, this labour came on quicker than expected.... Mnnnnngh, three hours from first contraction to full dilation. But I'm hoping this little one can stay in a bit longer." Becky's cheeks were flushed pink and the sweat glistened on her forehead. Her tight leggings showed just how wide her gait was and every couple of minutes her knees bounced.
"Well, good luck to you Becky." Danny said before turning directly towards the camera. "Looks like she's going to need it." He added with a laugh and a wink.
"Now, next up we have Claudia. Another first time mum, 40 weeks pregnant exactly." The brunette was in the midst of a contraction and merely waved at the camera before holding on to the podium and groaning under her breath.
"And finally we have Niamh. Niamh is 37 weeks pregnant and this is a first for Keep That Crown - she's pregnant with twins!" Danny announced to a cheer from the audience. "You caused quite the discussion with our producers Niamh, as you're pregnant with two lovely healthy babies, we had to decide what the rules would be. Now, even though you're carrying two, you will need to keep both babies from being born in order to qualify for the final round. Reckon you can do that?"
"Definitely, Danny!" Niamh answered confidently. "Twins run in my family, but so do long labours. I'm here to win!"
She planted her hands on her hips and grinned. Her bump was bigger and lower than any of the other contestants and yet she seemed the most relaxed and sure of herself.
"That's the spirit Niamh!" Danny said. "Okay, now that we've met the contestants, let's start the challenges!!" He walked over to a new part of the stage, which was set up like a mini grocery store. The contestants followed, albeit more slowly.
"The first challenge is our iconic grocery shop challenge." Danny explained to the five labouring mothers. "Each of you have been given a shopping list of 7 different items. Your task is to go through our pretend supermarket, collect all the items on your list, and make it back to your podiums. You can use either a basket or the trolly to carry your items, but all items must be back here before the time is up. And remember, no matter how much you want to push, you just have to..."
"Keep that crown!" Shouts the studio audience.
"On your marks, get set.... GO!"
Niamh and Becky were first off the mark and waddled quickly towards the pretend supermarket. They both grabbed a trolly and rushed up and down the aisles of food, searching feverishly for their items. Anna and Mandy were quick to follow, and they chose the handheld basket option. Claudia, however, hadn't left her original position.
"Claudia, you need to move if you're going to collect all your items before the time runs out..." Danny tried to encourage the mum-to-be, but she was groaning loudly and gripping the podium tight.
"Ohhhhhh god. It's so low.... The pressure...." She whimpered.
"Don't push, Claudia. You've got to keep that crown!"
She staggered forward on unsteady legs and eventually reached the supermarket trolly. Barely making it down one aisle, Claudia stopped and squatted, holding on to the cart with a white-knuckled grip.
"Looks like Claudia is already pushing...that was fast. She'd better hope the baby doesn't come out any further or she's not even going to make it through the first challenge!" Danny narrates the scene whilst the camera follows each woman around the store.
Anna and Mandy were throwing items into their baskets, rushing quickly between contractions. Niamh and Becky had already got the first few items in their trolley’s. Whilst Niamh was ploughing ahead, Becky was struck by a forceful contraction and was bracing herself against an aisle. The third-time mother had one hand between her legs and she was mooing slightly under her breath.
Claudia managed to get one item in her trolley but soon gave up completely, crumpling to the floor on all fours and actively pushing her baby out. The bulge in her leggings could be seen appearing and then slipping back again.
"And Niamh is the first one back! Impressive with her twin-filled bump. She's closely followed by Anna and Mandy." Danny joined the returning mothers who were bent over and panting back at their stands. "Becky is still working her way around the store, but seems to be struggling. And- uh oh, Claudia!"
The camera cuts to Claudia on all fours by the frozen foods, the distinctive outline of a fully birthed head now protruding her clothing.
"Aaaand we have our first birth, ladies and gentlemen. Unfortunately, Claudia was not able to get through the first challenge and is now delivering her baby in aisle 3!" Danny enthusiastically announced.
The cameras kept their focus on Claudia as she pushed and pushed, but cut back to the TV host when the medical team went over to undress the birthing mother and help deliver the baby.
The sound of a baby crying filled the studio, and the show went to commercial break.
~•~
"Welcome back to Part 2 of Keep That Crown! We have four ladies left in the competition with just as many challenges still to go." Danny said while giving an award-winning smile to the camera.
"Next up is our infamous dishwasher challenge. Looking at you, Becky!" The presenter jokes and the camera cuts to the labouring mother in question. Becky is sweating and holding her extremely low baby bump and rolls her eyes.
Danny continues explaining to the audience at home. "In this challenge, our mums-to-be are tasked with unloading a dishwasher. Now, I've never been pregnant myself so at first, I didn't fully understand why this task would be a challenge. However, since working on this show, I've come to realise just how difficult it is for a heavily pregnant woman to load and unload a dishwasher. It may sound easy, folks, but this challenge has got the better of quite a few mums over the years. Not to mention our current contestant, Becky."
Danny, followed by the camera, travels across the studio to talk to the mums. "Now last time Becky, when you were birthing your second child, this was the challenge that got you. Do you think you'll fare any better tonight?" The presenter asked.
"I don't know Danny... mnghhhh... this baby is pretty desperate to- ugh!- come out." Becky's hands were holding her bump as she swayed side to side, knees dipping whenever she grunted.
"It certainly sounds that way!" Danny's eyebrows raised at the deep groans coming from this third-time-mum. "Now, if you could all make your way over to your allocated dishwashers."
Danny followed the women to the dishwasher setup and began to instruct. "Each of you has an identical dishwasher filled with crockery, cutlery and glassware. Your task is to get all the items out of the machine and stacked on top. You can start on the sound of the buzzer. Three... two... one..."
A klaxon is heard blaring across the studio and the music starts.
Each of the four contestants seemed to approach the challenge in a different way, and Danny began commentating on the challenge as it unfolded.
"First-time mums Mandy and Anna, each carrying one baby and having the smallest bumps of the group, have gone for the regular, forward bend. Mandy is attempting the bottom tray first, starting with the plates and crockery in the most cumbersome of the locations, whereas Anna has decided to tackle the glassware on the top tray, perhaps waiting to build herself up for the more difficult lower level.
"And Becky, our darling returning mum-to-be, has clearly made a strategy after last time. She's taken a new approach of kneeling on the ground beside the dishwasher, picking up plates and putting them on top of the machine. There'll be less physical movement with this choice, but whether her strategy pays off - time will tell."
"And lastly we have our mum of twins Niamh. With the biggest belly, carrying two very healthy babies, doesn't have the option of the forward bend and is clearly not sure about getting down onto her knees. What is she going to do ladies and gentlemen?.... Oh, wow. That's a risky move from Niamh!"
The expectant mum of twins was rather nimbly dropping into a deep squat, her obscenely large belly hanging low between her jackknifed thighs and brushed the ground. Collecting a few plates and holding them against her bump in one arm, she pulls herself back to standing to place them above the machine. Seconds later, she's squatting again, collecting the side plates and bowls.
"Wow. Our Irish beauty Niamh is flying ahead in this challenge, but her method is risky and we have never ever seen it used successfully before." Danny's tone showed he was impressed.
Becky had managed to unload half of the bottom tray before she started to obviously struggle. Her knees slide wider on the studio floor, another contraction tightening up her bump and contorting it into a hard round ball. Bracing the tops of her thighs her hips sunk low to the ground and she grunted long and deep.
"Oh no!" Danny cried out. "Looks like Becky is pushing again. Her third baby is eager to join us."
The camera zooms in on the labouring woman; her face red and splotchy with the effort of birth. She was panting and groaning heavily, and from the low angle of the camera, the bulge in her leggings was undeniable. Shouts began to arise from the studio audience. "Don't push!" "Keep that crown!"
"Come on Becky, this challenge bested you last time- don't let it happen again! Keep that crown, mumma!" Danny encouraged.
The third time mum couldn't stop pushing, so in desperation she placed a hand between her thighs to stop the baby coming out any further. Becky grunted forcefully again into her palm and when the contraction was over and her hand removed, the head still appeared to be at a full crown inside her clothing, but was no longer moving. Becky exhaled, shook her head, and continued to remove the remaining items in her dishwasher.
"Anna is flying ahead in this challenge, closely followed by Niamh - those twins seem happy to stay in her belly." Danny observed. "...But it looks like Mandy is starting to struggle."
The soon to be mum was bent over the dishwasher, bracing her thighs and circling her hips, all thoughts of the challenge momentarily forgotten. Her heavy belly squished up tight, contracting forcefully and trying to evict its occupant. She whimpered and wailed as her baby sunk lower and lower, stretching her wide, desperate to be born.
"Uh oh, looks like she's struggling to keep that baby in. The question is.... Will she push?" Danny teased joyfully, adding drama to the already chaotic scenes.
Mandy could be seen muttering to herself under her breath.... Don't push don't push don't push... And yet her efforts were in vain, as the labouring mother soon dropped into a deep squat and bore down, groaning loudly.
"Mandy- hooooo... no! Don't p-push!!" Anna tried to encourage her fellow contestant, breathing heavily as she placed her final item on top of the dishwasher completing the challenge.
"Nnngghhhhh... I can't stop it! I'm pushing!!"
Mandy cried, letting out a primal grunt. The bulge between her open legs got bigger and bigger as she pushed, the baby slipping further between her folds and into her tight leggings.
"Aaaaand Anna is the first to complete the challenge!" Danny announces loudly to the studio. "But it looks like we have yet another mother falling at the dishwasher hurdle. Mandy, that baby is almost out.... If the head comes fully out, you are out of the competition."
"Oh god! No..... it's coming out!!!!" Mandy groaned, her body working of its own accord, bearing down and pushing the giant head through her opening. The unmistakable cry of relief that followed told everyone in the studio that the baby's head had been born.
"That leaves three remaining contestants; Anna has finished the task, closely followed by Niamh. Darn, I was sure all that squatting was going to result in a birth- but well done to Niamh! Who do we have left? Oh yes, Becky." Danny smiled and walked beside the labouring mother as she tried to complete the task. "How are we doing Becky?"
"Mnnghhh!" Becky apparently could not speak, putting all her focus and energy on the two tasks - unloading the dishwasher and not birthing her baby. Her knees were wide as she knelt on the floor, the baby's head way beyond a full crown but not quite fully born. She huffed as she picked up the last remaining item, her body trembling as she reached up to place the small plate on the top of the machine, the crockery clinking as she shook whilst stretching up, desperately trying to get that final item in place and complete the challenge that had previously beaten her.
"YES!!!" She cried when the plate slipped onto the pile of clean dishes, and panted heavily with relief. Whoops and cheers rang out from the audience.
"You did it!!!! Well done Becky." Danny exclaimed. "Now, let's go to commercial break, giving our mothers a well-earned rest-" ...the sound of Mandy grunting and pushing in the background briefly interrupted the TV host...
"-and also to let Mandy birth her baby girl. Be back in five, folks!"
~•~
Shortly thereafter, Danny and the contestants were lined up for the next challenge, each woman now standing in front of a wardrobe.
"Welcome back to Keep That Crown, where we've had an exciting first two rounds!" Danny announced. "Let's take a moment to check up on our contestants before we move on, shall we?"
He walked over to Anna, who was holding out strong, but definitely getting tired. She was sweating profusely and cradling her low, heavy belly.
"So, what are your thoughts on the challenges so far, Anna?" Danny asked.
"Umm...hmm." Anna muttered, obviously not focused on answering questions. "It's tough. But...hngggh...I think I can h-hold on."
"Let's hope!" Danny said, striding over to the next contestant. "And how are you feeling, Niamh?"
"Feeling good!" Niamh proclaimed, patting her belly. She was breathing heavier and a few beads of sweat could be detected on her forehead, but otherwise she was looking fine. "Ready for another round."
Danny nodded. "Well, that certainly was an impressive feat you pulled off in the last challenge!" He chuckled, then continued on to the last remaining contestant. "And, Becky..."
Becky was standing shamelessly in a somewhat bow-legged position, a massive bulge still in her leggings, as big as before and dripping fluid through her clothes. Surely she was only one small push away from birthing the head. Her whole body was practically shaking from the effort of keeping her baby in.
"...I'm just surprised that baby hasn't budged at all," Danny said frankly.
Becky grunted and her jaw clenched. "Just...get on with the- huuuhh- challenge," She grumbled, stowing one hand between her trembling thighs.
Danny returned to his side of the stage. "All right, time for round three! This one is the Dress-Up challenge. Each contestant has been provided with a wardrobe. Inside is a dress which you must change into, as if you were getting ready for your very own baby shower! Once that's complete, you'll have to return the dress and change back into your regular clothes."
The contestants gave each other exasperated looks. Getting changed is hard work for a pregnant woman even on a normal day... doing it while deep in labour was going to be tough.
"On your marks...get set...go!!" Danny hollered.
The women turned toward their wardrobes and opened them up. They each had an identical dress, with loose, thin cloth that was sure to fit their maternal bodies. Getting it on would be the hard part.
Becky grabbed the dress right away, but she looked over and saw the women next to her starting to take off their tops and bottoms. She looked over at Danny. "Uhh...do we need to strip down to our underwear for this challenge...?"
"Yes, that's usually part of getting changed..." Danny said with a chuckle. The audience laughed along with him.
Becky gulped. "Nngh...o-okay..."
Niamh had already removed her top and was shimmying her leggings down over her hips, leaving her in only a bra and panties.
Anna followed suit, but had to stop before getting her shirt over her head due to a contraction. She doubled over and groaned, gripping her belly. "Oohhh...hoo, God, I dunno if I can do this..."
Meanwhile, Becky was still looking between herself and the dress, only slowly starting to lift her shirt up as her baby's crowning head continued to burden her. It seemed the stress was getting to her.
Niamh sat her clothes off to the side and grabbed the dress. She paused for a contraction, but it barely seemed to phase her. She bent over a bit and exhaled deeply before quickly righting herself.
Anna was now struggling with getting off her leggings. She'd chosen to wear extra tight leggings, hoping they would help hold in the baby in an emergency. But now, after working up a sweat, the fabric clung to her. She was able to roll them down past her hips, but another contraction struck. She squatted just a tad, on shaky legs. "Mmmggghh come on!"
Beside her, Niamh had pulled the dress up over her head, knowing that was the only way it was fitting around her big twin bump.
Becky had only just removed her shirt. She was standing there in her bra and tented-out leggings, clutching her firm belly and muttering to herself.
"Becky?" Danny called out, not sure what was going on. "You should strip down a little quicker if you want to carry on with the challenge..."
Becky gulped again, then nodded. "O-okay..."
Anna had gotten her leggings to her ankles, but as she tried to kick them off, her belly cramped again and she fell forward onto her knees. She grimaced and cried out. "Nooooo aghhh I can feel it coming! I-I don't wanna puuush!"
"Folks, Anna says she doesn't want to push...but will her body agree?!" Danny wondered aloud. The audience focused their attention on the poor labouring woman.
Anna clenched her fists, grunting through the contraction. Now in just her panties, it was all the more clear that she was starting to bulge from the baby's head...
Suddenly, a gasp from the audience. "Wait...what's that? What's she wearing?!"
People turned their heads toward the cause of her outcry. The TV cameras pointed toward Becky, and Danny's jaw dropped when he saw what was happening.
Becky had gotten her leggings down to her knees but the act had revealed her secret weapon. Beneath her leggings and over her underwear, she was wearing a thick leather belt with material that went over her crotch.
Murmurs began to rise in the audience.
"Is that... a chastity belt?"
"For real? Is that allowed?"
Becky blushed, both from embarrassment and exertion.
Danny was flabbergasted. "Well, I've never seen this, folks...Becky was wearing a leather chastity belt the whole time!"
More audience comments.
"Wow, how did she hide that?"
"No wonder she was able to hold that baby in!"
"Now, as we know, cheating or giving yourself any unfair advantage is strictly against the rules..." Danny said solemnly. "So, I'm afraid that means I'm going to have to disqualify you from the competition, Becky."
Cameras zoomed in as tears welled in Becky's eyes. "I'm...sorry," she whimpered. "I just...wanted to win so badly this time...but- hnnnngggaaah!"
She was cut off as another contraction hit her. She fell to her knees, and it was clear she was pushing as hard as she could. But no matter how hard she pushed, the baby's head couldn't fully emerge with the leather in the way. She groaned heavily. "Gghh...but...I give up! I'm done! Someone- nngngghhh- just get this belt off of me! The baby needs to come OUT!"
The medics rushed over while the studio audience reeled from the chaos. The cameras turned back to Danny, who was still somewhat in shock. "Well, that was certainly something, folks! We have only two contestants remaining, now. Let's see how they're doing."
Neither Niamh nor Anna let themselves be too distracted by what transpired- they had more important things to focus on. Niamh had fully put on her dress and was taking a minute to pose in it for the cameras. Anna had resisted the urge to push for the time being, and was now grabbing her own dress. She adorned it in a very stiff manner, trying not to move around too much and risk wanting to bear down again.
Niamh removed her dress with ease, but as she was reaching for her original clothes again, a contraction gripped her. This time, she leaned against her wardrobe and groaned, rubbing her belly. She turned her head down and winced, and it looked like she may have finally been starting to falter.
"What are you feeling, Niamh?" Danny asked, trying to sound engaged again after the previous incident. "Hang on, you're almost there!"
"Mmghh...not pushing yet, Danny!" Niamh said, returning to her confident demeanour. She grabbed her clothes and stood back up fully.
Anna had gotten her dress on, but was hunched over again, cradling her swell. "Hooo...gghh...it wants to come out...s-so bad..." She glanced over at Danny. "Can I just...nngggh...keep the dress on?"
"The challenge isn't complete until you change back into your regular clothes!" Danny insisted. Anna groaned and began trying to strip the dress off.
Niamh was once more working at a surprisingly fast pace. With her dress cast aside, she was able to quickly get her clothes back on. It took a bit of time to wrestle her shirt back over her big bump, but once it was on, she raised her arms in victory. The audience cheered.
"It looks like Niamh has completed the challenge! That just leaves Anna- will she make it?" Danny announced.
Anna now had her shirt back on and was gripping her leggings in one hand, but she was riding through another contraction. She leaned on her arms against the wardrobe, her hips angled back.
"Ooohh...ooh, no, baby...nnggghh!" The labouring woman moaned. She tensed up, and her panties bulged out just slightly. The baby was starting to crown. "Guh...I just...gotta get these leggings back on..."
After a few rounds together and only two contestants left, the audience was getting invested. They began to chant, "Go! Go! Keep that crown!"
Mustering her strength, Anna bent down and started to put on her leggings. She was sweating, and it took a great deal of effort to pull the fabric up around her shaky legs. She grunted and panted, trying to keep her legs together long enough to get the leggings over her thighs and hips, even though she desperately wanted to spread them and push.
After a couple minutes of struggle, Anna was finally able to hike her leggings up tight around her waist. She felt between her legs and gave a small sigh of relief, knowing that there was more of a barrier over the emerging head now.
Danny clapped along with the audience. "Well done, Anna! That's round three done. Let's take a quick break and set up for the fourth challenge!"
~•~
“Welcome back to Keep That Crown.” Danny said straight to camera with his best showbiz smile. “If you are just joining us you have missed one hell of an episode so far; three babies born, a set of twins still on the way and our first case of cheating by chastity belt. You certainly won’t get all that on any other show!”
The camera zooms out and reveals Danny is standing between two heavily pregnant women. “We have two mums-to-be left in the competition - the lovely Anna on my left, expecting a little boy, and the incredible Niamh on my right, who is carrying twins. Now girls, we’re over half-way through the competition now and it’s just the two of you left. How are you feeling Anna?”
Standing behind her podium Anna pants heavily, her face flushed, gripping her belly and forcing a smile. “It’s— it’s definitely getting tougher. Hooooo… it’s so hard not to p-push….” Her feeble voice whimpers with another contraction and Danny takes the cue and turns his attention to Niamh.
“And Niamh, you have been storming through these challenges, and you are carrying two babies in there.” He nods and pats Niamh’s obscenely large belly drooping from her hips. “Have you been struggling to resist the urges to push as well?”
“Well having two of them in there certainly adds a level of difficulty but… mnnnhhh… it’s been okay so far. Just need to breathe through those u-urges…” Niamh’s confident words ring out across the studio but her knees bend subtly, her hands cupping the underside of her gravid swell as one of the baby’s head sinks and presses even lower.
“There are two more challenges to go. Let’s hope you both can make it through round four. For this challenge each of you will be given a baby doll, your task will be to change the baby’s nappy, dress the baby, and get them into the pram. Don’t worry Niamh, unlike real life you don’t have to do this twice. You each get one baby.”
The Irish mum laughed through gritted teeth, trying to keep her cool through the increasing contractions.
“If you two lovely ladies follow me.” Danny instructed, walking the labouring mothers to a new corner of the television studio. Both mothers were walking more and more bow-legged by the minute, but followed silently behind the host.
“As you can see there are three parts to this challenge; nappy change, dressing baby, and the pram. And I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking “Oh but Danny, you’ve forgotten to set up the prams” but we haven’t.” The TV host smirked to the camera and the audience at home. “Prams these days are so nifty, collapsing into the smallest space to fit easily into the boot of your cars. You will have to work out how to open the pram in order to safely strap your baby doll into the seat.”
Niamh nodded in understanding, her eyes already analysing the pram in question and its potential latches. Anna meanwhile looked hesitant, nervous, holding her belly and swaying her hips in rapid movements to try and alleviate the relentless pressure between them.
“Right, Anna you stand here. And Niamh you stand here.” Danny ushered the labouring women to their respective stations for the challenge. “Any questions?”
“C-can we get any h-help with the pram? Like a partner?” Anna stuttered, trying to steady her breath and her spasming womb.
“I’m afraid no help is allowed. You have to do all parts of this challenge by yourself. And you can’t leave the baby on the changing mat when you set up the pram, they could roll off, so you must carry them and put them in the pram.”
Anna paled briefly, looking like she might faint or throw up.
“On your marks… get set… go!!” Danny cheered and the tense but upbeat music of the challenge sounded around the studio.
It was neck-and-neck through the first part of the challenge, with both Niamh and Anna confidentially removing the nappy from the toy baby and wrapping a new one over the bottom half of the doll. They weren’t competing for the quickest time, they just had to complete the challenge from start to finish, but even without the time pressure the urgency was clear from the expressions of both women. They wanted this challenge done so they could be one step closer to birthing their babies.
Unsurprisingly, Niamh finished the nappy change first. The Irish mother was already an audience favourite and steaming ahead in this game. However, before she could pick up the baby clothes to dress the doll her eyes suddenly widened and she curled forward over her large twin-filled belly, gripping the edge of the wooden change table in a death grip.
“Mmmghhh— oh god!!!!” Niamh groaned loudly as her belly visibly contracted and squashed her babies lower towards their exit. “Fuck…. I can f-feel a head….hoohoohoo…”
“Oh no, looks like our fan-favourite is starting to struggle.” Danny said excitedly.
Groaning deeply. Niamh squeezed her grip on the changing table and screwed her eyes shut. “Nngh—! The pressure—” the Irish mother grunted and her knees dipped and widened.
Seeing her competition struggling, Anna bit her lip through the contraction and quickly pulled the clothing onto her doll and finished the first and second part of the challenge in rapid time. As she stepped towards the pram, the toy baby in arms, it was clear that Anna was racing against more than just her competitor. Her hand lowered, trembling with the effort of denying her instincts, and felt the partially crowned head. “Come on baby…. Just a little bit longer.” Her quiet words to her child were picked up on the microphone and an encouraging cheer erupted from the audience.
With one arm holding the fake baby, Anna had to work out how to open the pram single-handed. Huffing her way through contractions, red-faced and sweating, Anna pulled and twisted the handle but the pram remained in its collapsed state.
Niamh meanwhile had survived the aggressive contraction but in her desperation had clamped a hand between her thighs to try and keep herself from pushing. She was now attempting to dress the baby one-handed which wasn’t very successful.
“Niamh, you’re going to have to work with both hands if you want to keep your winning streak.” Danny said to the contestant over the audience's cheers.
“But— but it feels like the baby is slipping o-out….” Niamh was frazzled, overcome with the sensations of birth and her cool confidence was fast unravelling.
“Uh oh— Niamh says the baby is slipping out. What does she need to do ladies and gentlemen?” Danny asked the excitable studio audience who responded with a chorus of “KEEP THAT CROWN!”
“Ooohhhhhh…. Danny!!! The pram… it just w-won’t o-open!!!!” Anna shouted and the camera pans around to find her on her knees beside the collapsed contraption. The doll was wedged in an elbow so she could use both hands and she was frustratingly pulling and squeezing and twisting every inch of the pram trying desperately to unlock and open it.
“They do open Anna. They just have a little… knack to them.” Danny winked at the camera before it panned out to show both women struggling to open their prams while simultaneously crowning with their unborn babies.
“Jesus, who the fuck designed this thing?!” Niamh cursed as she pulled the handle expecting it to expand but grunted with frustration when it didn’t. The Irish mum-to-be had stuffed the toy doll down her top after dressing it, wedging it under her shirt between her breasts and belly in order to use both hands on the final part of this challenge.
“Ohhhhh god… this baby wants o-ouuttt….” Anna rocked on hands and knees, momentarily abandoning her pram and putting all her efforts into not giving birth.
Niamh wasn’t looking much better, grunting and occasionally placing her hands between her thighs when her body automatically pushed.
“This is going to be a close one ladies and gentlemen. Looks like both Anna and Niamh are pushing and it’s going to be a battle of willpower to see who makes it through this challenge.”
“Mmngghhh….. no— don’t come out—!” Anna grunted, pulling the waistband of her leggings up and making the fabric taut and unforgiving at the crotch, creating a barrier against the emerging head.
“Oh! Oh! I’ve got it!!” Niamh cried, finding the switch that when pressed allowed the pram to fully expand. “Anna… it’s on the left, by the l-logo…” Niamh panted as she pulled the fake baby out from under her top and almost threw it into the seat, quickly buckling the baby into the straps and clamping her hands between her thighs once more before the next contraction could strike.
Anna scrambled on her knees, searching for the latch Niamh had mentioned. The pressure between her hips was building, the baby certainly at a full crown in her underwear. “Ohhhh god…. I need to push….” Rocking on her knees Anna flailed her hands over the pram and with a cry of relief found the button and the pram popped open. Placing her fake baby in the seat and buckling it in, tears fell from Anna’s eyes as she trembled against the raging waves of her labour.
“Wow! Excellent work ladies; you have both completed the fourth challenge.” Danny announced, genuinely impressed that both contestants were still in the game. “Let’s take a quick break and we will be back with the fifth and final challenge. Who will keep that crown, and who will fall at the last hurdle? See you in five!”
~•~
“Welcome back to the final part of Keep That Crown, the only game show that’ll have you pushing babies instead of buttons. As you may have guessed, we are getting in the Christmas spirit for the fifth and final challenge.” Danny wiggles his head slightly and the camera pans out to reveal a red and white Santa hat on top of his perfectly styled hair. “We decided to change things up as the holiday season approaches and we have a festive final challenge for you this week. Don’t worry folks, it is a relatively simple task, but… doing it whilst deep in the throes of labour?…” The wide and wicked grin from the TV presenter shines bright across the studio right into the television screens to all the people at home. “This may be our toughest challenge to date.”
As Danny continued talking to the camera the distinctive sounds of groaning and heavy breathing in the background grew louder. Danny walks across the studio, followed by the camera, and stands beside the two remaining contestants who were both now dressed up as Mrs Santa Claus. In hourglass silhouettes, the red velvet cinched at the waist but stretched tight across their pregnant bellies, the hem finished with luscious white fur. The dresses were short, barely covering their hips, allowing a clear view of the tight leggings underneath. Niamh’s hands were still clamped between her thighs as she sweated profusely, panting erratically. While Anna was groaning, her hands splayed wide across the velvet surface of her belly as if she could just hold the baby inside.
“Ladies, I see you’re both dressed for the season.” Danny said cheerfully but his enthusiasm was not reciprocated. Anna’s face was blotchy and flushed as she held back her urges, sweat rolling down the side of her cheeks. Whereas Niamh looked fiery and frustrated, her knees dipping every few seconds, hands clamped firm at her crotch as she gritted “Get-on-with-it-!”
Danny put his hands up in mock-surrender “Okay, okay. Let’s get on with the final task…. The Christmas Tree challenge!” In a corner of the studio there were two large Christmas trees, over 10ft in height, and both were completely bare. Beside each tree was a box filled with all manner of decorations from lights and tinsel, to beads and baubles. “Niamh, Anna, your challenge is simple; to decorate the Christmas tree. Your Christmas trees must be completely decorated, from the lowest branches all the way to the highest. Your tree must have at least 3 different types of decorations and it must have the star on the very top.”
Two assistants on the show briefly came into shot, each placing a step ladder beside the trees and promptly running off stage. The ladders were clearly for the women to use in order to get to the very top of the Christmas tree. Anna visibly gulped with fear, while Niamh was staring at the floor very obviously pushing against her hand.
“I would usually speak with each of you before the challenge, but erm, I’m guessing neither of you are up for chit chat..?” Danny asked with a laugh and got a grunting response from the Irish mother-to-be. “Okay then. Let’s dive into the challenge. On your marks, get set, GO!”
Immediately Niamh waddled bow-legged and determined towards her tree, carefully removing one hand from between her legs and grabbing the set of Christmas lights from her box. Staggering side to side around the large tree, the labouring woman tossed sections of the lights with reckless abandon onto the different branches of the pine tree. Round and around she went adding the white lights up the tree but when she reached shoulder height she looked nervously up at the top of the tree, knowing what had to be done next. Niamh stood at the bottom of the step-ladder, gripping it tight with one fist while the other remained firm between her legs. She paused, waiting for the miniscule gap between contractions, before taking a hesitant step up the ladder.
Meanwhile Anna seemed to be struggling to put one foot in front of the other, her head was dipped low as she held her large bump and breathed heavily. She tried to move but a squeaking whimper came out instead.
“Come on Anna, you’re so close, don’t give up now.” Danny tried to encourage.
“Oooohhh… I can’t— move—” Anna said with a fearful whine.
Danny watched her struggle for a few seconds before taking pity on the girl and wrapped a supportive arm around her waist. “Come on, love. Let’s get you to your tree.” Angry voices came through the presenter’s earpiece as he then yelled to someone off screen “I’m just helping her get to the challenge, that’s all!”
When they reached her designated challenge area, Anna gripped onto the step ladder, her wide legs trembling with the effort of not giving birth. “I can’t help you anymore sweetheart, but you’re so close. You can do this.” Danny encouraged quietly. Anna nodded, breathing deeply, preparing herself for the final hurdle. Then she abruptly let go of the ladder and dived into the decorations box grabbing as much as she could carry and unceremoniously whacking the decorations along the bottom branches of the tree.
The Irish mother-to-be was now halfway up the step ladder trying to throw the Christmas lights around the top few branches of the tree. With a final effort she rose up onto her tiptoes and leant forward, lassoing the lights over the very top. The movement came with a price as a split second later the microphone caught her sharp gasp and the camera showed a clear bulge protruding between her thighs, her hand quickly moved to clamp hard against her crotch.
“Niamh….” Danny’s words were jokingly stern as he stood beneath her ladder. “Was that a head poking through?”
“No! Nnnghh— of course not. Still-ohhhh-very much c-crowning Danny!” She gritted loudly with a slight hiss through her teeth.
“Good girl, remember to Keep That Crown!” Danny said, getting the audience to join in, everyone soon chanting the show’s iconic catchphrase.
Over by the other tree, Anna had thrown all manner of decorations onto the bottom half of the pine tree. There was no style or strategy, the labouring woman frantically grabbing and hooking any decoration she could find onto the spindly branches. Sweat was dripping down her face and she took a breather at the decoration table, wiping her brow with the thick soft velvet of the sleeve of her festive costume. Anna lowered a hand between her legs, her eyes pinching hesitantly as she felt the crown of her baby’s head just inside her clothing.
“Stay there little guy.” She whispered, exhausted but determined.
“Anna, how are you getting on, sweetheart?” Danny asked, out of shot of the camera but carefully watching and narrating the scene to the audience at home.
“I’m— ohhhhhh— hanging in there. And…I’ve got an idea…” Anna said aloud, then surprisingly picked up the whole plastic box of decorations and carried it over and up the step ladder.
Gasps could be heard from the studio audience, impressed at her stamina and strength. Niamh looked up, worried at the reaction from the audience, and tried to look over at her competitor but couldn’t see past the thick branches of the tree.
Higher and higher Anna climbed, the box wedged into the curve of her waist beneath her outstretched arm. Then, upon reaching the top of the ladder, she loudly dumped the decorations on the top step. The labouring woman proceeded to stand half-way up the ladder, picking up each item from the box and hanging it onto a branch. Her mis-mash of decorations meant she was already meeting the criteria of the task - to have at least three different types of decorations. Whereas her competitor Niamh, having chosen to add lights, meant she was having to go around the whole tree again to add the decorations.
The tension in the studio could be cut with a knife, both women evenly matched in their birthing progress, but Anna was taking a surprisingly clear lead in completing the challenge.
“It's neck-a-neck on this final challenge folks, but who will come out victorious? Can both Anna and Niamh hold off from giving birth just that little bit longer…. Or will they fall at the final hurdle?” Danny riled up the studio audience who had started chanting support for their favourite contestant.
Anna was getting higher up the step ladder, getting closer and closer to finishing the challenge. But Niamh was faltering. Badly. She was still on the ground, trying painfully slowly to add decorations to the bottom half of the tree. To the camera she was partially hidden behind the thick branches of the Christmas tree, the odd flash of red and white from her costume coming in and out of view. Her deep, rumbling groans and grunts could be heard over the speakers, because even though she was hidden, the microphone she wore captured everything…
“nnnghhh—!! No! Don’t— gggrhhh—” the rough husky voice of the Irish mother-to-be echoed around the studio.
The flash of red velvet behind the tree appeared to be sinking lower and lower, heading towards the ground. Danny, wide eyed, rushed over and beckoned the cameras to follow.
“Oh…. Niamh….” Danny said as the camera showed everyone in the audience and at home the impending mother of twins.
Down on her knees, Niamh braced her thighs with both hands, her whole body trembling. Her ass was raised up off her heels and the round shape of a baby’s head was forming under her leggings as she pushed.
“Nnnnghhh—!!! It’s coming out—!!!!!” Niamh wailed, and then collapsed forwards onto her hands with a cry of relief when the head, very evidently, was born.
“That’s it folks, our fan favourite is now out of the competition.” Danny said brightly to the camera, before adding “Niamh, you should be very proud. You did amazing. You’ve set the bar extremely high for any other twin pregnancies that’s for sure.”
Niamh remained curled over on all fours, panting as she caught her breath, the medics rushing onto the studio floor to help her deliver her twins. The camera cuts back to Danny, who strolls between the Christmas trees talking to the audience.
“So, that leaves us with one mother-to-be left in the competition. Anna,” he called up the ladder to the last woman standing “if you can finish this challenge, you’ve done it.”
Anna was all the way up the ladder at this point, riffling through the box of decorations and throwing them haphazardly on the top few branches of the tree. The audience cheered and yelled, supporting and encouraging the last remaining contestant as she struggled through the final hurdle. She sagged against the ladder when the decorations were done, heaving deep breaths and gripping the ladder for dear life. When she started to descend the step ladder, Danny interrupted urgently.
“No! Anna, you still need to add the star at the top!!”
Anna looked like she was about to cry, or scream at him. Her whole body was trembling with the effort of not giving birth, the constant low rumblings from her chest as she fought the back to back contractions. With quaking hands she rummaged through the box, trying to find the star as quickly as she could. Every now and then she’d grunt involuntarily, resulting in tense gasps from the audience, the camera zooming in on her closely.
“Come on Anna, find that star! You can do it!” Danny yelled up the ladder. She held it proudly in the air when her hands found the glittery item and proceeded to step to the very top of the ladder. As she reached the top she fiercely threw the box of decorations to the floor to stand right on the highest step.
The whole studio was silent, breaths collectively held as they watched the labouring woman atop the ladder, stretching, reaching up and up and up, straining to get the star on the very top of the tree.
A wild cheer erupted as the decoration was put into its rightful place and Danny announced loudly; “YOU DID IT! Anna, you did it!! You’ve won £100,000!”
Anna didn’t even make it back to the ground before she was actively pushing and the head came out before her feet even touched the floor.
I know there’s a post going around about pregnancy fetish blogs and there’s probably already one for a birth fetish as well.
However, if you have a birth fetish blog please reblog this post. I’m looking for new blogs to follow.
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This is, a fic I'm thinking of writing. My intention here is to see if there's any interest, since people saying "yes write this" is very motivating to me! So if you want to read more about this I would love to hear!
We're in some kind of trans-friendly D&D style world.
Yasha is a healer, and a trans man. (We don't call it that, in this world, but I haven't figured out a good way to refer to him yet.) Priest to some kind and friendly god. Mostly stealth. He has potions to masculinise his body, self-made, and a glamour to hide his chest. He's part of an adventuring party, of course. There's a paladin, of a different, righteous and militant god, and a mage, but we don't care about them, or at least I haven't made them yet. We do care about Ronan, the thief.
Ronan is cis. He's small and lithe - even shorter than Yasha - and he can break into almost anything. When our story starts, they have been adventuring with each other, and their paladin and mage, for a few months, and both of them have been stealing glances at each other for most of that time. But while there's no prohibition on queer relationships, there's an expectation that priests like Yasha take love and sex seriously - not necessarily "only while married", but casual sex is frowned upon - and an assumption that thieves like Ronan don't. Plus there's the added complication: the adventuring party doesn't know that Yasha is trans.
The four of them are delving into some abandoned mine that's supposed to be full of monsters and treasure. Something happens - they don't *mean* to split the party, but somehow Yasha and Ronan get trapped, alone together, waiting for rescue underground. They have enough rations for a few days, but they're both worried. Conversation becomes physical comfort, and then cuddling, and eventually sex.
They eventually get out of the dungeon just fine. Their companions rescue them. They find some treasure, and start the long walk back towards civilisation. The journey takes a couple of weeks.
Now, Yasha is a truly excellent healer. He's not much good with spells - they frequently go wrong for him - but he can channel healing through his hands, and he has an excellent spiritual and magical sense of the body and how it's put together. He's just as good at this with his own body as he is with anyone else's: he can tell when he's about to get sick, well before any symptoms arise. He has a very good sense of these things.
About a week into the walk back to town, Yasha feels something catch low down in his belly. It takes him a day or so to work out what that means. After all, he's never been pregnant before. But by the time they get back to town, Yasha can feel, if he pays attention, the tiny new life inside him. Ronan's child.
Part two. (Content note: some nausea/vomiting stuff, because early pregnancy.)
Yasha doesn't know what to feel about this. He and Ronan have not had a moment alone since they were rescued, and they were rescued at the beginning of an important talk... which they have not managed to finish. Yasha doesn't know where he stands with Ronan. He doesn't know if the pregnancy will stay; he knows sometimes they don't. He doesn't know if he wants it to or not.
The four of them get back to town. The other three are eager to celebrate their successful mission at the tavern, but Yasha can feel that his body has noticed it's pregnant. It's busily reorganising resources to protect and nurture the tiny new person, and Yasha is exhausted. He excuses himself after one drink, and trudges back to the temple to rest. It's early, but he sleeps like the dead, well past sunrise, though he usually wakes with the sun.
He finds the rest of the party breakfasting in the tavern. They all comment on how late he slept in, and tell Yasha that they've already been hired on for another job. Yasha still feels leaden with exhaustion, despite sleeping for ten hours. He hears his three companions talking excitedly about going delving in some other underground treasure vault, and feels how his body is pouring energy into its new project. He thinks: I can't.
He tells the party that he isn't feeling well, and they'll have to find a new healer.
That makes it impossible to talk to Ronan. He, with the other two, is rushing around town looking for a new healer; they're eager to leave as soon as possible. There's an awkward moment, when they're finally ready to go - Ronan says, gentle, "I'll see you when we get back?"
They're adventurers. Yasha knows that isn't guaranteed. He nods, and swallows, and lets them go.
The party is away for some time. Yasha takes up his old job as temple healer, healing broken toes and coughs, and slowly, slowly, his condition begins to make itself known.
The exhaustion persists; Yasha is glad to have a job where he can mostly sit.
A few days in, he notices himself needing to pee more often. He checks in with his body; his womb is starting to expand, pressing in on his bladder.
A few days after that, his chest starts to get sore. He usually keeps his chest bound pretty tight, in case his glamour slips, but now he loosens the bindings to be more comfortable. His nipples look puffy and feel sensitive. Despite the looser bindings, he still aches. Three days after that, he has given up the bindings entirely.
Two weeks to the day after the party leaves, Yasha wakes up with a queasy stomach. He feels better after some food, but as the days progress, the queasiness gets worse. He starts to notice it between meals. Five days later, he's walking from the temple to the tavern to treat himself to lunch, when the nausea suddenly surges as he's crossing the river. He leans on the rails of the bridge and breathes carefully through his mouth, trying to control himself, but his stomach turns and he throws up twice into the river.
A week later, the vomiting has become a daily occurrence. Yasha likes it best when he gets it out of the way first thing in the morning, but sometimes his stomach doesn't rebel until the end of the night. It happens once a day. Then once or twice. Yasha learns to eat little and often, to drink lots of water and tea, and it helps with the discomfort, but doesn't stop him from needing to throw up.
By the time the adventuring party comes back, after over seven weeks away, Yasha is starting to struggle a little with his clothing. If it weren't for the flat-chest glamour, his chest would be clearly straining against his tunic. It's not visible, especially under a loose tunic, but his waist has thickened a bit, and he's spent a few nights sewing cords into his trousers, because it's started to be difficult to button them, and uncomfortable to leave them buttoned all day.
Word reaches the temple that the party is back one morning while Yasha is taming his stomach with some crackers. He finishes up with his patient - a little girl who scratched her arm on some thorns - and makes his way to the town square. He wonders what he'll say to Ronan. He wonders what Ronan will say to him. It's been almost two months, and they still need to have their talk.
Then he gets to the square, and sees only three figures in the middle of the crowd. The paladin, tall and armoured, shield gleaming in the morning sun. The mage, always next to the paladin, leaning on her staff. And the new healer.
Ronan isn't there.
Yasha's stomach chooses that moment to rebel. He only has time to stagger into an alley before he throws up.
Part three. (Content note: more nausea and vomiting.)
Yasha will spend the next several months of his life regretting his next decision.
He doesn't go back to the square. He doesn't ask his former companions what's happened to Ronan - to the father of his baby, the man he's starting to think he loved. He can't face the prospect of hearing that Ronan is dead. He goes back to the temple already grieving.
He doesn't have to wait long for the party to leave town on another job, taking another thief with them. But with this one change in fortune, the town he's lived in since he was seventeen has turned poisonous to him. Every street corner holds a memory he made with Ronan. He can barely stand to look at the tavern.
He waits a week, but the feeling doesn't change. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He asks the head priest if he knows anywhere that needs a healer, and of course - plenty of places do, especially one of Yasha's talents.
The village he picks is tiny. A temple, a couple of farms, a shop and a handful of little houses. Yasha chooses it because it's as far as possible from here - nearly a month by coach. He packs his things and arranges his travel, says goodbye to his friends. Most of them don't know he's trans, and he's told no one about the pregnancy.
He does not bargain at all on how bad the coach ride will be.
He keeps plenty of water and crackers handy, but the constant jostling of the coach makes his stomach incredibly unhappy. For the first three weeks, he sits in the coach for hours with lips firmly pressed together, fighting the urge to vomit, and throws up every time the coach stops to change horses. He is uncomfortable, exhausted, miserable, and all alone. He can't even talk to his fellow passengers, for fear of throwing up all over them.
The last few days of travel, however, are suddenly better. The queasiness doesn't fade completely, but it recedes to the point where he can relax a little, and maybe talk occasionally, if he's careful.
At last he arrives, tired but feeling a little less wretched, in his new home. He presents himself at the temple, is served a meal, and shown to his new quarters, where he promptly falls asleep for nearly a whole day.
Part four. (I'm having anxiety, is reblogging my own post the way to do this? Should I make separate posts like I did with Storm? Who knows. Anyway.)
No one in his old town knew Yasha was trans - except Ronan, for a couple of weeks there. When Yasha first moved there, for his priest training, he was only nineteen, had only recently started the change, and was unsure and insecure. No one questioned him, not for a second, for which he was fervently grateful, but now seven years have passed.
Seven years, and he's expecting a baby.
He realises, his first morning in his new home, that he decided to keep the baby the moment he realised Ronan was dead. He's at the beginning of his second trimester now. His tummy has already developed a distinct bulge, and in a month or two, it will be difficult to hide under his clothes. People are going to know who he is.
So he decides to get ahead of it. He tells the head priest he's having a baby. He enquires about the local midwife and tells her too. He begins gathering things he'll need: cloth for nappies; a bassinet; baby clothes. He was expecting to be welcomed, but not with such open arms - soon he's drowning in hand-me-downs and offers of help. Every grandmother in town starts in on a baby blanket, a hat, a pair of socks.
Slowly, as the weeks progress, his belly swells. Subtly at first - and then, almost overnight, he develops a round and noticeable bump, jutting out from his body. A few days later, he feels the first wriggles of movement in his tummy. A couple of weeks after that, the first kick.
He grows and grows. He starts talking to his baby, day after day, checking in with his spirit-sense as the baby grows, as his breasts swell and start to produce their first milk. His ankles get puffy and a little sore. His back aches after a long day. The piles of baby clothes grow.
At seven months, he moves out of his temple quarters and into a little house near the village. It's a cottage, just big enough for one man and his child. The local carpenter makes him a bassinet, promises him a crib for when the baby is a little older. Yasha busies himself with all the usual work of a village healer, with preparing for his child. He's friends with the midwife, with most of the village's young parents, with most of the town's small children.
He is, at last, home. His baby is healthy and safe. He's ready for fatherhood.
Then, a week before his due date, everything falls apart.
This is, a fic I'm thinking of writing. My intention here is to see if there's any interest, since people saying "yes write this" is very motivating to me! So if you want to read more about this I would love to hear!
We're in some kind of trans-friendly D&D style world.
Yasha is a healer, and a trans man. (We don't call it that, in this world, but I haven't figured out a good way to refer to him yet.) Priest to some kind and friendly god. Mostly stealth. He has potions to masculinise his body, self-made, and a glamour to hide his chest. He's part of an adventuring party, of course. There's a paladin, of a different, righteous and militant god, and a mage, but we don't care about them, or at least I haven't made them yet. We do care about Ronan, the thief.
Ronan is cis. He's small and lithe - even shorter than Yasha - and he can break into almost anything. When our story starts, they have been adventuring with each other, and their paladin and mage, for a few months, and both of them have been stealing glances at each other for most of that time. But while there's no prohibition on queer relationships, there's an expectation that priests like Yasha take love and sex seriously - not necessarily "only while married", but casual sex is frowned upon - and an assumption that thieves like Ronan don't. Plus there's the added complication: the adventuring party doesn't know that Yasha is trans.
The four of them are delving into some abandoned mine that's supposed to be full of monsters and treasure. Something happens - they don't *mean* to split the party, but somehow Yasha and Ronan get trapped, alone together, waiting for rescue underground. They have enough rations for a few days, but they're both worried. Conversation becomes physical comfort, and then cuddling, and eventually sex.
They eventually get out of the dungeon just fine. Their companions rescue them. They find some treasure, and start the long walk back towards civilisation. The journey takes a couple of weeks.
Now, Yasha is a truly excellent healer. He's not much good with spells - they frequently go wrong for him - but he can channel healing through his hands, and he has an excellent spiritual and magical sense of the body and how it's put together. He's just as good at this with his own body as he is with anyone else's: he can tell when he's about to get sick, well before any symptoms arise. He has a very good sense of these things.
About a week into the walk back to town, Yasha feels something catch low down in his belly. It takes him a day or so to work out what that means. After all, he's never been pregnant before. But by the time they get back to town, Yasha can feel, if he pays attention, the tiny new life inside him. Ronan's child.
Part two. (Content note: some nausea/vomiting stuff, because early pregnancy.)
Yasha doesn't know what to feel about this. He and Ronan have not had a moment alone since they were rescued, and they were rescued at the beginning of an important talk... which they have not managed to finish. Yasha doesn't know where he stands with Ronan. He doesn't know if the pregnancy will stay; he knows sometimes they don't. He doesn't know if he wants it to or not.
The four of them get back to town. The other three are eager to celebrate their successful mission at the tavern, but Yasha can feel that his body has noticed it's pregnant. It's busily reorganising resources to protect and nurture the tiny new person, and Yasha is exhausted. He excuses himself after one drink, and trudges back to the temple to rest. It's early, but he sleeps like the dead, well past sunrise, though he usually wakes with the sun.
He finds the rest of the party breakfasting in the tavern. They all comment on how late he slept in, and tell Yasha that they've already been hired on for another job. Yasha still feels leaden with exhaustion, despite sleeping for ten hours. He hears his three companions talking excitedly about going delving in some other underground treasure vault, and feels how his body is pouring energy into its new project. He thinks: I can't.
He tells the party that he isn't feeling well, and they'll have to find a new healer.
That makes it impossible to talk to Ronan. He, with the other two, is rushing around town looking for a new healer; they're eager to leave as soon as possible. There's an awkward moment, when they're finally ready to go - Ronan says, gentle, "I'll see you when we get back?"
They're adventurers. Yasha knows that isn't guaranteed. He nods, and swallows, and lets them go.
The party is away for some time. Yasha takes up his old job as temple healer, healing broken toes and coughs, and slowly, slowly, his condition begins to make itself known.
The exhaustion persists; Yasha is glad to have a job where he can mostly sit.
A few days in, he notices himself needing to pee more often. He checks in with his body; his womb is starting to expand, pressing in on his bladder.
A few days after that, his chest starts to get sore. He usually keeps his chest bound pretty tight, in case his glamour slips, but now he loosens the bindings to be more comfortable. His nipples look puffy and feel sensitive. Despite the looser bindings, he still aches. Three days after that, he has given up the bindings entirely.
Two weeks to the day after the party leaves, Yasha wakes up with a queasy stomach. He feels better after some food, but as the days progress, the queasiness gets worse. He starts to notice it between meals. Five days later, he's walking from the temple to the tavern to treat himself to lunch, when the nausea suddenly surges as he's crossing the river. He leans on the rails of the bridge and breathes carefully through his mouth, trying to control himself, but his stomach turns and he throws up twice into the river.
A week later, the vomiting has become a daily occurrence. Yasha likes it best when he gets it out of the way first thing in the morning, but sometimes his stomach doesn't rebel until the end of the night. It happens once a day. Then once or twice. Yasha learns to eat little and often, to drink lots of water and tea, and it helps with the discomfort, but doesn't stop him from needing to throw up.
By the time the adventuring party comes back, after over seven weeks away, Yasha is starting to struggle a little with his clothing. If it weren't for the flat-chest glamour, his chest would be clearly straining against his tunic. It's not visible, especially under a loose tunic, but his waist has thickened a bit, and he's spent a few nights sewing cords into his trousers, because it's started to be difficult to button them, and uncomfortable to leave them buttoned all day.
Word reaches the temple that the party is back one morning while Yasha is taming his stomach with some crackers. He finishes up with his patient - a little girl who scratched her arm on some thorns - and makes his way to the town square. He wonders what he'll say to Ronan. He wonders what Ronan will say to him. It's been almost two months, and they still need to have their talk.
Then he gets to the square, and sees only three figures in the middle of the crowd. The paladin, tall and armoured, shield gleaming in the morning sun. The mage, always next to the paladin, leaning on her staff. And the new healer.
Ronan isn't there.
Yasha's stomach chooses that moment to rebel. He only has time to stagger into an alley before he throws up.
Part three. (Content note: more nausea and vomiting.)
Yasha will spend the next several months of his life regretting his next decision.
He doesn't go back to the square. He doesn't ask his former companions what's happened to Ronan - to the father of his baby, the man he's starting to think he loved. He can't face the prospect of hearing that Ronan is dead. He goes back to the temple already grieving.
He doesn't have to wait long for the party to leave town on another job, taking another thief with them. But with this one change in fortune, the town he's lived in since he was seventeen has turned poisonous to him. Every street corner holds a memory he made with Ronan. He can barely stand to look at the tavern.
He waits a week, but the feeling doesn't change. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He asks the head priest if he knows anywhere that needs a healer, and of course - plenty of places do, especially one of Yasha's talents.
The village he picks is tiny. A temple, a couple of farms, a shop and a handful of little houses. Yasha chooses it because it's as far as possible from here - nearly a month by coach. He packs his things and arranges his travel, says goodbye to his friends. Most of them don't know he's trans, and he's told no one about the pregnancy.
He does not bargain at all on how bad the coach ride will be.
He keeps plenty of water and crackers handy, but the constant jostling of the coach makes his stomach incredibly unhappy. For the first three weeks, he sits in the coach for hours with lips firmly pressed together, fighting the urge to vomit, and throws up every time the coach stops to change horses. He is uncomfortable, exhausted, miserable, and all alone. He can't even talk to his fellow passengers, for fear of throwing up all over them.
The last few days of travel, however, are suddenly better. The queasiness doesn't fade completely, but it recedes to the point where he can relax a little, and maybe talk occasionally, if he's careful.
At last he arrives, tired but feeling a little less wretched, in his new home. He presents himself at the temple, is served a meal, and shown to his new quarters, where he promptly falls asleep for nearly a whole day.
Gently now… It’s coming. Don’t rush it. Just breathe. I see the head. You feel like you want to push? OK, do what your body tells you. Inhale deeply, concentrate, and push hard. Push! That’s it, good job. You’re doing so well. You feel the head coming down now? You feel it moving in your canal? It’s really opening you up. Remember to breathe, now. In… And out. Slow, focused breaths. In. And out. Good. Very good. The head is getting really close, I see lots of dark hair… Good job, breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. Yes, just like that. You feel like you need to push again? Then go ahead. Let’s see a big push. Yes. Yes, that’s it. Big big push. Here it comes. I’m guiding the baby’s head out now. I’m holding it between my hands. It’s coming out of you, just keep it up. Push! You’re such a good pusher! Push, now, just like that! Just a little more now… Yes, that’s it. The head is out! Everything is fine, take a moment and breathe for a bit. In and out. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Yes, good. Your baby is doing fine and so are you. One more deep breath. In. And out. Good. Excellent. Ready to push again? OK. Focus. Get ready. Concentrate. And push! Yes, yes! Push! Here it comes, keep pushing! You’re so awesome! Just a little bit more now. Keep the intensity up, keep pushing… Give it everything you’ve got. Push! Push, you wonderful one! I can’t believe how fantastic you are doing. Push just a little bit more. Just a bit more now. Push!
This is, a fic I'm thinking of writing. My intention here is to see if there's any interest, since people saying "yes write this" is very motivating to me! So if you want to read more about this I would love to hear!
We're in some kind of trans-friendly D&D style world.
Yasha is a healer, and a trans man. (We don't call it that, in this world, but I haven't figured out a good way to refer to him yet.) Priest to some kind and friendly god. Mostly stealth. He has potions to masculinise his body, self-made, and a glamour to hide his chest. He's part of an adventuring party, of course. There's a paladin, of a different, righteous and militant god, and a mage, but we don't care about them, or at least I haven't made them yet. We do care about Ronan, the thief.
Ronan is cis. He's small and lithe - even shorter than Yasha - and he can break into almost anything. When our story starts, they have been adventuring with each other, and their paladin and mage, for a few months, and both of them have been stealing glances at each other for most of that time. But while there's no prohibition on queer relationships, there's an expectation that priests like Yasha take love and sex seriously - not necessarily "only while married", but casual sex is frowned upon - and an assumption that thieves like Ronan don't. Plus there's the added complication: the adventuring party doesn't know that Yasha is trans.
The four of them are delving into some abandoned mine that's supposed to be full of monsters and treasure. Something happens - they don't *mean* to split the party, but somehow Yasha and Ronan get trapped, alone together, waiting for rescue underground. They have enough rations for a few days, but they're both worried. Conversation becomes physical comfort, and then cuddling, and eventually sex.
They eventually get out of the dungeon just fine. Their companions rescue them. They find some treasure, and start the long walk back towards civilisation. The journey takes a couple of weeks.
Now, Yasha is a truly excellent healer. He's not much good with spells - they frequently go wrong for him - but he can channel healing through his hands, and he has an excellent spiritual and magical sense of the body and how it's put together. He's just as good at this with his own body as he is with anyone else's: he can tell when he's about to get sick, well before any symptoms arise. He has a very good sense of these things.
About a week into the walk back to town, Yasha feels something catch low down in his belly. It takes him a day or so to work out what that means. After all, he's never been pregnant before. But by the time they get back to town, Yasha can feel, if he pays attention, the tiny new life inside him. Ronan's child.
Part two. (Content note: some nausea/vomiting stuff, because early pregnancy.)
Yasha doesn't know what to feel about this. He and Ronan have not had a moment alone since they were rescued, and they were rescued at the beginning of an important talk... which they have not managed to finish. Yasha doesn't know where he stands with Ronan. He doesn't know if the pregnancy will stay; he knows sometimes they don't. He doesn't know if he wants it to or not.
The four of them get back to town. The other three are eager to celebrate their successful mission at the tavern, but Yasha can feel that his body has noticed it's pregnant. It's busily reorganising resources to protect and nurture the tiny new person, and Yasha is exhausted. He excuses himself after one drink, and trudges back to the temple to rest. It's early, but he sleeps like the dead, well past sunrise, though he usually wakes with the sun.
He finds the rest of the party breakfasting in the tavern. They all comment on how late he slept in, and tell Yasha that they've already been hired on for another job. Yasha still feels leaden with exhaustion, despite sleeping for ten hours. He hears his three companions talking excitedly about going delving in some other underground treasure vault, and feels how his body is pouring energy into its new project. He thinks: I can't.
He tells the party that he isn't feeling well, and they'll have to find a new healer.
That makes it impossible to talk to Ronan. He, with the other two, is rushing around town looking for a new healer; they're eager to leave as soon as possible. There's an awkward moment, when they're finally ready to go - Ronan says, gentle, "I'll see you when we get back?"
They're adventurers. Yasha knows that isn't guaranteed. He nods, and swallows, and lets them go.
The party is away for some time. Yasha takes up his old job as temple healer, healing broken toes and coughs, and slowly, slowly, his condition begins to make itself known.
The exhaustion persists; Yasha is glad to have a job where he can mostly sit.
A few days in, he notices himself needing to pee more often. He checks in with his body; his womb is starting to expand, pressing in on his bladder.
A few days after that, his chest starts to get sore. He usually keeps his chest bound pretty tight, in case his glamour slips, but now he loosens the bindings to be more comfortable. His nipples look puffy and feel sensitive. Despite the looser bindings, he still aches. Three days after that, he has given up the bindings entirely.
Two weeks to the day after the party leaves, Yasha wakes up with a queasy stomach. He feels better after some food, but as the days progress, the queasiness gets worse. He starts to notice it between meals. Five days later, he's walking from the temple to the tavern to treat himself to lunch, when the nausea suddenly surges as he's crossing the river. He leans on the rails of the bridge and breathes carefully through his mouth, trying to control himself, but his stomach turns and he throws up twice into the river.
A week later, the vomiting has become a daily occurrence. Yasha likes it best when he gets it out of the way first thing in the morning, but sometimes his stomach doesn't rebel until the end of the night. It happens once a day. Then once or twice. Yasha learns to eat little and often, to drink lots of water and tea, and it helps with the discomfort, but doesn't stop him from needing to throw up.
By the time the adventuring party comes back, after over seven weeks away, Yasha is starting to struggle a little with his clothing. If it weren't for the flat-chest glamour, his chest would be clearly straining against his tunic. It's not visible, especially under a loose tunic, but his waist has thickened a bit, and he's spent a few nights sewing cords into his trousers, because it's started to be difficult to button them, and uncomfortable to leave them buttoned all day.
Word reaches the temple that the party is back one morning while Yasha is taming his stomach with some crackers. He finishes up with his patient - a little girl who scratched her arm on some thorns - and makes his way to the town square. He wonders what he'll say to Ronan. He wonders what Ronan will say to him. It's been almost two months, and they still need to have their talk.
Then he gets to the square, and sees only three figures in the middle of the crowd. The paladin, tall and armoured, shield gleaming in the morning sun. The mage, always next to the paladin, leaning on her staff. And the new healer.
Ronan isn't there.
Yasha's stomach chooses that moment to rebel. He only has time to stagger into an alley before he throws up.
This is, a fic I'm thinking of writing. My intention here is to see if there's any interest, since people saying "yes write this" is very motivating to me! So if you want to read more about this I would love to hear!
We're in some kind of trans-friendly D&D style world.
Yasha is a healer, and a trans man. (We don't call it that, in this world, but I haven't figured out a good way to refer to him yet.) Priest to some kind and friendly god. Mostly stealth. He has potions to masculinise his body, self-made, and a glamour to hide his chest. He's part of an adventuring party, of course. There's a paladin, of a different, righteous and militant god, and a mage, but we don't care about them, or at least I haven't made them yet. We do care about Ronan, the thief.
Ronan is cis. He's small and lithe - even shorter than Yasha - and he can break into almost anything. When our story starts, they have been adventuring with each other, and their paladin and mage, for a few months, and both of them have been stealing glances at each other for most of that time. But while there's no prohibition on queer relationships, there's an expectation that priests like Yasha take love and sex seriously - not necessarily "only while married", but casual sex is frowned upon - and an assumption that thieves like Ronan don't. Plus there's the added complication: the adventuring party doesn't know that Yasha is trans.
The four of them are delving into some abandoned mine that's supposed to be full of monsters and treasure. Something happens - they don't *mean* to split the party, but somehow Yasha and Ronan get trapped, alone together, waiting for rescue underground. They have enough rations for a few days, but they're both worried. Conversation becomes physical comfort, and then cuddling, and eventually sex.
They eventually get out of the dungeon just fine. Their companions rescue them. They find some treasure, and start the long walk back towards civilisation. The journey takes a couple of weeks.
Now, Yasha is a truly excellent healer. He's not much good with spells - they frequently go wrong for him - but he can channel healing through his hands, and he has an excellent spiritual and magical sense of the body and how it's put together. He's just as good at this with his own body as he is with anyone else's: he can tell when he's about to get sick, well before any symptoms arise. He has a very good sense of these things.
About a week into the walk back to town, Yasha feels something catch low down in his belly. It takes him a day or so to work out what that means. After all, he's never been pregnant before. But by the time they get back to town, Yasha can feel, if he pays attention, the tiny new life inside him. Ronan's child.
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"We have two more in labor!" A nurse yelled over a cacophony of labored howls while clutching their own distended mound. An older woman breathing steadily and a very lightly dressed young woman crying while holding a supremely large belly stood next to the nurse.
"I'll be there-ngh, in a moment!" You shout back as you press your arm firmly into a woman's abdomen. Your own stomach constricts viciously as seconds pass.
"I-I don't want it! Don't make me have it!" The woman shrieked beneath you. The shoulders of her child spread her pussy wide.
You ignore her and press harder. You need to clear some beds out and you couldn't wait for this woman to give in to her body or lose consciousness. The baby needed to be birthed now or else. You jam your elbow in harder.
The woman shrieked as the baby erupted from her pussy into the hands of one of the nurses. The woman fell into a heap, her crying intensifying as the cries of her baby entered her ears. The nurse tried to put the baby in the mothers hands but the act was met with stern and frantic rejection.
You instruct the nurse to clean them up and get them out of the bed as soon as possible. You take one step back from the bed and are met with the feeling of water dripping down your legs. Your time is coming soon too.
You look out amongst the rows of birth beds. Women young and old filled them, struggling against the trial of birth.
You were in the same struggle the other women here were in. Your baby is sitting right behind your dilating cervix, waiting to be born. Your skin tight bump's underside is visible to all with how ill fitting your clothes were. It didn't help that it had dropped significantly. Each wide gaited step you take is accompanied with a downward shift in your crotch.
Ten months ago, an army made camp only a short way from the quiet town. Headed off to the battlefront to protect the king's lands and slay its enemies. It was natural that brave knights saw to it that they had some fun or felt love before heading off to the frontlines and possibly saw death.
Most of the women here were taken in by the gruff charms of the kingdom's soldiers; their promises of whisking them away to their fertile lands and giving them a life of plenty once the war was over. It didn't take much to impress the women of such a modestly sized town with nothing to its name. And in kind, it didn't take much for them to open their legs for men they thought honorable and good.
Others were grounded to the child bed due to their unluckiness in bumping into the less honorable and much more irate knights. The ones who genuinely didn’t care about what scars they left on the young maidens or entertainers of the town.
You were a part of the former. One of the field healers was handsome enough to turn your eye and smart enough to turn your heart. It was a short fling that ended like most- in the promise that he would return and you'd continue your love affair.
Eight months ago, the town lord got word that the army was wiped out in a trap. Survivors were said to be sparse to none. Leaving the town women carrying nothing but the seeds of dead men. Some prayed for their return. Some prayed for their eternal suffering. Some wept in despair. Some cried tears of joy.
Those feelings bubbled up to the surface in the packed medical hut. A few dozen women in the past few days found themselves trapped in the birthing bed. It was a terrifying sight to see for some and others were a little elated.
The nurse who'd brought in the two new birthing mothers had already collapsed with her legs spread wide and her pussy gushing fluid.
She could handle herself and the older woman she brought had several children before this point. The one you had to worry about was the dancer. She was clearly overdue, young, and not prepared. Not that you are much different.
The Dancer squirmed on the bed beneath her weighty belly, a trickle of white coming from her puffy pussy. That was certainly one way of getting labor started. You clean her up and stick a sanitized finger up her canal. Your hand is stopped halfway through.
"Fuuuuuck! It's so fucking big!" She howled. "I can't push anymore! I can't!"
"You can and will," you say, despite the urge to push creeping on you. "Hold your legs back and bear down!"
The dancer reluctantly nodded and pulled back her legs easily, framing her towering dark bump. She jammed her chin between her breasts, bearing down with all her might.
As her thighs quiver, your own legs spread and your squat deepens. A contraction embraces your body, the head of your baby descended past your cervix. Your face contorts as the pressure drives downward. Your time is running short. You keep one hand beneath your belly and another on the now bulging lips of the dancer. You close your eyes and breathe in a desperate attempt to not have your baby come down any further.
"Ouuuuughhhh! It's coming out, it hurts! My pussy hurts!," the dancer shrieked.
You open your eyes to see the skin of her pussy spreading wide. You quickly press your hand on the crown. You nor the other helpers could deal with a tear right now. There had already been one too many that didn't end well.
"Stop pushing! You need to stretch," you command the woman.
The Dancer listened and answered with a loud groan and a bucking of her hips. You hold steady against the head. The Dancer writhed beneath your touch. The burn is taking its toll but it's necessary. The head slowly slides out into your palm just as the head of your baby crawls into your canal.
The dancer shrieks as the head pops free of her pussy. The Dancer takes that as a go ahead to continue pushing and bore down even harder. The shoulder spread her pussy tightly around them. Her back arches and her thighs shake as her mouth goes wide. The huge babe slides out in a slippery mess of fluid into your hands. The dancer's entire body recoils at the release in pressure.
"It's out! A girl!" you announce, rubbing its back until it cried and squirmed. You carefully present the child to its mother.
Weeping herself, The dancer gladly took the crying baby into her arms with a smile.
"Oh, Vincent, she's beautiful, she's so beautiful," The Dancer said as she rubbed the back of her baby.
You can't help but smile slightly at her despite the bittersweetness of her words. This Vincent she called out for was very likely to be gone. Then your smile is forced to fade. The pressure and pain intensified across your body. So much so you almost drop to your knees.
You need to give birth, you need to give in. Your body demands it. But just as you begin to bear down you hear a guttural screech.
You turn to see the nurse from earlier crying out. Her stretch mark covered belly tight and red.
"I'm gonna die! It won't come out!" The nurse melted into hysterics.
You swallow hard and resist the urge once more. The head of your baby sitting right behind your lips. You slide your feet over to the nurse.
"I-I have to turn the baby," your body and mind strain to ignore the growing bulge in your trousers. "Don't- ouuugh- push."
You move the Nurse's tight belly, shifting and lifting the baby off her pelvis. You slowly rotate the baby all the while moaning and wincing through your own labor. Keeping your legs and pussy tightly shut so the baby wouldn't progress further. You grasp what you think is the baby's head and slowly direct it down toward the Nurse's cervix. As soon as you were certain all was well, you let go.
"Push!" You command the nurse. The pressure in your pelvis grew into a burn. Your job was done with Nurse, but there were still struggling mothers you needed to tend to.
However, in your pain-addled state you made a mistake. The baby was descending legs first and head up, unbeknownst to you. The nurse screamed and pushed as the burn over took you. You start with a whimper, then a breathy moan. Your pussy spreads around the head tightly. Your body is bearing down without you at this point, your nails dig into your palms as you try to continue to resist.
You open your eyes and try to stand to your feet with a hand on your bulging pussy. That's when you see your error. The nurse squirms on the ground back arched with a pair of legs hanging out of her.
"FUUUCK! MY BACK!" The nurse howled.
You grimace and slowly crawl between the nurses legs. You support the body as best you can with one hand. Your face is red and sweaty. You can feel it come. The burn peak, the sting as your pussy relinquishes the head. The big head pops out of you and into your trousers. The shoulders don't wait
"I should've told him to pull out!" The Nurse pushed up to the neck. You couldn't help but think the same. You and the rest of these women would just have to deal with it though.
Both of you cry out in unison. The arms of the nurse's baby pop out and now the base of the head begins to crown. Your own baby was struggling to tear your trousers for room, leaving the shoulders holding you painfully wide. Your hanging belly seizes, the seam of your trousers tears around the head and dampens with fluid.
"Pull it out of me! Get this fucking baby out of meeeee!" The Nurse screeched while pushing harder than before.
You pull the Nurse's baby slowly all the while huffing and crying out your own stuck little baby. The Nurse throws her head back in a primal roar and the baby shoots out of her tight pussy into your hands.
You can’t even think about proper procedure at this point. You need your baby out.
You quickly plop the newborn onto the disheveled nurse's chest and immediately roll to your back, ripping your cloth trousers off. As soon as they are gone, the baby bursts out of you in a torrent of fluid. It falls between your soaked thighs and cries out for your touch. With heaving breaths, you carefully pick up the baby.
Nine and a half months of work was squirming in your hands. A wave of exhaustion, joy, and sadness came over you looking at the active bundle. Your breasts ache as much as your pussy does right now but you still have more to tend to.
Just then, a young man runs in with a crying woman hanging off his shoulder. One baby in her arms and another clearly stuck at crowning.
i wanna play the sims but EVERY time i play the sims i just end up getting every sim i possibly can pregnant and then im horny, and im at work rn so maybe i shouldnt 😩😩😩😩
Ethan thinks, a little unkindly, No shit, Sherlock, but he's still mid-contraction. He can't really talk. And a second later it's time to push again, and he stops panting to suck in the needed air.
Danny's behind him, but he's too busy to look over his shoulder. Pushing, listening to his body instead of Danny's rough anxious breaths, feeling the baby's head stretch him wider, wider, a little more... too much too much too much time to pause. The baby's head slips back a little, but he knows now that's normal, it happens at the end of every push. It's how his body stretches, relaxes, stretches, and finds the next limit.
One more wave of pushing, and the contraction's over. Ethan gasps for air and says, breathy, "Hi."
"Hi." Danny crouches next to him, putting a hand over Ethan's on the arm of the sofa. "How's this position? Do you want to move?"
Ethan feels a wave of appreciation for how quickly Danny's got over his shock, and takes back the unkind thought. "I think I'm..." He huffs, needing air. "Fine. I'm okay."
"You're doing so great," Danny says. "She's nearly here." He leans forward, touching his forehead to Ethan's, very lightly. "I saw her eyebrows."
Ethan gasps a laugh. "She's got eyebrows!"
"She's got eyebrows. Where do you want me, when you're pushing?"
Ethan shakes his head, not knowing. He'd reconciled himself to doing this alone, and including Danny in the experience so late in the game is...
It's hard. There was a rhythm. It was a good rhythm. He wants to keep it.
At last he says, "Hold my hands?" And that's all he has time for before the next contraction.
It's slow, painful progress, but having Danny there, touching him, makes it easier. Touching him, and talking - hardly stopping, changing tack as Ethan switches between phases. "There you go, that's it, nice slow pushes, that's good, that's good, you're doing great," he says, as Ethan pushes, and when he stops, panting, "Good, great, you're doing so well, my love, deep breaths now..."
They talked about this. They talked and talked about it. They didn't expect Danny only to arrive halfway through the pushing phase, but they planned for this birth.
Ethan doesn't remember that there was supposed to be a midwife here until the contraction is over, and that's when Danny seems to remember, too. "Should I call Juliet?"
"You didn't?"
"I sort of drove here in a panic."
"...yeah. Um." Ethan pants. "I need you here. Call her after?"
"Okay."
Danny's sitting on the sofa, holding Ethan's hands. Ethan shifts a little sideways, grabbing Danny's knees instead of the arm, and says, "This okay?"
"Whatever you need, honey."
"I might lean on you. It might hurt."
"I think you'll still be in more pain." Danny threads his fingers between Ethan's, and they wait together, not for very long, before another contraction begins.
He leans into the pushing phase. After only a few seconds, the sensations change yet again, and he gasps.
There's no more stretching to do. The baby is moving down, easy. He pauses, sucking in a fresh lungful of air, and...
"HNNNNNNNNNNNNGH!"
...pushes with all his might. The rest of the baby's head slips out of him with a pop, and a little gush of fluid, leaving him gasping at the relief.
"Was that the head? Is the head out?"
Ethan can't talk, but he nods. The gasps turn to heavy panting as he listens to his body.
Wait. Wait. The baby's turning, and it's the strangest sensation. He can feel his daughter's shoulders, shifting position inside him, and then... easy, easy. He gives a little push, and feels himself stretch in a slightly different way. Easy. Easy. Open up...
It doesn't take much more. He doesn't even have to rest or pant; he simply gives a couple of light pushes and feels himself stretch around the baby's shoulders, as - pop! pop! - first one, then the other comes free.
And the contraction isn't over. He tightens his grip on Danny's hands, and sucks in an enormous breath to fuel the final phase.
He thinks, This is it.
And pushes with everything he's got.
That's all it takes. One gigantic push, and the rest of the baby's body slides out of him. Danny releases his hands, leaving Ethan grabbing his knees, and Ethan doesn't know why until Danny's hands are down between his legs, and something heavy is dragging down from the pit of his stomach, and the contraction is over, and there's the overwhelmingly beautiful sound of a baby crying.
Ethan looks down.
She does have eyebrows. She has a whole face. She's bright red all over, streaked with blood and fluid, cord still attached, and her face is scrunched up with crying. Ethan says, "Oh... oh..." and reaches out for his daughter as he sits down hard on the pile of towels.
Together, they place her on Ethan's stomach, and he slowly guides her to his breast. The sensation of her little gums clamping onto his nipple makes him gasp, and then she sucks, and milk flows, and just like that, he's feeding baby.
He looks up, and Danny is crying. Mouth twisted, tears running down his face, fogging his glasses... completely silent. Ethan reaches out, and takes one of Danny's hands, letting him cup the baby's head as she drinks hungrily.
"That's our daughter," Ethan says, and Danny lets out a single, gulping sob. "That's our little girl."
There's a pause.
"I think we should call her," Ethan says, ragged, and that's when he realises he's crying too. "Storm."
Danny gives a short, sniffly laugh. "Really?"
"Maybe a middle name. I like the one we had."
"Kathryn." Danny's voice is still distorted with tears. "Kathryn Storm? Kathryn Rachel Storm?"
"Kathryn Rachel Storm Hughes-Warrington." Ethan sniffs. "God, what a name. Poor kid."
"I think it's beautiful," Danny says. "Just like her."
He takes his glasses off to wipe his face, and comes to sit on the floor, next to Ethan. Ethan doesn't mention that Danny will get blood and amniotic fluid and God knows what else all over his work clothes, or that the placenta hasn't come, or that they haven't cut the cord. He leans sideways, damp with sweat and exhausted, and puts his head on Danny's shoulder. Danny puts an arm around him and kisses his forehead.
"I'll call Juliet," he says.
Ethan almost tells him not to, but Danny keeps talking.
"In a minute."
And wrapped in his husband's arms, with his baby daughter still suckling and tears still rolling down his face, Ethan closes his eyes.
The End
Thought I would make a masterpost for this fic I seem to be writing, so it's a bit easier to navigate between parts without me posting a lin
The contraction keeps rolling through Ethan, squeezing down. He breathes in, deep and fast, and huffs it out through his mouth. In... huff it out. In... hold... huff it out.
Puuuuuuuuuush.
In... and hold. His mind is a whirl of panic. He doesn't want this, he can't do this, he's not ready, but second by second the pressure is taking over. In... hold... More than pressure. He feels full, so full, the hard round shape of the baby's head pressing down between his legs and he wants it out. Out. Out!
Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuush!
He's still holding his breath, he can't seem to let it go; his mouth won't (push!) make the right shape. His teeth click together and (push!!) clench, and his grip tightens on the arm of the (PUSH!!!) sofa. He's not (PUUUUSH!!!!) ready. He can't he can't he (PUUUUSSSHHHH!!!!) can't this isn't happening he isn't
"Hnnnnnnnnnnngh!"
He has the shocking realisation that he's pushing, after it starts against his will. And a moment later, a sweet burst of excitement and elation. He can feel her moving! She's coming! He's doing it! He's having a baby!
The next push feels good. He doesn't forget the pain - it's far too intense to ignore - but it becomes less important than the sensation of the baby moving down between his legs, the sense of gradual progress as he pushes her down further, and further. He can feel his body reshaping around her as she descends.
When the contraction is over he falls forward against the arm of the sofa, gasping, pouring sweat. He still feels pushy, but without his muscles squeezing down, the urge is bearable, and he needs to get what rest he can. He decides he wants his feet under him, and - slow, careful, achy - comes up into a squat, leaning heavily on the sofa to support his swollen, tender body. When he's there, he gingerly puts a hand between his legs to feel.
There's a decided bulge, and when he presses up very lightly he can feel her, a solid curve. She's on the way.
The next contraction hits, and Ethan needs both hands holding onto the sofa for support. This time his only thought of resisting is to realise that it wouldn't be remotely possible; what was a downish sort of squeeze goes down, down, down, down, DOWN. He's pushing long before the contraction peaks, following the waves of pressure provided by the contraction. PUUUUUUUUUUSH, and rest. PUUUUUUUUUUSH, and rest. On and on as the contraction rolls.
Down she goes.
Ethan has long since stopped counting contractions. He's barely aware of anything happening outside his own body - not the light in the room, not the sound of wind and rain. There's only pain and pressure and progress. Between contractions he pants, needing as much air as possible, and feels the bulge between his legs, a little bigger every time, until the sensations change again.
He's pushing and pushing when he notices - oh. A little stretch.
A stretch is happening. He's stretching open. Opening up to let the baby out.
Slowly now, he thinks. Easy. The urge to push is still overwhelming, but he starts to think, Okay, okay, work with it. Work with me here. He remembers that panting ought to help him resist, and that going slow will help prevent tearing. So he pants, only pushing when the waves of pressure are at their strongest, and then as gently as he can. Trying to stop, or at least slow down, when the stretch feels like it's getting too much.
By the time the contraction breaks, it's starting to burn. He feels again, between his legs, and this time feels his mouth go open and his eyes go wide, because -
There she is!
He's touching his daughter.
She's completely bald, skin smooth and sticky-wet with blood and fluids from inside him. He rubs a fingertip over the top of her head, careful and gentle, and whispers, breathless, "Let's get you out of there, kid."
But slowly. Slowly.
The next contraction hits. The work now isn't just pushing - it's pushing at the right pace, with the right force, with only the sensations in his body to guide him. Stretch... stretch... too much okay okay pant, pant, wait, breathe, let your body get used to it... now stretch a little more... okay okay...
He doesn't know what time it is, and he doesn't care. Not how long he's been in labour, how long he's been pushing, how long since he sent that text - none of it matters. The only time that matters is now, and now he is giving birth to his daughter, second by second, breath by breath, push by push, contraction by contraction. Twice more, the wave of pain breaks, and he rests and touches his daughters head, able to feel more of it each time. Twice more, he takes a huge sucking breath as a new contraction begins, riding the start of it to push as long as he's able, stretch... pant... wait... rest... okay... here we go...
It burns worse and worse. He whines and keens and moans as he pushes, feeling the head opening him wider and wider, bit by bit. That's all he's focused on. The work of childbirth, his body telling him what work to do, what stage he's at. Push, or rest. Stretch, or breathe. The roar of the rain is forgotten.
If he hears a different roar, the roar of a car engine approaching outside, he doesn't register or process it. Not the scrape and click of a key in the front door, either. Nor the door opening and closing, nor fast-paced, frantic footsteps. He's pushing, and pushing, and resting, until suddenly his concentration is broken.
"Ethan?!"
Danny's voice.
"Oh my god, you're really - " A couple of harsh, terrified breaths, and then Danny says, "Shit. Oh shit."
Thought I would make a masterpost for this fic I seem to be writing, so it's a bit easier to navigate between parts without me posting a lin
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If Danny got that text, he'll respond, or call in a panic, and he'll freak out when Ethan can't respond. If he didn't get the text... please please please let it have gone through. But if it didn't, with a charged phone, Ethan can try again.
There's a charger by the TV. It's only a few feet away, but to Ethan, that feels like a bold and almost impossible journey. He'll have to crawl, pausing more than he moves for contraction after contraction, and hope the window of usefulness is still long enough when he gets there to find the cable and plug in his phone. And... wait... trickle...
...what?
It's coming from between his legs. Trickle... trickle... drip-drip-drip... drip-drip... trickle... Is he peeing? No. He just used the bathroom, and his bladder doesn't feel full, and anyway it's not... coming from there...
He wastes the entire window trying to understand what's happening. Maybe a second before the next contraction hits, he thinks, Is that my water? And then - pain. Pressure. GUSH. Fluid splashes on the towels between his feet, and doesn't stop dripping after. He bellows; the pressure is so much stronger now, restless, moving, going down. He realises, partway through, that he wants to be upright, and drags himself forward until he can grab the arm of the sofa for support.
There. Better. Now... open up...
The window of usefulness closes after that. The contractions just keep coming, and all he can manage between them is rest, breathe, maybe shift position a little. His phone lies dead on a towel behind him, forgotten. There's nothing left, for Ethan, except the hard, agonising squeeze of his muscles, and the growing awareness of the baby's head, moving a little lower with each wave of pain.
He loses track of time completely. He has no idea how long it's been when he feels it.
Something shifts. The restless pressure starts to get... urgent... but the urgency fades as the contraction comes to an end, leaving him a little frustrated on top of the breathlessness. He wants... he wants... he's not sure what, but he wants it.
The next contraction grips him, and he feels it again. Urgency. Going down. Even the rolling squeeze of his muscles feels a little more downish, and as the contraction builds he thinks, I want I want I want but can't quite complete the thought.
Building. Building. I want. I want. I need... to...
He grips the arm of the sofa. His chin drops to his chest, and his knees spread as wide as they can go on the towel. He can't think of anything except slow, solid downward movement, incremental but inexorable, until at last the contraction hits its peak and he feels something new. Like a voice, soft but insistent, speaking up from between his legs.
...push?...
Oh no.
...push?...
No no.
...puush?...
Not yet. Please. Danny isn't here, he thinks. No one's here. Please, not yet. I'm not ready.
His body fairly screams at him: I AM!
...puuuuush...
He sucks in a quick, panicky, sobbing breath, and forces it out, but the urge is getting stronger.
Here she comes.
Thought I would make a masterpost for this fic I seem to be writing, so it's a bit easier to navigate between parts without me posting a lin
Ethan watches his phone anxiously as its battery creeps down, and the contractions creep closer. Under five minutes... four and a half... closer and closer to four. 5%, and dropping. The window of usefulness has narrowed; Ethan isn't measuring it specifically, and he's too far gone for any kind of accurate maths, but he thinks it's under a minute now. Too short. Too short.
Soon now, he thinks, it'll be gone completely. Only waves of pain, and space to recover, and at some unclear point after that, he'll have to push. He can feel the shape of the baby's head now as it drops a little further with each contraction.
He's on his hands and knees, in his nest of towels and blankets by the sofa, the phone on the floor near his face. When a contraction comes he rocks and sways his hips, spreading his legs. The last thing he did before he settled in the nest was a bathroom trip - it took nearly fifteen minutes, and he had to crawl most of the way back - and he left all his clothes in the toilet. He's sweaty and overheated, exhausted, and the rain and wind and thunder are still roaring outside.
He stops using the app. Instead he watches the time on his phone and tries to count the difference between 17:18 and 17:22, not sure for far too long if the right answer is 3 or 4. He wants the chance of texting Danny if the power comes back.
At 3%, the kitchen light flickers on.
He has time to look around at the sudden brightness and gasp before a contraction hits and his world is reduced again to pain and pressure. Then, panting, he looks at his phone - and remembers, soggily, that the router will take a few minutes to connect.
Two more contractions.
2%.
The window of usefulness is only seconds now. He spends two of them composing the text.
Baby coming come home
At the beginning of the third window, he hits Send, and stares at the little blue line, willing it to go through. "Please... please... AAAAHHHH!" The pain of another contraction makes him close his eyes, and plant his knees wider on the floor, and sway, and moan, and scream. God... the pressure...
When he opens his eyes and looks back at his phone, it's dead.
Thought I would make a masterpost for this fic I seem to be writing, so it's a bit easier to navigate between parts without me posting a lin
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