iceteacola

[iceteacola]

Don't judge me, I never thought I could fulfill my wildest fantasy. I was always sexually attracted to my father. But in my defense I can say that he was to blame. When he was 8 years old my mother left us and he walked around the house wearing only tight underwear.

My dad is a soldier, today he is 45 years old and he is still very attractive, he is a tall man, he has broad shoulders and back, he is not so muscular but he does have a sexy belly.

5 months ago we spent Christmas alone and drank too much and smoked marijuana. When I realized that my dad was putting his big cock in my mouth and then fucking me in the ass. He gave me the best fuck of my life.

But he denies it, says he doesn't remember anything.

But 3 months ago I realized that the belly I have is not from eating a lot. I told my dad and he didn't want to know anything.

But two weeks ago I was sitting on the couch and my belly was exposed and my dad was sitting on the side.

My father looked at my belly out of the corner of his eye and saw how my belly was moving because the baby was kicking. He put his huge hand on my belly and caressed my navel, I felt a lot of pleasure.

He told me: Our baby is not going to lack anything.

My father still tells the others that the baby belongs to a man I met one day in a bar, but when we are alone he caresses me and hugs me from behind. If I feel that his cock is hard, I know that he is going to fuck me very well. My dad loves to fuck me when I'm pregnant

[iceteacola]

I’m obscenely pregnant but still as horny as ever 🥵

[iceteacola]

Blossoming in Love

The air in the dimly lit room was thick with the scent of musk and desire. Gabriel, with his wild curls and sharp undercut, straddled Toni’s lap, his slender fingers tracing the intricate tattoos that sprawled across Toni’s broad, hairy chest. Toni’s hands, rough and possessive, gripped Gabriel’s hips, pulling him closer as their lips crashed together in a hungry kiss. Gabriel’s red briefs were already discarded on the floor, leaving him bare and vulnerable in Toni’s embrace.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Toni growled, his voice a low rumble as he nipped at Gabriel’s neck. Gabriel moaned softly, his body arching into the touch, his hands roaming lower to tug at Toni’s waistband.

“Want you… now,” Gabriel whispered, his voice trembling with need. Toni didn’t need any more encouragement. In one swift motion, he lifted Gabriel, pinning him against the plush couch. Their bodies moved in a rhythm as old as time, a dance of passion and raw desire. Gabriel’s gasps filled the room, his nails digging into Toni’s back as waves of pleasure crashed over him.

Toni’s thrusts were deep and deliberate, each one drawing a cry from Gabriel’s lips. “You feel so good, baby,” Toni murmured, his breath hot against Gabriel’s ear. Gabriel could only whimper in response, lost in the sensation of being completely claimed. As they reached their peak, Gabriel felt a warmth spread deep inside him, a sensation that lingered long after their breaths had steadied and their bodies had stilled.

Weeks Later

Gabriel stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his hands trembling as he stared at the small plastic stick in his hand. Two pink lines. He blinked, his heart pounding in his chest. Pregnant. The word felt foreign, impossible, and yet… here it was. He ran a hand over his flat stomach, trying to imagine the life growing inside him. A mix of fear and wonder swirled in his chest.

“Toni!” he called out, his voice shaky. Toni appeared in the doorway almost instantly, his dark eyes wide with concern.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Toni asked, stepping closer. Gabriel held up the test, his lips trembling into a nervous smile.

“I… I’m pregnant,” he said softly. Toni’s expression shifted from worry to disbelief, and then to a wide, beaming grin. He pulled Gabriel into a tight embrace, lifting him off the ground slightly as he spun him around.

“Holy shit, we’re having a baby!” Toni laughed, his voice filled with joy. Gabriel couldn’t help but laugh too, the sound bubbling up through his nerves. Toni set him down, cupping his face tenderly. “I love you so much, Gabe. We’re gonna be a family.”

Gabriel’s eyes welled up with tears, but they were happy ones. He felt Toni’s love wrap around him like a warm blanket, soothing the uncertainty in his heart. “I love you too,” he whispered, leaning into Toni’s touch.

Months Into the Pregnancy

By the time Gabriel reached his fifth month, his belly had begun to swell noticeably. He stood in their shared bedroom, shirtless, running his hands over the gentle curve of his stomach. It felt firm, a stark contrast to the softness of his skin, and there was a slight heaviness to it that made him hyper-aware of every movement. The baby kicked occasionally, a fluttering sensation that made Gabriel’s heart skip a beat each time.

He looked at himself in the full-length mirror, tilting his head. His belly button was starting to protrude slightly, and faint stretch marks traced delicate lines across his skin. It wasn’t the tight, defined bump he’d seen in movies—it was softer, more rounded, and somehow more real. He felt a mix of awe and vulnerability as he cradled his belly, the weight of it grounding him.

Toni came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Gabriel’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful,” Toni murmured, his hands joining Gabriel’s to caress the swell of his stomach. Gabriel leaned back into Toni’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“It feels so… heavy,” Gabriel admitted, a small smile playing on his lips. “Like I’m carrying a little watermelon in there. And sometimes it gets tight, like after I eat or when the baby moves a lot.”

Toni chuckled, pressing a kiss to Gabriel’s temple. “That’s our little one making themselves known. You’re doing amazing, babe.” He turned Gabriel around, kneeling down to press his lips gently to the curve of Gabriel’s belly. “Hey there, little guy or girl,” Toni whispered, his voice soft and full of love. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

Gabriel’s heart swelled at the sight. He ran his fingers through Toni’s short hair, feeling a wave of love wash over him. Despite the discomfort—the way his belly sometimes felt too tight, the pressure on his bladder that sent him running to the bathroom every hour, the occasional Braxton Hicks contractions that made him pause and breathe deeply—he felt cherished. Toni’s constant affection, the way he’d rub Gabriel’s back after a long day or bring him snacks in bed, made Gabriel feel more loved than he ever thought possible.

The Final Trimester

By the eighth month, Gabriel’s belly was undeniably prominent. His uterus had expanded so much that it sat well above his belly button, a firm, round dome that made even simple tasks like tying his shoes a challenge. He often found himself resting a hand on his belly, feeling the baby’s movements—stronger now, more defined. The kicks were sometimes sharp, making him wince, but they also filled him with a quiet joy. His body was creating life, and that thought alone was enough to make him feel powerful, even on the days when he was too tired to get out of bed.

One evening, as they lay on the couch together, Toni’s head rested on Gabriel’s lap, his hand lazily tracing circles on Gabriel’s swollen belly. “You’re glowing, you know that?” Toni said, looking up at Gabriel with a soft smile. “I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.”

Gabriel blushed, his hand resting over Toni’s. “I feel like a whale,” he admitted, laughing lightly. “But… I also feel so loved. You make me feel like I can do this, like we can do this together.”

Toni sat up, pulling Gabriel into a gentle kiss. “You’re not a whale, you’re perfect. And we are doing this together. I’m with you every step of the way, Gabe.” He placed a hand on Gabriel’s belly, feeling a small kick against his palm. “Both of you.”

Gabriel smiled, his eyes shining with emotion. The tightness in his belly, the heaviness, the occasional ache—it was all worth it. Because every flutter, every kick, every moment of discomfort was a reminder of the life they had created together. And with Toni by his side, showering him with love and support, Gabriel knew he could face anything.

As they sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Gabriel felt a deep sense of peace. His belly might have been heavy, his body might have changed, but his heart was fuller than ever. He was loved, truly and deeply, and soon, they’d be a family of three.

[iceteacola]

(Mpreg, 18+)

Max leaned his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, warm water pouring over his bare back and swollen belly. At just 13 weeks, he was already showing a soft, unmistakable curve pushing out from his narrow frame, rounding out his middle in a way that he couldn’t stop touching.

He ran his fingers lightly over his belly, marveling at how sensitive his skin had become. Every brush sent little sparks skittering across his nerves. His bellybutton had started to flatten out slightly, and when his fingertips grazed over it, a shiver wracked his body.

“God, everything feels so intense now.” he thought, exhaling shakily.

The hormones had been playing tricks on him lately. From cravings, mood swings and now, an ache deep inside him that had nothing to do with hunger. His hands slid lower, following the gentle swell down toward his hips, feeling how much fuller and softer he was. His body was working overtime, changing, growing... and it felt incredible.

Max let out a soft, shaky noise as he circled both hands around the curve of his lower belly.

It was firm underneath his palms, not just bloating anymore, but a real heaviness that made his body throb with awareness. His legs trembled slightly as he shifted his weight, the pressure inside him making his skin feel tight and hot.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let his hands roam more freely, fingertips tracing the sides of his waist where it flared out more than it ever had before. His breath hitched, the warm water cascading over his flushed skin.

Every nerve seemed hypersensitive, every touch feeding the restless, needy feeling building inside him.

Max whimpered softly, his hand splaying wide over his belly, feeling how solid it was... how much life was inside him, how it made him feel more alive than he ever had before.

"Fuck..." he whispered, barely able to hear himself over the water. He tilted his head back, water streaming through his damp hair, his body rocking slightly with the rhythm of his own rapid breathing.

The heat, the water, the overwhelming fullness, it was too much, but he didn’t want it to stop.

Max pressed his palm harder into the curve of his belly, feeling it push back against his hand with stubborn, growing weight. His body had never felt like this before, sensitive, needy, aching from the inside out. Every breath he took shuddered through him, making the slight roundness of his middle rise and fall.

His hand slid lower, trailing over the thickened softness of his thighs, trembling slightly.

The fullness of his belly almost seemed to amplify everything: every tiny brush of his fingers felt magnified, every beat of his heart hammering behind his ribs.

Max bit his lip, squeezing his thighs together as a fresh wave of heat washed over him. His belly jutted out just enough to get in the way, making his movements clumsy, but somehow that made it hotter, like he was too full to even touch himself properly.

He let out a broken moan, low and needy.

Max's fingertips ghosted back up over his belly, circling his navel slowly, and he gasped — the tender spot had become a trigger he couldn't ignore. His knees nearly threatened to give out.

“Please...” he whispered, not even sure what he was begging for, only that he needed more.

Max clung to the wall like it was the only thing keeping him standing, his whole body trembling. His hand slid lower again, desperate now, fingertips brushing over the hard cock straining between his thighs. He let out a ragged gasp — even the lightest touch made him feel like he was going to cum.

"God," he whimpered, hips jerking instinctively forward. His fingers wrapped around himself properly now, the movement clumsy with how full and tight his belly had become. Every tiny stroke sent a jolt of pleasure ricocheting through him.

Max's breathing turned desperate, little panting sounds spilling from his lips. His free hand slid over his belly again, cradling it instinctively, The knot inside him tightened fast, sharp and hot, pulling his whole body taut. His thighs shook. His toes curled against the slick floor.

Then..

His whole body arched, pleasure exploding so hard he nearly blacked out. His hand gripped his pulsing cock, dripping cum off his knuckles.

The waves of release were slow, deep, wracking him from the inside out. His belly tightened with each pulse, his legs almost giving out under the intensity.

By the time it finally eased, Max was gasping, dazed, forehead pressed to the cool wall. His heart thundered. His belly heaved with each shaky breath. He felt tender, swollen, and more alive than he ever had before.

He let out a soft, breathless laugh, running his hand over the curve of his stomach.

“Guess... we’re gonna be a handful, huh?” he murmured to the little life growing inside him, his voice hoarse and full of awe.

The end.

[iceteacola]

Late Bloomer

Chris wasn’t supposed to get knocked up from a back rub.

But here he was, shirt halfway up his chest, soft gray sweats riding low, and his belly so huge and tight he could barely reach the laptop resting on his thighs. One hand rubbed a soothing circle just under his navel; the other held his phone, camera flipped, recording a cheeky little bumpdate for his OnlyFriends.

“Thirty-eight weeks today,” he grinned, breathy and flushed. “And yeah—I still don’t know how I’m gonna push this thing out.”

He laughed, but then he moaned. Not on purpose. The baby shifted deep, heavy, low, and his whole belly tensed like it was about to pop.

Chris sucked in a breath. “Fuuuck, that was a strong one.”

It was all Mateo’s fault. That sweet bastard had been massaging Chris’s back after yoga class, just two fingers tracing little circles at the base of his spine—and the next thing Chris remembered was waking up in Mateo’s bed three hours later, legs sore, belly already feeling weirdly full.

“That’s how it starts,” Mateo had said, smug as hell, pulling on a hoodie with a frat logo. “Heat trigger. You’re fertile when you’re relaxed. Everyone knows that.”

“You knew that,” Chris had grumbled, already too distracted by the way his belly was starting to round out. “You could’ve warned me!”

“You looked too cute to stop.”

Now, weeks later, Chris looked downright radiant—and massive.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, grabbing the underside of his bump with both hands. His sweatpants had a wet patch blooming near the waistband. “Oh no. Oh fuck. I think my water just broke. On camera.”

He fumbled for the laptop, laughing and panting at the same time. “Guys, I was just trying to do a chill lil update but this kid’s like, nope, we’re coming out right now.”

Chris hissed and leaned back, sweat slicking his chest. “If you’re watching this, Mateo—this is your fault, and you better bring snacks to the hospital.”

He paused, blushed, and added with a wink: “And a towel. Like, a big one.”

He let out a breathless laugh, loving every second of it—even the soaked sweats, even the way his belly tightened again like it was already starting. “God, this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He arched into the next contraction, biting his lip. “Guess I really am a late bloomer, huh?”

[iceteacola]

Hard Hat, Full Belly

Part 1 - Greg’s Big Day on Site

Greg’s trailer office smelled like dust, sweat, and printer toner — and now, the sharp musk of his own desperation. The damn A/C was busted again, so the room was thick with heat and the sour-sweet scent of a daddy way too pregnant to still be workin’. His tight belly pulsed, rock-hard under his shirt, pushing the hem up and making his whole middle glisten with sweat.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, bracing himself on the edge of the desk. “This kid better be union-certified by now with the way they’re jackhammerin’ my insides.”

Another contraction rolled in — a deep, brutal one that made his thighs twitch and his ass clench involuntarily. He threw his head back with a strangled groan, thick neck flexing. “Hnnngh—fuck, not again—oh fuck, I think that one stretched my hole.”

He couldn’t sit still anymore. Greg stood up, one hand on his back, the other cradling the underside of his swollen belly like it was made of dynamite. And it was — hot, tight, trembling, and so full he could feel pressure building low and mean.

His balls ached. His cock throbbed. And somehow, he was leaking — not just from his chest, but down below too. A sticky trickle soaked into the seam of his jeans, mixing with sweat and arousal until it was hard to tell where the labor pains ended and the need began.

He waddled to the mirror bolted to the trailer wall, staring at his reflection. A scruffy, rugged mess. Calloused hands. Sun-worn skin. Belly so round it looked obscene. “Christ,” he whispered. “Look at you, Greg. Some boss you are. Knocked up, needy, and about to cum just from your baby hittin’ the right nerve.”

Then his phone buzzed again.

Rookie: “Outside. You good?”

Greg didn’t even hesitate. He yanked the door open.

Rookie stood there—hard hat crooked, lips parted, cheeks pink like he knew. His eyes went straight to Greg’s belly, then down to where his jeans were soaked and strained.

“Holy shit, Boss,” Rookie murmured. “You’re about to pop.”

Greg’s voice was low, growling. “I’m fuckin’ crowning, kid. And if you don’t wanna mop me off this floor, you better get inside and help me out.”

Rookie dropped everything — hard hat, bag, whatever the hell he had in his hand. Slammed the trailer door shut behind them.

Greg fell back into the chair, legs open wide, breathing hard. “Get on your knees. Help Daddy ride this out.”

Rookie knelt, reverent, shaking a little as he slid Greg’s jeans down. The smell hit him—raw, earthy, leaking. Greg was open. His entrance flexed with every contraction, bulging, needy, twitching with pressure.

“You see that?” Greg growled, gripping his own belly as it contracted again. “That’s your fuckin’ baby coming outta me. Now don’t just stare, Rookie. Earn your fuckin’ promotion.”

The younger man leaned in, hands trembling as he braced Greg’s hips. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “Whatever you need.”

The pressure built. Greg panted, sweat dripping off his beard, belly convulsing with each push. “Oh fuck—oh god—I’m gonna cum if I push again!”

Rookie’s hands clutched him tighter. “Then do it. Let go, Boss. Fuckin’ let it all out.”

Greg let out a roar—half pain, half climax—as he bore down hard, everything in him seizing at once. His water broke like a dam, soaking them both. And in the middle of it, he did cum—hard, feral, grunting like an animal as his baby slid lower, lower, lower—

“Goddamn,” he sobbed, riding the waves. “That’s it, baby, come out for Daddy. Come out while Daddy blows his load.”

Part 2 - The Crowning

Greg’s legs were spread wide, braced on the arms of his chair. His jeans were somewhere across the trailer. His belly was heaving—slick, flushed, visibly tightening with each gut-punch contraction that left him gasping and growling.

Rookie knelt between those thick, trembling thighs, stunned by the sight in front of him.

“Boss…” he breathed, reverent. “You’re so fucking… open.”

Greg gritted his teeth, sweat dripping from his beard onto his chest. “Yeah? You gonna just sit there and narrate or get this fuckin’ thing outta me?”

The pressure was nuclear. Blinding. His belly clenched again, and he roared, grabbing his knees and pushing with all the strength that thirty years of construction had built into his core.

And then—“FUCK!”

A wet, obscene pop filled the room.

“Holy shit,” Rookie whispered. “The head’s right there.”

Greg growled, eyes rolling back. “I fuckin’ know, rookie! I feel every inch of this bastard splitting me open!”

Rookie couldn’t stop staring — at the slick ring of skin stretching, at the veins throbbing in Greg’s neck, at the way his cock stayed rock hard through it all. “Boss, I—I didn’t know it’d be this… hot.”

Greg laughed through a groan. “Welcome to the real fuckin’ labor force, kid.”

Another contraction slammed into him. “AH—NGHH—shit! Push—I gotta push again, I can’t stop!”

Rookie's hands moved instinctively, cradling Greg's lower back, supporting his hips as the big man bore down again, snarling like a beast in heat.

“Crownin’,” Greg panted. “Fucking crowning. You see it stretchin’? You see Daddy’s hole getting wrecked?”

Rookie moaned out loud. “Y-Yeah, Boss. You’re stretchin’ so good…”

Greg's face twisted into something halfway between agony and orgasm. His whole body shook as his entrance gave way further, ring of fire burning so good it made him leak pre all over his own belly.

“Tell me,” he growled, eyes glazed. “Tell me you’re gonna fuck me again the second this baby’s out.”

Rookie leaned up, whispering against his lips. “I’m gonna stuff you so full, Boss, you’ll be waddlin’ with twins by lunch break.”

Greg howled—from pain, from lust, from pressure. One more push. One final, shuddering cry—

And then the baby slipped free.

Wet. Warm. Screaming. Rookie caught it with trembling hands, eyes wide. “Boss… you did it.”

Greg collapsed back, chest heaving, soaked in sweat and afterglow. His hole still twitched, gaping, slick, messy.

And his cock? Still hard.

“You got a towel?” Greg rasped, voice hoarse. “Or are you gonna fuck me through the afterbirth like a real man?”

Rookie looked up, flushed, breathless.

“…I left the towel in the truck.”

Greg smirked, dark and devilish.

“Good. Then shut the door.”

Part 3 - Paternity Leave? Never Heard of Her

The sun was just starting to rise over the job site.

Inside the trailer, it smelled like sweat, sex, and the sharp tang of something far more primal — that deep, instinctive scent of afterbirth and breeding and claiming. Greg lay half-naked on the couch, belly soft, his sweat-streaked shirt shoved up over his chest.

One arm cradled his newborn on his chest — wrapped in Greg’s safety vest, already fussing like a foreman in training.

The other arm?

Gripping the edge of the couch cushion so hard his knuckles went white.

“F-Fuck, Rookie…!” Greg groaned, voice hoarse and wrecked. “You’re still going?”

Rookie didn’t answer — just grunted, hips snapping forward, cock buried to the hilt in Greg’s still-leaking hole.

The kid had been insatiable since the birth. Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe it was the way Greg’s body hadn’t even tried to close up. Hell, maybe it was the sight of his boss, belly deflated, legs spread, still dripping, still open.

“Can’t stop,” Rookie gasped against Greg’s neck. “You’re still so warm… so fuckin’ wet… your hole’s sucking me back in every time—fuck—like it wants another baby.”

Greg moaned, low and feral. “It does, you dumb fuck. You knocked up the site manager, you think he stays empty for long?”

Rookie’s rhythm faltered—just for a second—then slammed back in harder.

Greg’s head lolled back with a growl. “That’s right. Breed me. Don’t let this hole close up—pump me full while I’m still fuckin’ gaping.

The infant let out a soft coo, totally unfazed by the raw, desperate fucking happening inches away.

Greg looked down at him. “Don’t worry, kid. You won’t be an only child for long.”

Rookie bit his lip. “You sure? You just gave birth hours ago…”

Greg grinned through the sweat and the stretch and the deep ache of being split wide and bred again.

“Listen, Rookie,” he panted. “I’m a construction daddy. I don’t take breaks. I take loads.”

One more thrust, and Rookie finally spilled — deep, messy, warm enough that Greg felt it flood him, fill him, push against the rim of his already-raw hole.

They both froze, panting. Greg’s cock twitched — and fuck it, he came again, shooting across his own chest.

“Jesus Christ,” Rookie groaned. “We need a mop.”

Greg chuckled, stroking Rookie’s back, still deep inside him.

“No, kid,” he said. “We need a crib.”

[iceteacola]

Initiated & Impregnated

Chapter One: Welcome to the Brotherhood

Brian yanked at the collar of his too-tight pledge shirt — gray, itchy, and stitched with the cursed gold letters: ΦΚΨ. The thing hugged his dad bod like a punishment. Great, he thought. Nothing screams undercover like visible nipple chafe.

Across the quad, Peter was doing a pathetic job of blending in. His five-o’clock shadow, deep crow’s feet, and the glint of cop-grade paranoia didn’t exactly scream “eager freshman.” Oh, and he forgot to swap out his tactical boots.

“This is the dumbest fucking thing we’ve ever done,” Brian muttered into his wire.

“Correction,” Peter’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “This is the dumbest thing you dragged me into, you emotionally constipated divorcee.”

“Me? You’re the one who said this was our last shot before we got canned.”

Peter didn’t answer — just clenched his jaw as a 6’3 lacrosse god named Blake slung a muscled arm around his shoulders and pulled him into the AEPi house like he’d been claimed.

Brian watched him disappear, then turned toward the Phi Kappa Psi house and muttered, “Here goes nothing,” before stepping through the doors and into hell.

The smell hit first. Sweat. Cheap whiskey. Axe body spray. And underneath it — something floral and wrong. Incense? Pheromones?

Inside, the party was an orgy of noise and hormones. Shirtless frat bros grinding to bass drops. Strobe lights flashing over oiled abs and pelvic thrusts. Red Solo cups flying. A pledge was doing body shots off someone’s ass in the corner. Another was being handcuffed to a beer keg.

The room pulsed like it had a heartbeat.

“You made it!” a voice called out over the chaos.

Brian turned — and holy fuck.

There stood Kai. Tall, dark hair slicked back, cheekbones that could cut glass, eyes like trouble. He looked him up and down slowly, like he already knew what size he’d stretch to.

“I’m Kai,” he said, lips curving into a wicked smile. “You’re mine this term.”

Brian opened his mouth to object, to pull rank, to say something that didn’t involve tongue-tied silence. Instead, a cold cup was shoved into his hand. The crowd swallowed him whole.

At the AEPi House, Upstairs

Peter had no idea what was in the punch, but it hit fast. His skin was flushed, his shirt halfway undone. Blake leaned close, explaining something that sounded a hell of a lot like a cult pitch.

“Every pledge gets soul-bonded to a big,” Blake said, voice low and weirdly reverent. “It’s not just initiation, bro. It’s legacy. You get chosen. You get filled. You get… reborn.”

Peter blinked. “You make it sound like we’re joining a fucking sex cult.”

Blake just smiled. “Not a cult. A bloodline.”

Later That Night

They woke in separate beds. Separate houses. Same problem.

Brian groaned, the sheets twisted around his bare thighs. He blinked against the sunrise bleeding through the blinds. His head throbbed. His chest ached. Not hangover ache. Deeper. Like someone had rewired his nerves.

His hand drifted to his stomach.

Bloated. Warm.

“Shit…”

Peter stumbled out of a bedroom wearing someone else’s shorts. He caught a glimpse of himself in a hallway mirror and stopped cold.

His abs — gone. In their place, a soft swell. Puffy. His nipples were visibly dark through the thin tank top.

“What the fuck…”

Three Days Later at the Hawthorne Campus Drugstore

They moved like fugitives, hoodies pulled low, sunglasses at night. Brian was clutching his stomach like it might burst. Peter looked like he hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours.

“I swear to God, Brian, if this test comes back positive—”

“It won’t. It’s hormones. Frat drugs. Maybe we got dosed with estrogen or some weird experimental sh—”

They emerged from separate stalls.

Five minutes later.

Two pink lines.

They stared.

Peter whispered, “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Brian didn’t look up. “No. No no. This isn’t happening. We’re men. We’re fucking men. I have two kids, Peter.”

“I had a girlfriend until she left me for her Pilates instructor, Brian. Don’t act like you’re the only one spiraling here.”

They stepped outside, dazed, holding the tests like time bombs.

Then — footsteps.

Half-naked frat brothers emerged from the dark like wolves. Shirts open. Eyes gleaming. Waiting.

Kai stepped forward. “You thought you could leave?”

Blake followed. “Once you’re seeded, you belong to us.”

Peter took a step back. “This is some fucked up hazing ritual—”

“It’s tradition,” Kai said, grinning. “And tradition is everything at Hawthorne.”

Brian stared as they closed in.

He was pregnant.

Peter was pregnant.

And all he could think was:

"Fuck. What the hell did we get ourselves into?"

Chapter Two : First Trimester, Final Warning

Three days after the test.

Brian stared at the mirror like it had personally betrayed him.

His stomach was round. Not bloated. Round. Tight. Firm. Like he’d swallowed a goddamn basketball. His nipples had gone weird — darker, sensitive, and tender in a way that made brushing against his shirt feel borderline pornographic.

“What the actual fuck…” he whispered, lifting his shirt again like the bump might vanish if he squinted.

He pressed a hand to it. It was warm. It shifted slightly under his palm. Alive.

Knock knock knock.

Peter burst in, hoodie zipped high despite the suffocating heat. He looked pale. Greasy. And yes, there were saltines stuffed into his pocket like he was on a road trip to hell.

“We need to go,” Peter hissed, wild-eyed.

Brian turned slowly. “You too?”

Peter pulled up his hoodie and slapped his hand over a visible curve. “I threw up three times this morning, cried over a dog food commercial, and if someone tries to take my gummy worms again, I will kill them with my bare hands.”

Brian groaned. “My boobs feel like someone filled them with lava.”

“We’re fucking pregnant, Brian.”

Brian nodded slowly, deadpan. “Oh, believe me. My tits agree.”

They waited until midnight.

Flashlights in hand. Frat hoodies up. They snuck into the Restricted Archives, stepping over dusty volumes and security gates that hadn’t worked since the Bush era.

Peter scanned the shelves, muttering to himself until his fingers landed on a thick, leather-bound book behind a cracked glass case.

Fraternitas: The Sacred Womb of Brotherhood

Brian read aloud from the passage Peter held open with trembling fingers:

He who is chosen by the Brother’s Seed shall carry forth the Bloodline of the House, his womb consecrated through Ritual and Bond. Initiation shall be complete only when the Newborn is delivered during the Moon of Binding.

Brian blinked. “The fuck do you mean ‘womb’?”

Peter just gestured at his stomach. “Apparently… we’ve got those now.”

They kept flipping — past sketches of men swollen with life, bare-chested and glowing, etched symbols pulsing across their skin. One page was crusted with something dark — old blood? Wine? Hell, maybe afterbirth.

Brian’s voice cracked as he read:

To abandon the Rite before Term is to trigger the Wrath of the Founder. The Carrier shall be Claimed. There is no exit. There is only Birth.

He shut the book.

“Well, shit.”

The next morning at Phi Kappa Psi

Brian had made it halfway down the hallway with his packed duffel before the door locked itself behind him. His phone screen went dark. No signal. Again.

He spun around — and there was Kai. Barefoot. Shirtless. Eyes glowing faintly like a smug, sexy demon.

“You’re not leaving,” Kai said calmly.

Brian took a breath. “You don’t own me.”

Kai tilted his head. “No? Then explain that.”

He pointed to Brian’s stomach — glowing faintly under the fabric. Brian looked down. The curve had deepened. The veins beneath the skin pulsed with a golden hue.

“You’re not a man anymore,” Kai whispered, stepping closer. “You’re a vessel. You’re his.”

Brian’s jaw clenched. “You knocked me up at a fucking frat party. I’m not honored. I’m violated.”

Kai’s grin widened. “You’re glowing, baby. That’s not shame — that’s legacy.”

Meanwhile in the AEPi Kitchen

Peter was curled up on the cold tile floor with a heating pad shoved under his hoodie and a half-empty bottle of Tums in his hand.

Blake knelt beside him.

“You okay, man?”

Peter’s voice cracked. “My ass hurts. My tits are leaking. And I almost bit a freshman who tried to offer me a granola bar. What the hell do you think?”

Blake just smiled.

“First trimester’s a bitch. But you’re doing amazing.”

Peter blinked. “You’ve seen this before?”

“All of us have,” Blake said, smoothing Peter’s sweaty hair like they were in a Lifetime movie. “We don’t recruit anymore. We reproduce.”

Peter’s blood ran cold.

“You’re not a pledge,” Blake whispered. “You’re a legacy bearer.”

That night the dreams came.

Brian saw himself in a massive temple. His body was huge. Glowing symbols floated over his bare stomach, which pulsed like a star. A group of robed brothers surrounded him, hands pressed to his thighs. There was pain. Power. Pressure.

And then he screamed.

He woke drenched in sweat, panting, his hand already resting over the hard swell of his belly.

His navel had popped.

Across the room, Kai was watching him from a chair in the dark, hands folded calmly over his lap.

“We’re getting close,” Kai said.

Brian didn’t scream. He just whispered: “Fuck me.”

The Escape Attempt at 3:12 a.m.

They met behind the gym, panting, swollen, both of them visibly bigger than they’d been three days ago.

Peter hissed, “Okay. New plan. We find the altar. Blow it the fuck up.”

Brian groaned. “Or it blows us up. Ever think of that?”

Peter was already pacing. “I’d rather die from magical detonation than deliver some glowing demon baby in front of a room full of beer-soaked frat bros who think foreplay is doing pushups.”

Brian paused. “Fair.”

He rubbed his belly, wincing.

“This kid is kicking the hell out of me.”

Peter blinked. “Did you just say kid?”

Brian groaned. “Oh fuck. We’re getting attached.”

Chapter Three: The Founder’s Curse

Four Weeks In

Brian had officially outgrown every pair of pants he brought.

His last clean pair exploded across the breakfast table after a heated argument with Kai over whether “womb-nourishment berries” were a real thing or just some culty bullshit that tasted like regret and grass clippings.

“I’m not eating that!” Brian snapped, swatting the bowl off the table. “I’m a cop, not your fucking incubator!”

Kai, infuriatingly shirtless and smug, just nodded to Brian’s glowing belly and said, “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

Brian would’ve tackled him if his ankles weren’t the size of softballs and if his belly didn’t knock over a chair every time he turned too fast.

Across Campus at AEPi

Peter had entered what the house referred to as the “Glow Phase.” Which sounded cute—until it involved leaky nipples, unsolicited belly rubs from robed frat bros, and Blake leaving aphrodisiac-laced body oil on his pillow with a winking emoji Post-it.

He stood in front of the mirror, shirt off, lotion bottle in one hand, rage in the other.

“Why do my fucking nipples look like I’m about to breastfeed a Greek god?”

His belly shifted suddenly — a slow, snakelike roll just under the skin.

Peter dropped the bottle. “Oh fuuuuuck no.”

Midnight in the Library

They were done waiting. Done glowing. Done pretending.

Peter slammed the duffel bag of fireworks on the library table. “We found the blueprint. Hawthorne’s original chapel — it’s under the old ROTC building. That’s where it started. That’s where it ends.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “That’s your plan? We’re magical womb-bombs in the making and you want to double down with explosives?”

Peter patted the bag like it was sacred. “It’s this or we birth the Antichrist in a kiddie pool surrounded by horny frat druids.”

Brian grunted and rubbed his lower back. “Just don’t make me take stairs.”

1:00 a.m. in the ROTC Building

Condemned since ‘88. Smelled like mildew, old testosterone, and broken promises. The floors creaked like they knew what was coming.

They found the hatch under a busted vending machine.

Etched across the rusted metal:

ΦΚΨ • ΑΕΠ Bound not by blood… but by seed.

Brian snorted. “God, I hate this school.”

They pried it open and descended.

Below the Chapel

The air down there was thick — damp with time, dust, and power. The altar stood dead-center, cracked marble etched with ancient runes that glowed when the two of them stepped close.

Peter reached out.

The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the whole room moaned.

Then—

Peter doubled over. “Oh, fuck—fuck—fuck—”

Brian barely got to his side before he buckled, clutching his belly as a white-hot pain ricocheted down his spine and into his hips.

They collapsed to the ground, side by side, both panting, both soaked in sweat, both clutching their hard, glowing stomachs.

“Why… is this happening now?!” Brian gasped.

Peter whimpered. “It’s the altar. It’s… it’s like it knows. It’s triggering labor.”

“NO. No fucking way. I didn’t even pack a hospital bag.”

Another contraction slammed through them.

Peter’s fingers clawed at the floor. “We’re not ready. We are NOT fucking ready!”

Brian screamed as his belly pulsed again — skin glowing gold, stretched so tight it looked like it might tear open.

“We have to destroy it,” he gasped. “Before this thing makes us give birth to Satan in matching Greek jerseys.”

Peter yanked the fireworks from the bag, his hands shaking.

“Light ‘em up.”

Upstairs — Alarms

A piercing keening began. Not a siren.

A ward.

The Brotherhood knew.

The Explosion Happened

They lit the fuse.

The altar screamed — a high, unholy sound that rattled their bones. The runes flared, golden veins cracking across the stone like lightning. The air shook.

Then— BOOM.

Marble shattered. The light exploded.

When the smoke cleared, Brian and Peter lay on the ground, drenched in sweat and golden afterbirth-like mist, bellies still round and very much still occupied.

Brian groaned. “I think we bought ourselves some time…”

Peter opened one eye, weakly. “Or cursed ourselves harder.”

They tried to crawl away—

But they weren’t alone.

Aboveground – Waiting

Ritual robes. Bare chests. Lit torches.

The Brotherhood was ready.

Kai and Blake stepped forward as Brian and Peter emerged, weak and wobbling, looking like nine-months-pregnant escapees from a supernatural maternity ward.

“You broke the altar,” Kai said, expression unreadable. “But not the bond.”

Peter growled. “The fuck does that mean?”

Blake grinned. “It means… you’re not carrying babies anymore.”

Brian’s stomach flipped. “Then what the fuck are we carrying?”

Blake stepped closer, voice reverent.

“The next generation of the Brotherhood.”

Chapter Four: “Due Date

Day 38. Or so they thought.

Brian had been carving tally marks into the wall with a broken pencil for three weeks. It was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Thirty-eight days since they went undercover. Thirty-eight days since they were impregnated at a fucking frat party.

But his body?

Didn’t give a damn about time.

His belly was huge. Tight. Skin stretched to its limit. Veins bulged like lightning under the surface. He waddled now. There was no walking — it was a slow, shifting sway like a man trying not to fall forward from the gravitational pull of whatever the hell was inside him.

His belly button had popped two weeks ago.

His back felt like it had been hit by a truck.

And his nipples? Sensitive to the point of obscene.

He leaned against the wall of what the Brotherhood called a “Birthing Suite.” No windows. A bed with wrist restraints. Cameras in the corners. No phone. No signal. Just soft music and lavender-scented candles that made him want to puke.

A low moan echoed through the air vent above his head.

Peter.

Still alive.

Still inside AEPi’s own holding chamber across campus.

Across Campus in AEPi’s Lower Chamber

Peter wasn’t moaning anymore. He was screaming.

His belly looked even bigger than Brian’s. High, tight, and constantly shifting. Like something inside was pressing against his insides, stretching them, testing their limits.

The baby — or whatever the hell it was — had started to move differently.

Less fluttering. More… pacing.

Peter groaned, sinking back into the pillows, shirt soaked with sweat. Blake entered wearing a ceremonial robe and a calm, cult-leader smile.

“You’ll deliver soon,” he said softly, placing a hand on Peter’s belly.

Peter swatted him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Blake chuckled. “You’ve been so strong. So fertile.”

Peter’s voice cracked. “I swear to God, if you say one more spiritual bullshit sentence, I will crawl out of this bed and beat you to death with my own placenta.”

Blake knelt beside him, rubbing slow circles on the blanket. “You’re not just a carrier, Peter. You’re a chosen vessel. This isn’t a child—it’s the Founder. His soul. His power. Reborn in you.”

Peter blinked. “I’m giving birth to a goddamn demon baby.”

Blake smiled wider. “No. You’re giving birth to a legacy.”

Phi Kappa Psi in Brian’s Room

Brian tried to sit up — only for a deep, sharp pain to tear through his pelvis.

His hands flew to his belly. It was rock hard. Contracting.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck no—”

He stumbled to his knees, bracing against the mattress. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He was shaking.

Another contraction.

Worse.

Deeper.

Real.

He screamed.

“KAI!”

The speaker crackled above him. Kai’s voice, calm and far too chipper:

“Time doesn’t exist down here. The closer you are to delivery, the faster it accelerates. You’re right on schedule.”

“You lying bastard!” Brian bellowed, gripping the bedframe as his belly twisted beneath him.

“You’ll survive,” Kai said. “But you won’t be the same.”

Peter Minutes Later

Peter’s water didn’t break.

It exploded.

A burst of glowing, golden fluid shot across the room like a fire hydrant. He screamed — not out of embarrassment, but pure pain as another contraction hit like a wrecking ball to his spine.

“FUCK!”

The walls shook. Lights flickered. Something inside him kicked, and every inch of his body screamed for relief.

Blake rushed in with robed brothers behind him. Towels. Ritual herbs. A fucking gilded surgical lamp.

“What the hell is that?!” Peter shrieked.

Blake just smiled. “He’s coming early. He’s ready.”

“I am NOT,” Peter shouted. “I didn’t write a birth plan. I didn’t take a class. I didn’t even make a goddamn playlist!”

“Shhh,” Blake cooed, brushing his hair back. “You won’t need one. He already knows the way.”

Surveillance Room – Dean Wallace

Dean Wallace watched it unfold on her monitors like a stage play — two glowing bellies, two bodies unraveling.

It was working.

Finally.

“The Ritual failed in ‘83. And ‘96. And 2012,” she whispered. “But this time…”

She placed her hand on the ancient scroll beside her.

“This time, he returns.”

The Convergence at 2:11 a.m.

Reality fractured.

The walls of the frat houses bled golden light.

Dorm windows cracked.

Across campus, dozens of frat brothers fell to their knees, chanting, glowing faintly, their voices syncing in an unholy rhythm.

Brian screamed.

His belly had dropped. Fully. Pain shot through him, primal and unforgiving. His hands shook. His thighs trembled.

“GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Kai knelt behind him. Calm. Reverent.

“You’re almost there.”

Brian bared his teeth. “You said that six contractions ago, you gaslighting son of a—AAHHH!”

Peter pushed.

Sweat and golden light poured from him. The air rippled around his body. The runes on the walls glowed brighter.

The Founder was coming.

Chapter Five: The Delivery

Peter’s Room at 2:03 a.m.

Peter was beyond screaming.

His throat was wrecked. His body — soaked in sweat, fluids, and magic — trembled with the kind of pain that only came from being forcibly converted into an ancient myth’s glorified birthing chamber.

His belly was massive. Unnatural. Glowing with power.

And it would not stop moving.

Every contraction sent a surge of gold through his veins. His skin pulsed like a living rune. His hands gripped the sheets hard enough to tear them.

Blake knelt at the foot of the bed, face beatific, voice calm.

“You’re doing beautifully. He’s almost here.”

Peter whimpered. “I feel like I’m being split in half.”

“Because you are,” Blake said reverently. “It’s the price of carrying divinity.”

The ceremonial lamp overhead buzzed. The Brothers circled him now, robes swaying, mouths open in low, synchronized chant.

The room vibrated.

Peter’s back arched.

And from deep inside him, he felt it—

Descending.

Brian’s Chamber – Same Time

Brian was on all fours, gasping like a man possessed.

Sweat rolled down his chest, soaking his shirt and the floor below. His belly had dropped. The pressure was unreal. Like the weight of the universe was trying to escape through his spine.

Every contraction felt like an earthquake centered inside his pelvis.

Kai knelt behind him, hands braced gently against Brian’s hips, voice low and measured like a fucking midwife.

“You’re so close, Brian. You’re opening perfectly.”

“Don’t fucking narrate it!” Brian bellowed. “GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Kai chuckled. “Just push.”

Brian’s whole body tensed. His back arched. He pushed.

And something inside him shifted.

Down.

Lower.

Ready.

Brian screamed like a man being exorcised. Like something ancient was tearing its way free.

Which, in fairness, it was.

The Campus at 2:11 a.m.

Lights burst across campus.

Windows cracked. Ivy glowed.

Students in their dorms jolted awake, clutching their bedsheets, sweating, confused, aroused. Something had changed.

The Brotherhood stood in full formation across both houses, eyes glowing gold, mouths chanting:

“He returns. He is born. We are made whole.”

Peter's Delivery

The pressure was unbearable.

His legs were bent wide, thighs shaking. Brothers held his hands as he bore down, red in the face, eyes glowing white-hot with strain.

Push. Push. Push.

He screamed through clenched teeth — until a burn tore through his lower body, and something wet and heavy slid free.

Peter collapsed, shaking violently.

Then he heard it.

A cry.

A low, otherworldly chime that vibrated through the walls like a bell rung from another dimension.

Blake caught the child in both hands, holding it up like a divine offering.

Swaddled in white silk.

Eyes wide.

Glowing.

Peter blinked, barely conscious.

“What… is it?”

Blake whispered: “He is everything.”

Brian's Delivery

Brian felt the ring of fire. The stretch. The impossibility.

His body pushed anyway.

His screams were ragged and hoarse, his arms braced against the mattress, his hips trembling under Kai’s guiding hands.

Then, with one final, guttural roar—he birthed it.

The moment the child was born, the whole room filled with blinding light.

Kai lifted the baby — slick with golden fluid — and held it to his chest.

“Welcome home,” he whispered.

Brian collapsed forward, trembling, tears running down his face.

“I’m… still alive?”

“You are,” Kai whispered. “But you’re no longer just Brian.”

The Awakening

Both infants — radiant, impossibly still, and watching — were brought to the center of the ruined chapel.

Dean Wallace stood beside the rebuilt altar, scroll in one hand, dagger in the other.

Brian and Peter were dragged in, limp, glowing with afterbirth and exhaustion, their bodies still pulsing faintly.

The babies were placed between them.

The Brothers began to chant.

“ΦΚΨ… ΑΕΠ… He returns. He awakens.”

Brian rasped, “We were supposed to end it…”

Dean Wallace didn’t look at him.

“You never had a choice,” she said softly. “You were chosen before you were born. Just like them.”

Peter sobbed, staring as the two babies began to float, lifted by nothing but light and legacy.

Their eyes opened fully.

Golden. Endless.

The babies merged — one glowing orb of cosmic energy, suspended in air.

And the entire campus shook.

The Founder had returned.

Chapter Six: “Legacy Bound

Silence.

The world didn’t end.

Not like they thought it would.

No screaming skies. No apocalypse. No thunder of fire raining down from the heavens.

Just…

Silence.

And golden light.

Brian woke slowly. Naked beneath silk sheets. His belly — deflated, soft, sore. A phantom pressure still lingered between his hips, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that it was over.

He reached down, touched the stretch-marked skin, the ridges, the faint pulse that still thrummed deep inside.

He wasn’t the same.

Not even close.

Beside him, Peter groaned.

Same bed. Same sheets. Same look of what the actual fuck just happened on his face.

Their hands met in the middle.

“Are we alive?” Peter croaked.

Brian’s voice was sandpaper. “Define ‘alive.’”

They both looked up.

The altar had been rebuilt — bigger now. Cleaner. And standing at the center, floating inches off the floor, was Him.

The Founder.

No longer a baby. Not even a man. Just light. And shadow. Bones woven in stardust. Eyes as old as the void.

He spoke directly into their minds.

“You have served well.”

Peter clenched his jaw. “We didn’t ask for this.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Brian sat up slowly. “You used us.”

The Founder’s voice didn’t waver.

“I elevated you. You were dying — broken, discarded men. I made you immortal. You are now part of the Line.”

The Brotherhood stood behind Him, in full ceremonial robes. Watching. Silent.

“You were not meant to stop me. You were meant to bring me home.”

Peter whispered, “So what now? We just… become your disciples?”

“You become my origin.”

Brian tried to stand, stumbled. His knees were jelly. His insides still echoed.

And that’s when he saw it.

On the far wall — the school crest had changed.

Two crowned infants. A blazing cradle. And below it:

Founded by Blood. Reborn by Seed.

Peter looked down at his hands. They glowed faintly.

“We’re not cops anymore,” he said hollowly.

Brian met his eyes.

“No. We’re something fucking worse.”

Epilogue: Fatherhood at Hawthorne

Six Months Later

Peter lived in a remote cabin surrounded by salt lines, dreamcatchers, and three layers of magical wards. His son, Elias, could already walk. Spoke full sentences. Once looked into a mirror and shattered it with a whisper.

Peter didn’t sleep much anymore.

When he asked Elias who he was talking to in the night, the kid always said the same thing:

“I’m talking to myself.”

Brian moved to Maine. Quiet. Cold. Off-grid.

His son, Sol, never cried. Never blinked. Just stared.

Once during a storm, every light in the town went out — except the nursery.

He tried to pretend it was normal. Pretend that maybe, somehow, this would fade.

But every time Sol touched his stomach, he felt that pulse again.

The Brotherhood wasn’t gone.

It had just… evolved.

They kept in touch.

Burner phones. Video calls once a month. Not to check in on each other.

To compare symptoms.

To warn each other when the boys said something they shouldn't know.

When they started glowing again.

When the dreams returned.

When they caught their own reflections smiling before they did.

They weren’t just fathers.

They were the Founders now.

And the Brotherhood?

Would never die.

[iceteacola]

🏛️ “After the Party” — A Brotherhood-Born Drama

The frat house still reeked of stale beer, sweat, and something that could only be described as "cheap tequila and bad decisions." Red solo cups dotted every surface like the aftermath of a plastic blizzard, and Liam — the youngest pledge and most visibly pregnant — groaned as he bent to pick one up.

His shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat from both effort and something more primal. The contractions were coming faster now.

"Ugh—shit," Liam hissed, dropping the cup and grabbing the edge of the table for support. His belly, round and full, pressed between his knees as another wave hit him like a linebacker. A deep, guttural sound escaped his throat — equal parts pain, fear, and... something else.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs.

“Bro, you okay?” said Trey, the chapter VP, sliding in sock-footed across a puddle of spilled beer. His eyes widened. “Oh hell no— You’re having the baby now?!”

Liam nodded through gritted teeth. “I was just trying to clean up the living room, I didn’t think—ahhhnn—this would happen today!”

From the hallway, Marcus called out, “He needs water—get him water!” He rushed in, shirtless and panicked, dropping to his knees beside Liam. His hands hovered nervously before finally gripping Liam’s shoulders with unexpected tenderness. “You’re okay, we’ve got you.”

“No we don’t,” barked Josh, the only sober brother last night and therefore the newly elected voice of reason. “Someone call an ambulance!”

“I’m calling, I’m calling!” shouted Darren, already fumbling with his phone, pacing barefoot across the wreckage of party night.

The light above flickered. Harsh shadows danced across their faces like a low-budget indie film — but nothing about this felt fake. Liam crouched lower to the ground, another contraction taking over. His skin was flushed, lips parted, and his breathing rapid and shallow.

“Guys,” he panted. “I think my water just broke... on the Coors carpet.”

“Bro…” Trey whispered reverently. “That’s, like, the most frat birth ever.”

Liam couldn’t even roll his eyes. He was too busy groaning through another contraction.

Marcus crouched closer, his hand resting protectively on the underside of Liam’s belly. “Hey,” he murmured, voice barely above the noise of the TV still playing reruns in the background. “You’re doing incredible. Seriously. You’re like… the strongest guy I know.”

Liam looked up at him, dazed, sweat running down his temples. “You better name this baby after me.”

“You’re the one having it, dude. We’re naming him whatever you want.”

Josh returned, clutching a stack of towels, clearly stolen from the guest bathroom. “Towels down. Floor’s too gross for a miracle.”

Liam collapsed to his knees with their help, clutching Trey’s forearm in a death grip. "I can't believe I'm giving birth... in front of all of you... in a frat house."

Marcus smirked through the panic. “Hey. We said no pledge left behind, remember?”

[iceteacola]

"Hi mama.

It's Colt. I'm sorry I haven't visited ya in a while, but life been's awful busy. I think about you a lot, but coming here to visit you is hard for me. Gets me all teary and makes it difficult to think. That's not on you, though, mama, that's all me. I gotta fix that about myself and that's why I'm here.

It's real pretty 'round here this time of year. I think you must like that. You love the springtime. You always say it reminds you of little Maybelle and our short time with her. How's she doing up there? Well, I hope. I've been thinkin' lots about her too, mama. Wondering if she gets to grow up and live the life she never got down here in this mortal plane, ya know. I guess I won't know until I get to see you again in forty or fifty years. I hope a lot, though. Pray, too.

Mama, I have some things to confess to you. I don't really know where to start. You're a good listener, but this ain't the kinda story I'm accustomed to tellin', on account of you never heard anything quite like it outta my mouth before.

I met someone, mama. Someone who makes me feel loved like I haven't felt since the last time you held me close. Strange feeling. Different, for sure, but definitely love. I'm sure you're excited for me, mama. I know you would be. You always talk about me finding my one, like you had with daddy, so I know if you could be here in the flesh, you'd be giving me one of your big ol' mamabear hugs and grinnin' like a fool. I hope that, at least.

Mama...the person I've fallen in love with is a man.

The most wonderful man I've ever met, actually. He's everything you always told me that daddy was before he passed: kind, handsome, strong, well-mannered, but still a good ol' country boy. He makes me wanna be the best version of myself for him. A kiss from him is a tall glass of ice-cold sweet tea on a hot summer day. We're goin' on four years together and he still leaves me feeling giddy that he's mine every time I get a good glance at him.

I tell you all this, mama, because I know what you think of men bein' with men. 'Unnatural' and 'not of God' and whatnot. You've been gone a long time now, though. Nigh on fifteen years in a few months. The world's changed. Attitudes changed, people changed, laws changed, but my memory of you has stayed the same and mama... that haunts me.

I know what you thought when you left this world, but I know you were not a stubborn lady. I'm here because I want your blessing. I want you to send me a sign that you hear me. God, I want it more than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life, because I can't have the last thing I heard out of my mother's lips about the life I lead being that nasty dreck the pastor poisoned your tongue with.

I'm sorry for cryin', mama. No, no, I'm not. You don't want that for me. Like you always say, 'tears are for a reason'. I'll cry it out.

I felt that. That wind against my cheeks. Your hands wiping away my tears. Rustling the flowers as you breeze towards me to wrap me up. You're here.

Mama, I've got another little somethin' to share. You're gonna be a grandma soon. My partner and I are expectin' a baby. She's growin' inside me right now. I worry every day. How odd that is. You always get on my case for bein' so easy breezy and now I'm wound tighter than a drum. I guess that's what life as a parent is about, though. All the worry, worry, worry for the life you're giving to a child and whether it'll be better than what you had.

I don't want you to worry anymore. That's my burden now. I'm the mark you left on this world and I wanna do you proud. I want you to enjoy bein' a grandma. I'll bring the little one to meet you here, soon. I think we're long overdue for a family reunion. This ain't the solemn place I made it out to be in my head; it's a place of joy.

Ha, I felt that little wind. You tryin' to swat at me? Of course you were. I know how much you hate when I play like that. But mama, I've always loved your name. That's why my baby girl's getting it too. Joy Maybelle Howard. Pretty, ain't it?"

[iceteacola]

Pregnant male prison shower pics

[iceteacola]

"Yeah, things aren't working out too well with my boyfriend right now, or ex-boyfriend I should say. He got mad because I was hanging out with a friend I used to date. Like he doesn't hang out with his ex-boyfriends or girlfriends."

[iceteacola]

With audio

[iceteacola]

"Hey, you're Kris Eichmann, right? I think our daughters are in the same class," Arvind said to the gray-haired man as the attendants of the PTA meeting began to filter out of the gymnasium, "I'm Arvind. Sara Chaudhri is my daughter."

The gray-haired man shook his head and grinned as he took Arvind in.

"Close, but no, I'm Vance Eichmann. Our daughters are in the same class, though, assuming you think my daughter is Louise."

Arvind blushed slightly.

"Ah, my bad. 50/50 shot and I got it wrong. Yes, I assumed you were Louise's dad. Either way, nice to meet you."

He extended a hand and received a firm shake from Vance.

"Likewise, man. Louise told me that she'd just met another girl with two dads last week and I was wondering when I'd get the pleasure. Not too many of us around these parts," Vance said, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

Arvind shrugged in a non-committal way.

"Yeah, as far as I know, our kids are the only ones with two dads in the grade. I think there's a boy in another class with two moms, but yeah, a little lonely out here," Arvind said.

"It's tough! Small town politics, you know. The kids are easy and the teachers are fine with it. It's the other parents you have to watch out for. Lot of sneaky little snakes in the grass in these parts. Anyway, Louise told me that you guys are new in town. Where did you move here from?"

"Pittsburgh! My husband Tim is an oncologist and he was working for the University of Pittsburgh. Housing prices were out of control there and we've always wanted to be in the suburbs, so Tim took a job at Our Lady of Mercy and we made the big move. It was also precipitated pretty heavily by uh...this," Arvind said, cradling his baby bump, "We hadn't really planned on another just yet, but life happened and we had to speed up our timetable."

"Ah, I was wondering. I'm also in the family way, as you can see. This'll be number seven for me," Vance said, patting his belly from both sides.

"Whoa, big family!" Arvind said in surprise.

"Ha, yeah, though only the third I've given birth to personally. Kris is my third spouse. Two kids each with both of my ex-wives, the youngest of whom is now seventeen. Louise is my eldest with Kris."

"So you're bisexual or...?"

"Nah, I'm definitely gay, hence the two divorces, but it took me until 40 to figure that out. Wasn't gonna let that stop me from being a dad!"

"Hey, good for you. You like being a dad a lot, then?"

"It's the freakin' best. Even better when they bake in your own oven. I love my older kids dearly, but these young ones...oh, it's different. Breastfeeding was the first time I really felt it. Pregnancy is so abstract, but when you have a real human baby in your arms who's drinking straight from you to survive, you can't help but fall head over heels."

"Gosh, that sounds amazing. This is actually my first time carrying for us," Arvind confessed, "Tim was hellbent on carrying at least one of our children, despite the fact that he's 80% of our household income and was finishing up residency at the time, so Sara was his one. I'm excited to get my chance."

"Arvind, my man! Oh, dude, you're gonna love it. How far along are you?"

"Just hit 30 weeks."

"Ahhh, about a month ahead of me. You're in for a fun time soon. This is right when the hormones start to mature and your birth canal begins to stretch. Your husband's gonna take notice and be all over you. Make sure you let him go to town on you at least every other day, starting in about a week. It'll help build up some muscle tone and it makes birth a lot easier."

Arvind blushed again in embarrassment as he checked to see that nobody else at the PTA meeting was still in earshot.

"Yeah, I guess I can try that with him, maybe," he said, unsure of what else to fill the awkward silence with.

Vance smacked himself on the forehead, realizing his faux pas.

"Ah, sorry. Me and my big mouth! I'm realizing now that you probably think I'm some hypersexual weirdo because I said that without telling you my job. I'm a sex therapist specializing in queer sex and pregnancy; I don't have a lot of shame when it comes to talking about traditionally taboo topics. Ignore me!"

Arvind chuckled as he realized the error.

"You lead an interesting life, Vance Eichmann."

[iceteacola]

Joey

I moaned gently, holding my legs up while he pushed in. My parents weren’t home, but it still felt dangerous to make noise.

Jethro started to rock his hips, and with each firm thrust into my ass, I couldn’t help but let noise escape me.

“Good boy,” he said.

He entered me so much easier than last week, and fuck it felt way better too. My dick was hard as a rock as he fucked me.

“You’re so much wetter than last time, Boy. That pussy of yours is getting an appetite.”

He reached down and rubbed his hand over my chest, pinching my nipple. I cried out.

He paused for a moment, and reached for the dildo he had placed next to me on the bed. His cock slid out of me with a slopping pop. He was right, I’d never been this wet before.

He slipped the dildo into me, and my ass took it easily. Then, holding it in place with one hand, he guided his cock in along side it.

“Siiir” I sighed as he pushed in, inch by inch.

“Yes, boy?”

“you feel so good” i said to him.

It only took three thrusts with both his cock and the dildo in me before my dick spurted my load all over my belly. With his free hand he scooped it up, and lifted his cum- covered fingers to my mouth.

“Open” he said, and I obeyed.

I sucked his fingers clean of my salty jizz, while he continued to stretch me.

Eventually I felt his dick pulse, his cum sinking into my ass. He pulled out, and I sucked him clean.

“You feeling better now?” He asked, stepping back and starting to gather his clothes.

“Dude,” I said, gesturing to the small bump under my belly button. “You really think one great fuck is going to make me okay with this.”

“relax boy, Joey looks great in you.”

“Joey?” I asked.

“yeah, I reckon if it’s a boy we call him Joey.” He said, zipping up his jeans.

“I haven’t decided to keep it yet.” I said.

“Call him by his name, boy” Jethro snapped.

“I haven’t decided to keep Joey yet” I said, obeying my commands. In that instant, something changed. I put my hand to the soft bulge, my skin sticky from my cum.

I held on to my last strand of righteous anger. “I can’t believe you pushed a fertility pill into my ass without asking. And now you’re standing here grinning- you should be apologising to me.”

He laughed, pulling on his white t shirt. “Stand up and give me a twirl.”

I pushed myself off the bed, and twirled for him. It was the perfect mix of embarrassing and possessive.

“Look at you: wide hips, full womb, thick legs and bulging biceps. You should be thanking me, boy” he said. Stepping closer to me, one hand moving to my belly, the other to my neck.

“Thank me, Boy” he whispered in my ear.

“Thank you, Sir” I said back, softly. I was lost in the sensation of his hand massaging where my abs used to be.

“For what?” He prompted me, his breath like feathers on my neck.

“Thank you for putting a baby in me, Sir” I said, starting to feel truely grateful as my cock stiffened again.

He cupped my ass, sliding a few fingers into me.

“Gotta go to work now, Boy.” He said, “You two Have a fun final few weeks at college. Soon you’re just gonna be a baby maker.”

[iceteacola]

Angelo

“Get on my cock, Angelo” He said.

I looked over to him, one hand under my five month belly.

“Sir?” I said, unsure.

“Come and get on my fucking cock” he ordered. Leo was the daddy of the baby settled in my womb. He moved in across the road from my house about six months ago. Even though he was eight years older than me, we had got on great.

I shuffled carefully over to the bed, and straddled him, his thick cock popping into my wet pregnant ass easily: the first time he had fucked me, he had had to use lube and start finger by finger. Now, after months of daily fucking, it was like my ass had adjusted to his dimensions.

he started to rock his hips, his dick gently thrusting in and out of me. I moaned: fuck, he was good. I can’t believe my parents hadn’t wanted us to date.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been your usually self” he said, his cock rubbing against my prostate. “You’ve been reserved, less bouncy. What are you worried about?”

I tried to be honest whenever he asked a question: he likes me to be open and clear. “I don’t want to get stretch marks”.

“Oh baby,” he said, his hips rocking faster, my boypussy squelching around his cock. “Your stretch marks are a sign of your submission to

me boy, be proud of them.”

suddenly, he stopped moving his hips, just as I was about to cum.

“Bounce.” He ordered. I looked at him, wide eyed. “Bounce on my cock, boy”

I bounced, and he looked at my belly and smiled. “Keep going” he said.

I bounced on his cock over and over, my belly the victim of gravity.

the next morning, I looked at myself in the mirror: my previously pale white belly was striped with stretch marks.

[iceteacola]

🏛️ “After the Party” — A Brotherhood-Born Drama

The frat house still reeked of stale beer, sweat, and something that could only be described as "cheap tequila and bad decisions." Red solo cups dotted every surface like the aftermath of a plastic blizzard, and Liam — the youngest pledge and most visibly pregnant — groaned as he bent to pick one up.

His shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat from both effort and something more primal. The contractions were coming faster now.

"Ugh—shit," Liam hissed, dropping the cup and grabbing the edge of the table for support. His belly, round and full, pressed between his knees as another wave hit him like a linebacker. A deep, guttural sound escaped his throat — equal parts pain, fear, and... something else.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs.

“Bro, you okay?” said Trey, the chapter VP, sliding in sock-footed across a puddle of spilled beer. His eyes widened. “Oh hell no— You’re having the baby now?!”

Liam nodded through gritted teeth. “I was just trying to clean up the living room, I didn’t think—ahhhnn—this would happen today!”

From the hallway, Marcus called out, “He needs water—get him water!” He rushed in, shirtless and panicked, dropping to his knees beside Liam. His hands hovered nervously before finally gripping Liam’s shoulders with unexpected tenderness. “You’re okay, we’ve got you.”

“No we don’t,” barked Josh, the only sober brother last night and therefore the newly elected voice of reason. “Someone call an ambulance!”

“I’m calling, I’m calling!” shouted Darren, already fumbling with his phone, pacing barefoot across the wreckage of party night.

The light above flickered. Harsh shadows danced across their faces like a low-budget indie film — but nothing about this felt fake. Liam crouched lower to the ground, another contraction taking over. His skin was flushed, lips parted, and his breathing rapid and shallow.

“Guys,” he panted. “I think my water just broke... on the Coors carpet.”

“Bro…” Trey whispered reverently. “That’s, like, the most frat birth ever.”

Liam couldn’t even roll his eyes. He was too busy groaning through another contraction.

Marcus crouched closer, his hand resting protectively on the underside of Liam’s belly. “Hey,” he murmured, voice barely above the noise of the TV still playing reruns in the background. “You’re doing incredible. Seriously. You’re like… the strongest guy I know.”

Liam looked up at him, dazed, sweat running down his temples. “You better name this baby after me.”

“You’re the one having it, dude. We’re naming him whatever you want.”

Josh returned, clutching a stack of towels, clearly stolen from the guest bathroom. “Towels down. Floor’s too gross for a miracle.”

Liam collapsed to his knees with their help, clutching Trey’s forearm in a death grip. "I can't believe I'm giving birth... in front of all of you... in a frat house."

Marcus smirked through the panic. “Hey. We said no pledge left behind, remember?”

[iceteacola]

With audio

(made with Hedra AI)