The Creampie Cosplayer

The pregnancy test sat on the bathroom counter like a accusatory plastic judge, two pink lines screaming positive in bold defiance of Marin's remaining teenage years—technically she was nineteen now, but still.

"Well," Marin said, holding the stick up to the light and tilting her head, her blonde hair with pink tips swaying. "That's definitely two lines."

Akito, her agent at the boutique cosplay photography studio, stood in the doorway with his camera still around his neck. He'd followed her to the bathroom after she'd sprinted out mid-shoot, claiming she needed to pee for the fiftieth time that morning.

"You're... not upset?" Akito asked carefully, running a hand through his hair. He was only twenty-four, barely out of university, and now he was staring down the barrel of impregnating his most popular—and most expensive—cosplay model.

Marin turned, her eyes wide and sparkling with that particular brand of chaotic enthusiasm that had made her internet famous. "Upset? Akito-san, do you know what this means?"

"That I need to update my liability insurance?"

"It means my boobs are going to get huge!" She grabbed her chest through the remnants of her shredded Sailor Moon costume—they'd been shooting an "after battle" concept that had gone predictably off-script. "Do you know how many followers I'd gain with pregnancy cosplay? The engagement? I could do Mother Mary, I could do that pregnant demon lady from that one anime, I could do—"

"Marin." Akito pinched the bridge of his nose. "You do realize this is... real? Like, actual baby? Not a prosthetic belly?"

She waved her hand dismissively, already pulling out her phone to google "pregnancy-safe cosplay materials." "Yeah, yeah, tiny human, responsibility, blah blah. But think about the content, Akito-san! The aesthetic!"

Three Months Later

"Okay, so," Marin said, spread across Akito's studio couch with a half-eaten pickle in one hand and her phone in the other, her belly just beginning to show beneath an oversized "I ❤️ CREAMPIES" t-shirt she'd had custom made. "I was thinking for today's shoot, we do the whole 'virginal maiden corrupted' thing, but like, ironically, because I'm already pregnant? So it's commentary?"

Akito adjusted his camera settings, trying not to stare at the way her breasts had indeed swelled to magnificent proportions, straining against the thin cotton. "Marin, you do realize why you're pregnant, right? We don't need to shoot commentary about it."

"Exactly!" She sat up, eyes bright. "We need to shoot more of it! The fans are going wild for the pregnancy reveal. I've gained forty thousand followers since the announcement. Forty thousand, Akito-san! All because you couldn't pull out to save your life!"

"I tried," Akito muttered, remembering that fateful afternoon three months ago when Marin had wrapped her legs around him and whispered, in that voice that bypassed rational thought entirely, "Cum inside, it feels better for the photoshoot authenticity."

"Trying is for quitters," Marin declared, tossing the pickle aside and hopping up. She was wearing thigh-highs and nothing else below the waist, her slightly rounded tummy on full display. "Now come on, I want to shoot the 'naughty pregnant wife' set today. I brought props!"

She dragged out a box labeled "MARIN'S SECRET STUFF (DO NOT TOUCH)" and produced a series of increasingly improbable items: a stethoscope ("for listening to the baby while we do it!"), a bottle of expensive massage oil ("for my expanding MILF body!"), and a calendar with specific dates circled in red marker.

"What's the calendar for?" Akito asked, already knowing he didn't want the answer.

"Ovulation tracking!" Marin beamed. "I mean, obviously I'm already pregnant, but like... what if I want another one? After this one? For content? Twins are so in right now. The Olsen twins, those creepy twin horror movies, think of the cosplay potential!"

"You're nineteen."

"And thriving!" She struck a pose, hand on her hip, belly pushed out, looking like a fertility goddess crossed with a TikTok influencer. "Now get over here and take some photos of me being a pregnant slut. And then—" she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "—we do the real content. For the premium subscribers."

Akito sighed, but he was already raising his camera. He'd given up trying to apply logic to Marin's particular brand of genius months ago. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Nope!" She giggled, already pulling off her shirt. "Just the death of your pullout game! Now hurry up, I've got a doctor's appointment at three and I want to be full of cum for it. The ultrasound tech gives me such judgmental looks and I live for it."

As the camera began its rhythmic clicking, Marin launched into a detailed explanation of her new business plan—something involving "pregnancy announcement cosplay," "lactation content," and "eventual mommy-baby matching costumes"—all while striking increasingly explicit poses that showcased exactly why she was his most popular model.

"And then," she said, spreading her legs wide and winking at the camera with her tongue out, drool already beginning to form at the corner of her mouth in that way that drove fans crazy, "we start working on baby number two! For the content!"

"For the content," Akito agreed wearily, already unbuckling his belt.

"FUUUUUCK!" Marin screamed, as he entered her, the sound echoing off the studio walls. "MY SECOND CREAMPIE OF THE DAY! IT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOOOOOOD!!!"

Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor probably called the police. Marin didn't care. She was already planning her next nine months of increasingly unhinged pregnancy cosplay, and she had never been more excited about anything in her entire life.

"Take the picture!" she demanded, legs wrapped tight around Akito's waist, ensuring he couldn't escape even if he'd wanted to. "Take it while you cum! I want to see the plap plap plap in 4K!"

The camera clicked. Marin came, screaming about content creation and engagement metrics and how pregnant pussy was "tighter because of the hormones, I read it on a forum."

She was, Akito reflected as he filled her for what felt like the hundredth time, absolutely going to ruin him.

And he was absolutely going to let her.