#hiding a pregnancy

[willowser]

once you and katsuki discover you're expecting, you agree to keep it to yourselves for a little while.

you can't hide forever, but you want the chance to bask in the excitement of what's to come, together, away from outside eyes prying in. and you do: there's an immediate difference in the way you touch each other, how often, with katsuki even shifting coverage for patrol just so he can cling to your side for an extra day or two. it's like a honeymoon, almost, and you take the time to enjoy it like one.

but of course he wants to tell his parents as soon as he can, though he doesn't outright admit it; as soon as you start pushing the boundary of your waistband, he finds time in his schedule to see his dad—and then mitsuki makes time for him to see her.

katsuki tells toshinori next, who becomes quite emotional at the sight of your ultrasound, which in turn makes katsuki surprisingly emotional, too. there's much that they say and even more that they don't, but it's all communicated, regardless.

and lastly—he has to tell his nerd-ass friends.

it happens on one of their bi-monthly outings—that katsuki has consecutively been skipping for a little while, for obvious reasons. and it's like the minute he sits down in his seat and orders his food and one beer, everything he'd planned to say dissolves in his head.

despite wanting to keep quiet, he's been trying to plot out his announcement to these exact shit heads since the moment you found out. it's just so personal, and even after everything, katsuki's still discovering how to share those parts of his life with others, still coming to terms with the fact that he wants to.

he'd considered doing it slowly, rather than all at once in front of all of them, but he very quickly realized how terrible of a plan that was; deku would not physically be able to contain such knowledge in his body for any period of time, kirishima is a notorious fucking gossip, and if shouto had given him some kind of shit ass, wrinkled-nose look, he would have had to howitzer him through a building.

so he just says it, because he's never really been one for subtlety.

right after everyone's received their food and started to take their first bites, denki makes a point to ask,

"how's things with your honeybun, kacchan?"

and normally he'd have a fit at the nickname, but instead he hears bun and feels his stomach flip like it does when he remembers, when silly little things remind him of what the two of you have made together, and into his food, he simply says,

"we're havin' a baby."

the expected silence falls over all of them, save for the scaping of utensils against katsuki's bowl. he's damn good at feigning nonchalance, but food is getting stuck in his throat and his heart is beating so hard that he can hear it deep in his eardrums. of course he knows, but it dawns on him again, how overrun he is with excitement.

across the table, denki takes his turn to speak again. "you're...what?"

and then the whole room is erupting into a mass of chaos, moving in pieces like a riot of unrefined children, and even though he's being hounded with a million questions and being shaken around by his shoulders and some of these assholes are crying—katsuki graces them all with a big, fat grin.

[stupidlypregnant]

A dumb little pet who has no idea why their belly has been swelling over the last months or why their chest ist so sore.

They're so confused, they haven't been eating more, actually even less with all the nausea they've been experiencing. Their belly isn't soft either, it's firm, the skin over it already stretched so tight stretchmarks are showing at the underside. Their lower back and hips are hurting all the time now with how heavy their middle became.

But their owner has told them it's alright. Nothing's wrong, it'll go away soon. He's telling them right now, as they're laying in bed, wincing because their chest is feeling unbearably full, they've been leaking all day, trying to hide it from him in embarrassment.

He's kneading their aching chest, making his pet whine and whimper, putting pressure on their sensitive nipples until streams of transparent white fluid are running all over their ripe body and the pressure dissipates a bit.

The poor little pet places their owner's hands on their taut belly next, begging him to make it better too, maybe if he rubs it enough it'll go down too. But he just laughs, calling them dumb and cute while he digs his fingers into the sore muscles, showing them that all that happens is it stirring up that weird fluttering feeling as if something's growing inside them.

[dykedvonte]

I think it says something that Jimmy absolutely destroyed the crew and ship in half the time Curly was captain. Like he couldn’t even get them past 2 full months before breaking down.

Like he really couldn’t be half the man he thought Curly was.

[seiwas]

cw: happy tears and tickle fights, birthday celebrations and other things. unedited sawry. ‼️ FIC SPOILERS PAST THIS PORTION OF THE CONTENT WARNING ‼️ pregnancy.

.

hajime’s birthday this year is different.

you don’t celebrate on the day of, contrary to your tradition of keeping it free no matter what. instead, you decide on the weekend, taking time to prepare his gift while he’s out of town.

the sunday morning starts out slow, a late wake to his usual 5:00 a.m. runs. you shift beside him, turning to snuggle deeper into his hold.

you weren’t able to wait for him last night, any hour past midnight simply impossible for you to keep up with these days.

your breath puffs out in a long exhale, tickling his collarbone.

he pulls you closer when you move, tucking his nose into the crown of your head. it’s something you both do, you’ve noticed—breathing each other in the moment you return to one another.

the celebration today is not lost on you, but you take in these few silent moments with him for just a bit longer.

when he stirs, squeezing you tighter as he mumbles a low ‘morning’, you peer up to kiss his chin. he’s ticklish there, you know, especially when your lips catch on the bits of stubble grown a few days after he shaves.

it takes longer for you both to get out of bed because of that, a tickle fight ensuing as hajime sneakily crawls his fingers up your armpits, blowing raspberries at the spot right below your ears.

you slip into the bathroom that way—a little clumsy and a lot giggly. then you crouch low, opening the cabinet under the sink; hidden in it is your gift for him, a flat rectangle wrapped in kraft paper and a green bow.

it’s the first thing in your agenda today, you’ve decided, unable to wait until he receives it at the end of the day, like you’d originally planned.

hajime’s propped up against the headboard when you step back into your bedroom, blanket scrunched at his hip. you’re no fan of the season’s heat, but you thank god it’s summer, because at least, you’re met with the view of his exposed chest every morning.

he holds an arm out to welcome you back in, letting you rest your legs across his lap as he cradles your back.

“your gift,” you whisper, holding out the wrapped rectangle, “open it first. that’s the first thing on our agenda today.”

he chuckles, taking the soft rectangle from your hands while kissing your temple, “thanks, babe. you didn’t have to.”

you watch eagerly, tucking yourself into his side as you wrap an arm around his waist. he tears through the wrapper but sets aside the bow, knowing you like to recycle them when you have the chance.

hajime is a simple man, and at the sight of his favorite brand of socks, he lights up at the addition of one more to his already-full drawer of them.

he turns to you, about to pepper your face with a bunch of kisses but—

“check the hem, i got something done to it.” you giggle.

he looks confused for a moment before he turns them over, plain white save for the dark green letters running around its ankle garters.

there’s another reason you decided to celebrate his birthday this weekend, on the third sunday of june.

he deciphers the word, reading each letter: p-a-p-a, and you can see the cogs turning in his brain before he immediately whips his head to face you.

“you’re—?”

you nod.

there’s something indescribable in his eyes, emotion welling up as they gloss over dark olive green—it makes you want to cry, too.

damn all these hormones.

“happy birthday, papa.” you sniffle, smiling wide, “and happy father’s day.”

(after a whole lot of tears, and even more kissing, you show hajime the tests you took while he was away. he tells you you should have told him, that he would have come home, but you shake your head.

it’s well worth it, seeing his reaction to two things he can celebrate today.)

[constantnbpreg]

graaaaaaahhhh i’m in such a hiding a pregnancy mood rn

like i’m so ashamed and embarrassed that i got my womb filled by a stranger and now im trying to hide it. i don’t want people to know how easy it was for me to get knocked up and for first trimester im able to keep it under wraps. big sweaters and hoodies can make sure no one sees how my tummy is protruding a little and pushing up against my jeans.

but when that second trimester comes around and i find myself unable to suck in my growing bump is when things getting harder to conceal. i still try and convince myself i can keep hiding it though by using a rubber band to keep my pants closed and myself decent. keep making myself believe that this growing problem can be hidden even when my chest has grown and my hips have thickened up to help me

it’s when i’m out and about, my bump starting to press against my not so baggy hoodie and the curve of my back from its heavy weight makes me reach around and put a hand on it to better support it and i’m told by a sweet stranger that i’m absolutely glowing with my pregnancy that i know i have to fuss up and admit to everyone that i went and got myself carelessly bred

[mrkida-art]

Been showing some of this on discord today, some of you may be interested so here's some of my own tolkien dwarf world building/hc notes (there is a lot so these are snippets). Beware, it's personal notes of mine so there may be grammatical errors as well as typos haha.

cw for pregnancy, and death (and child death) mentions, as well as other darker themes such as child soldiers

[imnothereokuwu]

Bio-child Happy revisit!

Why? Because nobody else would draw it, I'm taking things into my own hands. 😤

Btw it's a revisit because I have done this before, it's just not posted here pfffttt.

By now you must have realized that I'm a creature of pure self indulgence :D. Good. I don't want anyone having their expectations crushed when I draw what I want when I want, consider this a warning :).

Anyways bxbdiakanshd they so cuteeeeeeeee *sob*

[imagine-darksiders]

Thank you to the marvellous @humboltsquid for commissioning a fanfic with pregnant Reader attempting to hide said pregnancy from the Horsemen because she fears they'll buy into the social rhetoric surrounding single mothers who don't know who the father is.

TW: Vomiting, morning sickness, drinking, Pregnancy, briefest allusion to sa, no actual sa took place, everything was consensual, both parties were drunk, Reader remembers most of the night except the guy's face and name. Horsemen are predictably angry about someone touching their little sister.

---------------------------------------------------------

Porcelain, cold and consolidated, bites into the sensitive skin of your palms as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, your arms locked like overheated pistons just to keep yourself standing upright in defiance of how your legs seem determined to collapse out from underneath your weight.

To your right, the loo gurgles noisily, flushing away any traces of the meal you’d spewed up into it only moments ago. At least the sound helps to drown out a voice thundering at you from the other side of the door.

“Let us in!”

Fumbling with the tap for a moment, you bend down, spooning a palmful of fresh, cooling water into your mouth. As you do so, you spare a baleful glance down at the loo again, and the food lost to its pipes… Perfectly good rations… all gone to waste.

Five years on from the Great Resurrection and Earth’s agricultural efforts are finally on a steady incline. While the food situation isn’t anywhere near as desperate as it was when Humanity woke up to a world without excess, that doesn’t mean you’re particularly pleased to see precious rations wasted because you couldn’t hold them down.

And now that you’re supposed to be eating for two…

Groaning, your expression twists into a look of remorse, and you place one hand gently on your stomach, roaming a palm over the bump that lays hidden beneath the baggiest jumper you could find. You’re only too aware that it won’t be so easy to hide the swell in another couple of months.

You barely manage to bite back another miserable groan as a colossal fist hammers against the door so viciously, you almost wonder if the wood will splinter and break, which starts to seem more likely when seconds later, a familiar voice booms out, “If you don’t open this door, I’m tearing it from its frame!”

Ah… That’ll be War; youngest of the Four Horsemen, an armoured, muscle-bound colossus who also just so happens to be one of your very dearest friends.

A friend who has been growing rightfully suspicious of you over these last couple of months…

There are only so many excuses you can fall back on to explain away your frequent and unexpected dashes for the nearest bathroom. You can only thank the Creator that neither of the Four seem all that well-versed on the more delicate biological functions of humans.

Swiping a wrist over the back of your mouth, you lean away from the sink and assess yourself in the mirror, doing your best to ignore the taste of vomit still sitting like a layer of fuzz on the roof of your mouth.

‘How long are you going to keep this up?’ you pose to your reflection, her sleep-stained eyes bearing back into yours as if she too has had the same question.

It’s been like this for a few weeks now, ever since the dreaded Morning Sickness wrapped its hands around your guts and wrung them with a relentlessness that leaves you scrambling for the closest bathroom at least twice a day.

It wasn’t this bad in the first trimester… Now entering your second, things are getting a Hell of a lot harder to manage. To hide.

Slowly letting your eyes slip shut, you exhale through your nostrils in exasperation as a different voice accompanies the first. “Kid? I uh… I think he means it. We just wanna make sure you haven’t drowned in there.”

Strife… The humour he tries to inject into his quip is overshadowed by his hand rattling at the doorknob. He’s worried. They all are. You wouldn’t have thought it possible, if you didn’t know them personally, though each Horseman will swear up and down they don’t ever feel such trivial, human emotions.

Actions, however, speak louder than words.

Their sister, Fury, has hardly left your side ever since Mrs Gaffe tutted at you from across the hallway and you immediately retreated into your apartment, leant back against the door and wept into your hands. She didn’t know… She didn’t know Mrs Gaffe who lives on your floor is also a chemist, and she’s also the very woman who sold you your pregnancy test… and the subsequent tests you went back for when the first came up positive. You’d spent over an hour convincing Fury that, no, she doesn’t need to defend your honour by besting old Mrs Gaffe in combat. Though you let her know you appreciated the gesture.

You try to think the best of your neighbours. And you certainly didn’t like to think of Mrs Gaffe being a gossip, but judging by the curious and frequently disdainful glances other people in the building sent your way, you soon came to realise your secret was not such a secret after all.

You’re pregnant. And the father is nowhere to be found.

You only hope word doesn’t get back to the Horsemen somehow. You don’t think you could bear it if their gazes turned sharp and pointed as well.

Outside the bathroom door, you hear War grunt at Strife to move aside, and at last, you decide you’ve stalled enough.

Shoving yourself off the sink, you spin around on a hell, regretting the action as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock you back down to Earth, but it’s soon dispelled with a deep breath and a second to gather yourself, calling, “Okay, okay, I’m coming out.”

Someone – Strife, you think – grumbles, “Finally.”

Grabbing the handle, you pull the door towards yourself and tilt your head back, blinking up at the two, immense shapes blocking the entire width of your hallway. If it weren’t for the space between your bedroom and bathroom being meagre at best, you imagine you’d have the remaining two behemoths cramped in there as well.

“When did you guys get to be so clingy.”

War’s ice-blue eyes glare down at you from beneath a crimson hood.

You start to edge past them, feeling like a fish trying to squeeze between a pair of grizzlies. Just as you make it past and put your back to them entirely, you hear Strife announce, “All right. That’s it.”

“What’s it?” you ask hesitantly as he advances on you, his heavy, metal boots thudding on the carpet. Before you can react, the Horseman suddenly slings a bulky arm around your waist and hoists you off your feet, tucking you into his side. You’re forced to fold almost in half, bent over Strife’s uncomfortable gauntlet with most of the pressure bearing down on your stomach.

“STRIFE!” you exclaim, horrified.

“I’m not lettin’ you go until you tell us what’s been goin’ on with you,” he huffs, clomping into the living room with War bringing up the rear. By the window, Death twists his bone-mask towards the commotion, his shoulders flattening, unimpressed. “Brother…” he warns.

Fury too, tosses Strife her own disparaging glare from the sofa and barks, “Is it truly necessary to manhandle the human?”

You, however, hardly pay attention to a word they exchange. Your mind is utterly and wholly on the point of your stomach that’s digging into the Horseman’s gauntlet. You can cope with the discomfort, but it isn’t just you anymore.

There’s no thought to the cry you let out, just a plea borne of a desire to protect the little life growing inside you, by any means necessary. “Strife!” you exclaim, smacking your palms against his armoured thigh in a bid to relieve some of the pressure around your gut. “Put me down! The baby-!”

No sooner has the word left your lips than you find the arm restraining you springing open, letting you tumble to the floor. A jolt shoots through you as your hands and knees strike the carpet, but all you can celebrate in that moment is that the strength of a Horseman is no longer curled around your vulnerable stomach.

You don’t look up at the Horsemen until you’ve pushed yourself back to your feet, patting down your jumper. When you do happen to glance up, your face immediately falls.

Death has shifted from his position by the window and now stands several, jarring feet closer, he and Fury both, in fact. The latter has somehow leapt from her seat on the sofa in the time it took you to gather yourself up off the floor.

But more disconcertingly, they’re still. Utterly motionless as if they’ve been caught in a pocket of frozen time.

Gulping, you tentatively twist your head over a shoulder, only to find War and Strife are in much the same state.

Strife has backed up to stand next to his brother, his liquid-gold eyes round beneath his visor, neither one of them twitching so much as a single muscle. It’s… eerie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so still before. Death, maybe, but not the other three.

It only occurs to you then that you might have let something slip.

Then, at last, just as you wet your lips to call out to one of them…

 “What did you say?” Fury breathes, cutting neatly through the heavy blanket of silence draped over the room.

Blinking owlishly, you turn back to face her, your mind scrambling for an adequate response.

“What… what do you mean, ‘what did I say?’”

Feigning ignorance it is.

You actually leap several inches off the ground when the Horseman suddenly explodes back into motion, storming forwards in your direction and exclaiming, “What baby?!”

“B-baby?” you double down, backing away from her until your spine collides with a solid torso – War. “Who said anything about a baby?”

“You just did!”

“Did I?”

“Y/n…” Death utters in a slow and cautious tone as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt at the slightest provocation - Hell, given the furtive glances you keep swinging around his side at the door to your apartment, he might be in the ballpark. His voice alone carries enough authority to silence his sister, and more than enough to make you clamp your jaws shut painfully tight. “You’re with child?”

It’s strange, but despite the inflection on his last word, you get the impression he isn’t asking you if you’re pregnant, but merely whether you’re ready to admit to the fact.

The hopelessness of it all dawns on you when you meet his enduring, gilded stare.

He knows.

And if Death knows, there’s little point in continuing your efforts of duping the other three. In spite of outward appearances and their frequent, often frightening disagreements, the Four Horsemen have a bond stronger than tungsten. So, with a head that suddenly feels weighed down by months of secrecy and deflection, you lower your gaze to the floor near his boots and give a slow, sombre nod.

It’s as though your little confirmation is all that they needed to lift the veil on any and all doubts.

The shadows they cast on your carpet suddenly start to tremble as an overhead light flickers, strobing on and off until it sputters weakly back to life and holds steady, albeit dimmer than it had been before.

The Horsemen seem to grow in size, muscled shoulders bulge like raised hackles and four sets of eyes flare with an ethereal light as they shift their weight, bearing down on you like toppling monoliths.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Strife mutters venomously under his breath, “I’m gonna kill whatever bastard laid a finger on-”

“-W h o  t o u c h e d  y o u?” the eldest Horseman’s growl cuts him off. It’s guttural and animalistic, so much so that you can’t withhold a flinch. You could count on one hand the number of times Death has outwardly lost his temper, which makes it all the more alarming to witness.

Stumbling over your words for a beat, you keep your eyes fixed to the floor as the Old One stalks across the meagre living space towards you, his ominous shadow growing along the carpet to swallow you whole. When it seems he’s right on top of you, you finally blurt out, “N-Nobody!”

In hindsight, that wasn’t the most logical answer.

Fury – her vibrant hair whipping behind her like angry, coiling snakes - scoffs, tucking her arms firmly across her chest. “Nobody?” she parrots, “I’m no expert, but don’t these things usually involve two parties?”

“Great! Now she’s lying to us,” Strife barks, pacing back and forth behind you and throwing a hand up to rake the fingers of his metal gauntlet through his stiff, black hair, “I don’t believe this, we go off world for two weeks-!”

“Were you hurt?” War’s voice, though less jagged than Death’s, is pitched low enough to rumble through you until it resounds inside your chest. You can feel his presence behind you, too close for comfort, the living embodiment of rage and violence.

You suddenly fear for the man whose face and name you can’t recall.

“I… no,” you protest, hugging your elbows close, “It wasn’t anything like… like that. It was an accident! We were out drinking, and I-“

“DRINKING!?”

Your mouth snaps shut as Death lurches towards you, and you’re finally forced to tear your eyes off the carpet when his sinewy fingers slide around your biceps and he hauls you a foot off the ground, holding you up to his mask and subjecting you a shout that’s rife with unparalleled urgency. “You know what that does to a human’s inhibitions!” he demands.

His hands are gentle, neither hurting nor bruising the delicate skin on your bare arms, but the power behind even his gentlest grasp is frustratingly insurmountable.

You’ve never liked how easily he can manhandle you. “Yes, Death! I know what alcohol does!” you snap back, kicking your legs and trying to twist out of his grip, “I’m not a kid anymore, stop treating me like one! And put me down!”

You’re aware that your point is all a matter of perspective. For the Horsemen, there’ll always be some small part of them that continues to see you as a youngling. You’re human, after all. A hundred years wouldn’t even see a Nephilim out of adolescence. Not to mention that the Horsemen have all but declared you as one of them… One of theirs - an unconventional, human sibling they’ve taken into their fold.

It's not so easy for them to simply stop seeing you as their little sister, no matter how much you might wish they would sometimes.

As your retort fades into silence, Death blinks, recoiling his head slightly with wider eyes, and it will only occur to you later just how rare it is to make Death falter.

The other three, although their bodies still quiver with barely contained adrenaline, have fallen quiet whilst you stare down their eldest until at last, he lowers you gingerly to the floor, setting you safely on the carpet once again and retrieving his hands.

You’d never dare to say it aloud, but in that moment, something like shame flashes over the dark sockets of his mask.

“Why didn’t you tell us, kid?” Strife asks, the crux of his question tinged by badly concealed hurt.

“This, Strife,” you sigh, throwing your arms out towards he and his siblings, exasperated. Fury with her face set into a thunderous scowl. War’s metal gauntlets curled into bludgeoning fists. Even Strife is idly tracing a finger on the stock of Redemption in its holster, and Death – especially Death – whose ancient magics are still causing the lamps in your room to fade in and out…

Heaving another, immense sigh, you continue, “This is why I didn’t tell you.” Well. It’s one of the reasons, but at this point, it’s a fairly vital one. “I mean, look at you!”

Each Horseman shares a glance with one another.

“You’re all raring to go on a manhunt to find a guy who didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” War grunts, teeth still bared despite following the lead of Death and reeling in his temper, if only slightly, “He mated with you-“

“Oh, hell, War, don’t say it like that,” Strife complains, grimacing under his visor.

“-and now you carry his child, and he has abandoned you both?”

Biting at the soft flesh inside your cheek, you withhold a frustrated groan and remind yourself that War’s sense of Honour is vastly inflated. The ‘father’ of your child’s ignorance won’t excuse his absence, not in War’s eyes.

Even so, you try to dissuade any ideas of retribution before they can gain traction.

“He didn’t abandon us, War. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist! Goodness knows I can hardly remember that night…” You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Death’s eyes are suddenly the hardest to meet. You recall your first introduction to Lilith; the self-proclaimed mother of all Nephilim, and subsequently the Horsemen themselves. You know of the demoness’s… reputation. You also know firsthand how much the Eldest Horseman despises her. You’re terrified Death will see something of Lilith in you, that you’d be so liberal with your own body as to end up with a child.

The inside of your eyelids start to burn. “And now everyone is gonna think I’m just some skank who went and got knocked-up by a stranger and… and-… They’re always gonna look at my kid and wonder who the father is. I don’t even know who the father is.”

There are tears prickling at your eyelashes, but you force your hands into fists at your sides, refusing to wipe them away lest your draw attention to them. The Horsemen see anyway.

Light blooms back to its full power across your apartment, your lamps stop trembling, and a pale finger crooks beneath your chin, tilting your head back until you’re peering up at a stoic mask of bone.

Death’s ebony hair falls in curtains around his face as he bends a little to speak to you in a hushed yet urgent tone. “He didn’t…” Hesitating, he draws in an unnecessary breath to fill dead lungs and alters his trajectory. “You were not forced…?”

You wish you didn’t know why that question is so important to Death, why the concept of consent means more to him than it might the others.

“No,” you reiterate miserably, “That’s one thing I do remember. I wanted, uh… it, at the time, a-and so did he. He didn’t know this would happen any more than I did.” You pause to lay a hand over your stomach, furrowing your brow as you give it a pensive stare and missing the way Death’s shoulders slump with relief. After a second or two, you hesitantly raise your chin to look him in the eye again, hoping that what little determination you can inject into your voice will hold strong. “… Look, I’m not proud of it, but it happened. I can’t change things… and… I’m keeping them. I’m sorry, but I’m keeping this baby.”

You hold your breath, expecting arguments, expecting a rebuttal or perhaps even a scoff or two.

“Why would you be sorry for that?” Strife pipes up instead.

It throws you off kilter. Pulling away from Death, you swivel around to frown uncertainly at War and his brother, fiddling with the hem of your jumper’s sleeve. “Well… I mean… I-I’m having the baby…“

When you don’t say anything further, War raises a hand and pulls down his hood, exposing the full extent of his wispy, white hair. “Yes?” he prompts, the unspoken ‘and?’ ringing clear as a bell.

“I’m having the… baby of a… of a man I don’t… know?” you finish slowly, glancing at each of them in turn.

“Big deal!” Strife announces so abruptly, you have to do a double-take, “You don’t need him to help you raise a little human! You’ve got us!”

Nodding her head, Fury adds, “Far be it from me to agree with Strife, but… in this case, he may be right.”

War grunts his own agreement, and when you throw an incredulous look at Death, you’re floored to see him dipping his head in concurrence as well.

“You’re…” Darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips, you squint at the eldest Horseman, asking, “You’re not angry?”

He’s quiet for some time, contemplative even as his gaze roves lower until it comes to a stop on your torso. Then, gently, he replies, “The only qualm I have is that you’ve been trying to bear this weight on your own two shoulders. And while I wish you had told us sooner, at least now we know how to help you.”

“Help me?” you utter, voice cracking.

Death’s eyes dance with a sudden fondness. “Well,” he replies, “As I’m sure Strife has told you repeatedly-“

“- you’re one of us,” said brother butts in, expertly finishing Death’s sentence and stepping up beside you to lay a heavy palm on your shoulder, “We take care of our own. Same goes for your kid.”

You’re too late to stop a choked noise from escaping the base of your throat, but before you can say anything, War steps forwards, towering over you as he pounds a solid, metal fist against his chest, directly over his heart in a show of allegiance.

“You and yours will always have the protection of the Four,” he proclaims.

“You… you don’t have to, you know,” you sniff, swiping a few fingers beneath your eyes, “I signed up for this baby, you guys didn’t. It’s okay if you don’t want to get involved because -“

“-Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,” Fury gruffly interjects, “You’re sorely mistaken if you think either one of us will be leaving your side for the foreseeable future.”

“Fury,” you laugh wetly, aiming a wobbly smile at her, “You mean that?”

The surly Horseman’s lip curls but she merely shrugs and retorts, “I may not care much for children, but someone will have to stick around to teach our youngling how to fight.”

Our youngling…

Your heart squeezes appreciatively, even if she might not have noticed the slip.

“That’s just her way of sayin’ she cares about children if it’s yours,” Strife’s voice murmurs in your ear, and with a gentle nudge at the small of your back, he pushes you towards the sofa his sister has vacated. If Fury hears him, she doesn’t dispute his words.

As you’re herded to sit down, War, ever the more practical of his siblings, is busy casting a rather dissatisfied look around your apartment, making a quick mental note to ramp up fortifications. He’ll have to schedule watches between himself and his siblings too…

“I can’t believe it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to the Horsemen, sinking down among the cushions of your sofa and shaking your head, “I’ve been so worried about telling you guys I’m pregnant, and you’re just… okay with it.”

“As if we’d be anything else,” Death sighs, roving a quick look over you from head to toe. Squinting slightly, he adds, “Hmm… I’m not, however, okay that you can’t seem to keep food down lately. I take it that’s why you’ve been disappearing so suddenly of late?”

Giving him a sheepish nod, you shuffle to one side, allowing Strife to flop heavily onto the sofa next to you, his enormous thigh squashing you up against the arm rest. “I’ll go for more rations in a bit,” he announces, eager to provide.

“I can go,” you say, “They are for me, after all.”

Burly shoulders bristle in a display of faux authority as Strife instantly argues, “Nuh uh. You’re stayin’ right here where it’s safe.” He grumbles a nonsensical sound, then begrudgingly admits, “Hate you leavin’ at the best of times…”

Despite the niggle of exasperation that begs you to remind them you’re not helpless, just pregnant, you offer him a warm grin and bump your shoulder against his side, saying, “You’re going to make a great uncle, Strife.”

To say the Horseman’s mask almost flies off as he whips his torso around to face you would be an understatement.

You have to lean back, as though pushed away by the sheer intensity of his blazing stare. “What’d you say?” he breathes.

“I… oh, I, er…” Realising you may have overstepped, you swiftly attempt to backtrack. “I mean, that’s not what you have to be called, I was just-“

“-Uncle... That’s the brother of a human’s parent…” His eyes shine like the sun as they bore into you across the sofa. “Right?”

Uncertain, you quirk a brow at him. “Uh, yeah?”

He contemplates that for a second before he asks in a far smaller voice that almost doesn’t sound as if it belongs to the boisterous Horseman you know, “I’m your brother?”

“Of… course?” you blink, surprised that he’d need to even ask that question, “Of course you are. You said it yourself, I’m one of you. Sorry to say it, but that goes both ways. You’re my brother Strife. A-and if you’re okay with it… I’d like you to be this baby’s uncle.” Tearing your eyes off the sharpshooter whilst he none-too subtly coming apart at your side, you send a tentative look up at War, peering at him from under your lashes. “You too, big guy. But! Only if that’s okay with you? I just… want them to grow up knowing who their family is…”

War coughs into a mighty fist, hoping to hide the tiny smile that’s trying to bloom at the sides of his mouth, “In that case, it would be an honour to be acknowledged as the child’s ‘Uncle,’ until my dying breath.”

Always so serious. Giving your head a fond shake, you flash their sister a knowing look and call, “What about Aunt Fury? You on board?”

“Hmph, well,” she shrugs one shoulder, turning to glare at the wall, “It… has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

You’re not fooled. The way she’s keeps having to wrestle the corners of her lips back into a terse line speaks volumes.

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Death,” you say, at last addressing the Reaper who is watching the proceeding with a calm, reserved expression. At least until he catches the little smirk lifting your cheeks. “Or should I say, Grandpa Death.”

At once, the Nephilim’s expression flattens, unimpressed. “If you introduce me to that child as ‘Grandpa Death,’ perhaps I won’t be sticking around.”

“Ah, you love it, Gramps, don’t try to deny it,” Strife teases, leaning in to stage-whisper in your ear, “Look at him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the miserable bastard this happy.”

You have to stifle a snicker for Death’s sake. True to form though, while his eldest brother’s fearsome scowl persists when it lingers on Strife, it soon grows soft again upon turning back to you.

And in that one look, shared between a human and the eldest surviving Nephilim, you realise categorically that Death is with you. All of them are. They aren’t worried about your reputation. They won’t concern themselves with the idle gossip of your neighbours.

They’re family, as is the small spark of life steadily growing inside your stomach.

And father or no, your child is still going to grow up under the watchful eye of the Universe's most diligent and protective guardians.

[radiokbox]

I stripped almost all of the context from the original conversation with my tuppers

You don't want to know what the conversation was about

[asparklethatisblue]

Hodge is a little confused but he has the spirit

Introducing the Fitzier Shotgun Wedding Cinematic Universe, cause @aurpiment made me have brainworms

[augustinewrites]

mother's day made me think of the fushigojos again and now i'm writing ab how much more scared everyone gojo is of fushigojo mama when she's pregnant and cranky LOL

[stupidlypregnant]

Thinking about dating someone who doesn't know about me being pregnant. We've had a few dates, all outside and due to the cold of the winter I've been able to hide my filled up belly with layers of clothing.

It's getting harder to hide the pregnancy the lower the baby drops, getting ready to be born any day now. My whole body aches, walking is torture and so is not being able to constantly rub my tight belly.

I don't protest when he kisses me for the first time, even though I know it'll make the pent-up arousal stirring inside my gut worse. Knowing we can't go further without him noticing what state I'm in. Knowing I can't even get myself off properly due to my heavy belly.

I'm too far gone to realize his hands are gliding under my thick coat, stilling right on top of the orb filled with life. He's confused, not listening to my compliants as he shoves the layers of clothes aside to reveal the secret I wanted to hide so bad.

But he isn't mad or disgusted. He groans, placing both his hands on my obscene middle, fingers rubbing over the stretched skin, drawing pathetic whimpers from my mouth, the touch feeling just so good.

That's when the already tight surface turns visibly hard under his hands, a cramp seizing my tummy up, making me moan and clutch onto him. He wants to take me to the hospital immeadiately but I stop him, kissing him fiercely.

This baby won't be coming until I did.

[devil-in-hiding]

Ghost is still Ghost, even in fantasy and pregnant. Yeah he's embroidering but talking like this as he does.

It's in his mother's tongue, so Price 100% understands what he's saying and everyone else only every 10th word. (Which they ignore or think Ghosts angry) People who don't speak it at all thinks Ghost is talking to himself to stay entertained. Which is technically true. (Just not as morbid as reality)

i love this so much jesus christ

[moongothic]

There is something funny to be said about how both Dragon and Crocodile are like 2½ meters tall, they are massive fucking men. But Luffy's 174 cm, that's the height of a regular ass person. Which makes him 80 cm shorter than his dads, nearly a whole meter in height difference

Which makes me wonder

Was Luffy a regular-sized baby by our standards but absolutely itty bitty tiny when compared to his dads (like he would've fit onto Dragon's palm), or was Luffy a massive ass fucking baby who came into the world huge but didn't actually get the Huge Motherfucker-genes from his parents and just stayed short

[cassianandfenrysaremyboyos]

All the thoughts running through my head all in the space of a second: Oh my god Lidia has kids! Ruhn's gonna be a step dad. OH! His blood line ends with him!!

[teejaywyatt1]

So…I’ve been doing some thinking and I’ve decided that the next chapter of Skyline will be written mostly from John’s perspective. I think it’ll be interesting to see what’s going on in his head with everything going on. 🙇🏽‍♀️