Calum: "Don't Stop." "No." "Uh... She Looks So Perfect?" "Really. You're going to sing a song that's basically about sex to your unborn child. There will be no mystery of where she comes from, then." Calum rolled his eyes at you. "Oh, and what would you prefer? American Idiot?" you smile, humming as you rub your swollen baby bump. "Actually, yes." you agree, sitting down on the couch and propping your legs up. He sits next to you, bending over and lifting up your shirt. Pressing his lips to your stomach, he gently sings American Idiot. He skipped over the slurs and cusses, making you smirk. Your hand tangles in his thick hair, and he stops singing to lift his head and presses his lips upon yours.
Michael: "Kill it. Kill it." Buzzing passed your ear and you shrieked. "Michael, kill the fucking fly before I kill you." you threatened, backing away from the noise and brandishing a fly swatter. Michael laughed from the other room, but walked in with a flip flop. He killed it on his first try, making you slightly angry that something he could do effortlessly you couldn't do on the fifth try, and patted your big stomach. "When you're born, baby, you'll have to do the fly killing for mummy. She's really demanding, you know." you roll your eyes. "Our child is going to come out thinking I'm insane!" "You're not?"
Ashton: The blankets were thrown off again as you sat up in bed, exhausted after trying to get comfortable for three hours. Ashton, who had been sleeping like a rock until then, cracked open his eyes at you. "Something wrong babe?" he asked, sliding closer to you and caressing your huge baby bump. "Nothing, except your baby is being a pain in the ass. I can't get comfortable to sleep and I'm blaming it all on you." You complained, your hands resting on his. Smiling, Ashton presses his face into your side. "Alright. Just as long as you don't bother her about it." he whispers, long fingers tracing your tummy, drawing circles on it. You smiled, remembering all the time he had sang to your unborn child, caressing your stomach. "You're going to be a great father." "Go to sleep." Ashton whispered before flopping onto his back and resuming snoring.
Luke: "And the princess and the prince lived happily ever after." Luke shut the book with a sense of finality, gazing at your bump. "I can't wait to meet her. Or him." His hands run over your tummy; neither of you had wanted to know who your child was. You bought clothes in every color (mostly yellow) and painted their room green, with purple sheets on their natural-colored wood bed. It was perfect for whoever they turned out to be. "Your mommy is thinking too hard again about gender-rolling you, little one." you roll your eyes. "It's important, Luke." he smiled, rubbing your tummy. "You're going to be perfect. Just don't think about it.. you're a natural."
