"Shit." Jordan inhales sharply through their teeth, weights clattering to the ground as they spin, towards you.

It's not on the regular that someone can leave Jordan speechless. Yet, they're rendered completely silent in shock; pregnant, pregnant. You're pregnant. With their—

Their hand reaches out, thumbing over the plane of your stomach, almost in wonder. Their nails drag over your tummy, digging in, gently. A low noise resounds from the back of their throat, eyes flaring. "It's mine." They echo, low, in awe. They blink up at you, deep, glistening ochre eyes—usually narrowed in a flinty glare—peer up at you through their lashes, breath caught in their throat.

God. God. They've knocked you up. Another sound rumbles from their chest, though this time, it sounds more like a growl, chin nuzzling into your stomach, calloused hands—usually rough with you—gentle as a dove.