35 and/or 40 and/or 44, but DEFINITELY 27
disclaimer: i made this sniperspyscout because of the PURE STUPIDITY of this prompt. also written in second person because you did yours in second person and i got jealous.
i’m doing 27 first btw
It’s supposed to be a very convincing, very elaborate plan. You’ve got your best theatre face on, got the walk down pat. Sniper gives your shoulders a reassuring squeeze as the two of you approach Spy’s room.
After a few knocks, Spy’s unimpressed sigh filters through the door of his smoking room. He knows it’s you, and that’s why he’s making such a show of answering the door slowly. The three of you have a secret knock and everything. Just makes everything easier.
There’s some shuffling, then Spy opens the door. At first, his face is flat, lips a straight line as he presses his magazine to his side under his arm. Once his eyes do a full sweep over your body, however, his eyebrows fly into his balaclava. Before he can speak, you extend your arms and grin.
"I’m pregnant!" you exclaim, bouncing forward. Your belly gives a slosh of agreement.
"And you’re the father!" Sniper calls, skipping in after you, the hands on your shoulders steering you in a circle in Spy’s smoking room. You mean to hug Daddy dearest, but he sidesteps about four feet away from you in one go.
"What the hell are you wearing? Where did you—?" Spy makes wide gestures at your belly. Again, it makes a wet noise in response to all your movement. Spy’s magazine lies on the floor, forgotten. "Why—?"
You pout. “Honey, is that the right way to act in front of your future child?”
Sniper clicks his tongue. “So inappropriate! I thought you’d be happy! Childbirth is a miracle, don’t you know.”
Eyebrows drawn tight, Spy throws a finger in Sniper’s direction. “And you! What do you have to do with all this? It only takes two people to produce a child!”
Taken aback, Sniper puts a palm to his chest. “I’m the mother, of course!”
”What?”
You put your hands on your belly. “He provided the eggs, of course.”
"The egg. The one egg. Scout, don’t they—" Groaning, Spy slaps a hand over his face. "Alright, c’est tout. Get out."
As Spy stalks towards you, you make a quick gesture towards Sniper and dash to the other side of the room. Sniper goes in the opposite direction.
Unfortunately, in all the fuss, your poor unborn child falls out of your shirt and onto the floor with a wet splat. With a quiet, sharp inhale, you cover your mouth with your hands. You glance over at Sniper and see he’s making the same expression.
"Scout. Sniper." Spy’s shoulders draw up to his ears. "What the hell is currently soaking my carpet?”