#admpreg2026

THE BEST EVENT OF THE MONTH IS COMING UP! MPREG AUGUST! A WHOLE MONTH FOR YOU TO DRAW AND WRITE ON THIS THEME—I'LL BE WAITING FOR YOU!!

Chris feels that this pregnancy situation is completely overwhelming him, he is terrified that he won't be able to handle it all and that he is not prepared to be a dad, although on the other hand he is somewhat excited and pressured since his body has begun to show its first changes.

And so, day one: pregnancy test (ik I'm a day late I got carried away...)

This is going to be a RifleKit and past SubKit thing with angst but plenty of fluff.

Ficlet below:

Day 4: Ultrasound

The private clinic sat on the quieter side of the city, far enough from the precinct that no one Elias worked with was likely to walk through the door. The waiting room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old magazines. Elias sat with his trench coat folded over one knee, fingers restless against the fabric. Julian stood near the wall, arms crossed, saying nothing. He had arrived ten minutes late, rain still darkening the shoulders of his jacket, and had not asked a single question on the drive over.

The technician was efficient and kind. She dimmed the lights, explained the gel, and guided the probe with steady hands. Elias kept his eyes on the ceiling at first, listening to the soft electronic hum of the machine. The Harbor District case still waited on his desk across town — new shipping logs from Pier 17, a partial fingerprint that might or might not belong to someone in Julian’s old circle — but none of it felt real in this room.

Then the technician turned the screen.

A small, flickering shape appeared in grainy black and white. A rapid, steady rhythm filled the quiet.

“There,” she said softly. “Strong heartbeat.”

Elias’s breath caught. He stared at the tiny pulse on the monitor as if it were the only evidence left in an eight-year investigation. Julian did not move from the corner. His arms remained crossed, but his eyes never left the screen. The hard lines of his face had gone still in a way Elias had only seen once before — the night Julian had pressed his mouth to the scar on Elias’s shoulder and stayed until morning.

No one spoke for a long moment.

The technician printed a small strip of images and handed them to Elias with a professional smile. He took them carefully, the paper still warm. Julian finally pushed off the wall and stepped closer, close enough that Elias could feel the residual cold of the rain on his clothes.

He looked down at the printout, then at Elias, and for once there was no smirk, no deflection, no careful distance.

Just the quiet weight of something neither of them had planned for.

Ilitia will be joining us for a few days; I hope we have a great time. I’ll be drawing inspiration from my favorite OTPs—both old and new. I’ll start with a delicious Toudou x Makishima pairing from the anime *Yowamushi Pedal*. It’s a bit old, but I loved this pair so much that when they competed against each other, it was like watching them have sex on bikes. #mpreg #admpreg2026 #ilitiaforever #yowamushipedal

Day 1: Pregnancy Test

The station bathroom fluorescent lights hummed with a cold, indifferent buzz.

Elias Voss stood alone in the last stall, trench coat hanging open, one hand braced against the metal wall. In the other he held a thin plastic stick. Two clear pink lines stared back at him, unblinking and absolute.

His coffee sat forgotten on the edge of the sink outside, already cooling into bitterness.

Eight years. That was how long the Harbor District murders had sat in the cold-case drawer like a wound that refused to close. Six bodies. No arrests that stuck. A trail that had gone quiet until three nights ago, when a distorted voice on a forgotten tip line had whispered two words and a location: Pier 17. Elias had known the voice the second he heard it. Julian always had a way of speaking like he was already halfway out the door.

Julian Reyes.

Once a suspect.

Then a bullet in Elias’s left shoulder during a raid that went sideways.

Later, the department’s most carefully guarded confidential informant.

And somewhere in the messy years between those labels, the man who had kissed the scar he left behind and stayed the night more times than either of them ever admitted out loud.

They had rules. They broke them. They pretended the rules still existed. That was the rhythm of their entire history — danger, silence, heat, and the careful distance that always followed.

Elias stared at the test again. The lines did not change.

He had noticed the symptoms for weeks and blamed everything else. The case. The rain. Too much coffee and not enough sleep. The way his trench coat had started feeling tighter across the middle. The sudden nausea that hit him during morning briefings. He had told himself it was stress. Detectives lived on stress.

He had been wrong.

A soft knock sounded on the outer bathroom door. “Voss? You in there?” It was one of the night-shift officers. Elias cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Give me a minute.”

He flushed the empty wrapper, washed his hands longer than necessary, and slipped the test into the inner pocket of his coat. When he stepped back into the bullpen the fluorescent lights felt too bright. His desk waited under the blue glow of the monitor, the Harbor District folder still open exactly where he had left it. The coffee on the sink would stay there until morning.

Elias sat down, opened a new message on his encrypted phone, and typed only three words.

We need to talk.

He hit send before he could change his mind.

Somewhere across the city, Julian would see it. Elias already knew the man would come. He always did when the message was short enough to mean trouble.

The case file could wait.