Untitled

Like tonight. I sat at the dining room table with my swollen stomach practically pressed against the edge, staring down at the plate in front of me like it had personally offended me.

Across from me, Azriel and Eris watched with identical expressions of infuriating patience.

"The baby," I said firmly, pushing the plate away with two fingers, "does not want to eat that."

Azriel calmly slid the plate back toward me. "Chicken liver is good for the baby."

The smell alone made my stomach revolt.

Eris leaned back in his chair, arms folded, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Hurry up and eat some," he said lightly. "Then you can have actual dinner."

My eyes narrowed. "You're bribing me?"

"No."

"You're torturing me," I corrected, gesturing dramatically toward the kitchen where the scent of fresh lasagne filled the air. "You're withholding that beautiful, delicious lasagne until I eat organs."

Azriel pressed his lips together. "So dramatic."

I glared at him. They had both become insufferably calm about my pregnancy moods.

I sighed heavily, dragging the fork across the plate like I was preparing for execution. The bite I cut was microscopic. Possibly symbolic.

I looked up one last time with my most tragic expression.

Both men looked away immediately. Azriel suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. Eris began tossing the salad with exaggerated focus.

"Traitors," I muttered.

The fork lifted. The bite went in. I chewed. And immediately regretted every life choice that had brought me to this moment.

The taste was—oh god. A miserable groan escaped me.

"Oh come on," Eris said lazily, still not looking at me. "It can't be that bad. It's just—"

My fork clattered against the plate. The sound cut him off instantly. The groan had turned into a gasp. Not theatrical. Sharp. Wrong.

Both of them looked up at the same time. Their expressions changed instantly.

I barely noticed. Because suddenly—pain.

Not the dull aches I'd grown used to. Not the stretching discomfort or the heavy pressure that came with eight months of pregnancy.

This was different. 

It ripped through my stomach like something twisting violently inside me. My breath vanished.

"Oh—" I gasped.

Eris was already on his feet. Azriel's chair scraped across the floor as he stood.

"What's wrong?" Azriel asked quickly, moving toward me.

I tried to answer but the pain hit again. Harder. My entire body folded forward instinctively.

"I don't—I don't know—" I choked.

My hands gripped the edge of the table as another wave slammed through my abdomen, sharp and blinding.

"It hurts."

Azriel was beside me in an instant, one hand bracing my back. "Where?"

"My stomach—" The words broke apart as another bolt of pain made me gasp.

I tried to stand. That was a mistake. The moment I pushed away from the chair, the world tilted violently. My knees buckled and I nearly collapsed.

"Hey—careful," Eris said sharply, catching my arm before I fell.

The panic in his voice made my heart start racing.

"It really hurts," I gasped, clutching Azriel's shirt. The fabric twisted in my fist as fear climbed up my throat.

Eris suddenly went very still. "Oh—fuck." The word came out quiet but full of dread.

I followed his gaze downward. For a moment my brain didn't understand what I was seeing.

White fabric. Red spreading across it. Bright. Too bright. Blood.

My stomach dropped. "Oh my god—" My breath hitched violently. "Oh my god—what's happening?"

Panic exploded through my chest, fast and uncontrollable.

Azriel's hand tightened around my shoulders. "Hey—hey," he said quickly. "Look at me."

But I couldn't. My hands were shaking. The baby.

"I'm losing them," I gasped, tears already spilling over. "Oh my god I'm losing the baby—"

"You are not," Azriel said firmly. His voice cut through the panic like a blade. "We're going to the hospital. Right now."

Eris was already moving. His keys appeared in his hand as if by magic. "Car's ready," he said.

Azriel didn't hesitate.

He scooped me up before I could protest, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back as he carried me out of the dining room.

I clung to him instinctively, my face pressed into his shoulder as another wave of pain rolled through my stomach.

"Please," I whispered helplessly. "Please let the baby be okay."

"You're okay," he murmured.

But I could feel the tension in his body.

The car ride blurred into something frantic and disjointed.

Eris drove like a man possessed. Streetlights streaked past the windows in glowing lines while Azriel held me in the backseat, one hand gripping mine, the other resting protectively over my stomach.

"Breathe," he said softly.

"I am breathing," I cried.

But the words came out broken. The pain had dulled slightly, but the fear hadn't. All I could see when I looked down was blood.

What if it was too late? What if something had gone wrong? What if—

"We're here," Eris said.

The car hadn't even fully stopped before Azriel was moving again.

The hospital lights were blinding after the dark car ride. Nurses appeared. Questions were asked. Someone brought a wheelchair.

Everything became noise. Monitors. Voices. Cold gel on my stomach.

I cried the entire time.

Quiet, uncontrollable tears sliding down the sides of my face as the doctor examined me, as machines beeped softly in the background.

Azriel stood on one side of the bed. Eris on the other. Neither of them moved. Neither of them looked away.

Finally the doctor leaned back slightly. "Well," she said gently.

My heart stopped.

She smiled. "The baby is completely fine."

The words didn't register immediately. "What?"

"Heartbeat is strong. Movement is good."

A small speaker filled the room with a rapid, steady rhythm. The sound shattered something inside me.

That heartbeat. Alive. Strong. Relief crashed through me so violently I started sobbing.

"I thought—I thought—" I cried.

Azriel immediately pulled me into his arms. His hand cradled the back of my head as I buried my face in his chest, shaking.

Eris's hand settled gently on my shoulder.

The doctor continued speaking softly. "It looks like a minor placental irritation. Not uncommon this late. The bleeding can be frightening but it's not dangerous in this case."

I barely heard her. All I could hear was that heartbeat. Still going. Still there.

The sound filled the small examination room. Fast. Steady. Alive.

For several long seconds, that heartbeat was the only thing I could hear. It echoed through my chest like proof that the worst thing my mind had imagined hadn't happened.

Still going. Still there.

My fingers curled weakly into the hospital sheet as tears continued slipping down my temples. I hadn't even realised how tightly I'd been bracing myself until the doctor's words sank in.

Not dangerous. The baby is fine.

The relief was so intense it left me shaking.

I pressed a trembling hand over my stomach, feeling the faint warmth beneath my palm as if that alone could confirm what the monitor had already told me.

"You see?" the doctor said gently, glancing between the three of us. "Strong heartbeat. Good movement. Baby looks perfectly healthy."

Across the bed, Azriel hadn't moved. Not once.

His hand still rested at the back of my head where he had pulled me against him when I started crying, fingers threaded carefully through my hair like he was anchoring me in place.

On the other side, Eris stood unnaturally still, one hand braced on the metal railing of the hospital bed as if he needed something solid to grip.

For a man who rarely showed fear plainly, the tension in his shoulders said enough.

"I thought..." My voice cracked badly. I swallowed and tried again. "I thought I was losing them."

Azriel's chest rose slowly beneath my cheek.

"You weren't," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "You're both alright."

The doctor finished the exam a few minutes later, explaining again that the bleeding had likely been caused by irritation and strain. Nothing unusual for this stage. Nothing life-threatening.

Still, she instructed rest. Plenty of it. "No unnecessary stress," she added kindly.

I nearly laughed at that.

The ride home was quieter than the one to the hospital.

Eris drove this time with far less reckless urgency, though his hands remained tight around the steering wheel. Streetlights passed over the windshield in slow pulses of gold and shadow.

In the back seat, Azriel kept one arm around me the entire time.

A steady warmth across my shoulders while my head rested against him, exhaustion settling into my bones now that the adrenaline had drained away.

Neither of them spoke much. They didn't need to.

Every few minutes Azriel's hand would shift to rest gently over my stomach, feeling for movement, grounding himself in the same reassurance I had needed earlier.

Each small kick felt like a quiet promise.

By the time we pulled into the driveway, I was barely keeping my eyes open.

"Easy," Azriel said softly when the car door opened.

Before I could even attempt to stand, he was already lifting me again.

I didn't protest. Normally I would have insisted on walking, on maintaining whatever small pieces of independence pregnancy hadn't already stolen from me.

Tonight I was too tired. Too emotionally wrung out.

The house was dark and quiet when we stepped inside.

Dinner still sat on the dining table where we had abandoned it hours earlier, the smell of lasagne lingering faintly in the air.

Neither of them commented on it. Their attention was entirely on me.

Eris moved ahead of us, flicking on the hallway lights and pulling back the blankets in my room before Azriel even reached the doorway.

By the time I was lowered carefully onto the mattress, the bed was warm and waiting.

Azriel helped guide my legs beneath the covers while Eris disappeared briefly into the bathroom.

He returned a moment later with a glass of water and the prenatal vitamins the doctor had insisted I keep taking.

"Drink," he said gently, handing it to me. 

I obeyed without argument. That alone made them both pause. 

Normally I would have complained about the size of the pills. Tonight I swallowed them without a word.

When the glass was empty, Azriel took it from my hands and set it on the bedside table.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Pillows?"

"I'm okay."

Eris adjusted the blankets anyway, tucking them lightly around my legs before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

For a moment none of us spoke. The quiet felt different now. Heavier. Like we were all still catching up to the terror of the evening.

Azriel leaned back slightly against the headboard beside me.

"You're sure you're alright?" he asked again quietly.

The question was gentle. Careful. But something about hearing it again made my chest tighten. I nodded automatically. "Yes."

Eris's brows drew together. "That answer sounded rehearsed."

I looked away. "I'm just tired."

"That's not what I asked."

My throat closed. The room felt too warm suddenly. Too full. "I'm fine," I said again, though the words sounded thin even to my own ears.

Azriel didn't press but he didn't look convinced either.

The silence stretched again. And then the tears came back.

I tried to stop them. I really did. But something about tonight, about hearing that heartbeat again after thinking it might disappear had cracked something open inside me.

My vision blurred.

"Oh no," I whispered hoarsely, pressing my hands to my face. "I'm sorry—I'm not trying to—"

Azriel's hand closed gently around my wrist, lowering it. "You don't have to apologise for crying."

That only made it worse.

"I just—" My voice shook badly. "I thought everything was about to end."

Eris leaned forward slightly, his voice softer now than I had ever heard it. "What do you mean?"

My chest rose in a shaky breath.

"I thought I was about to lose the baby," I admitted. "And all I could think about was that it would mean... everything ending."

Their expressions shifted slightly.

"Everything?" Azriel repeated quietly.

I hesitated. This was the moment. The one I had been avoiding for months. My heart started pounding again.

"I didn't want to say anything," I whispered, staring down at the blankets gathered in my hands. "Because it wasn't part of the agreement. And I know what this arrangement was supposed to be and I know I shouldn't—"

My voice broke. "But I don't want to leave."

The words spilt out before I could stop them. Both men went completely still.

"I know that was always the plan," I rushed on, my voice unravelling. "I know the baby is yours and this house is yours and I was only supposed to be here until—until after the birth but I—"

My breathing became uneven. "I don't want to go."

The confession hung in the room like something fragile.

"I know that's selfish," I continued quickly, panic creeping in now. "And I'm not trying to change anything or make it complicated. I just thought you should know because tonight I realised if something had happened to the baby I would have lost—"

"Stop."

The word wasn't harsh. It was firm. I looked up. Azriel was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Eris looked equally stunned.

"We never said you had to leave," Azriel said quietly.

I blinked. "What?"

"You said that," Eris added slowly. "Not us."

My mind scrambled. "But the contract—"

"We know what the contract says," Azriel replied calmly. "That doesn't mean we wanted you gone."

The words hit me like a physical thing. "You... didn't?"

Eris leaned back slightly on the mattress, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled. "Gods, no."

My heart skipped. "But I thought—"

"You thought we saw you as temporary," he finished.

I didn't answer because yes, that was exactly what I had thought.

Azriel's voice softened. "We never corrected you because we assumed you meant it."

Eris nodded slowly. "We thought pushing you would make you uncomfortable."

I stared at them both. "You... wanted me to stay?"

Eris gave a quiet, incredulous laugh. "Wanted?" He looked at Azriel briefly before meeting my gaze again. "I don't think I've wanted anything more clearly in my life."

My breath caught.

Azriel shifted closer beside me. "We want this child," he said carefully. My stomach tightened. "But we don't want the child without you."

The room went completely silent.

I stared at him, unable to process the words. "You mean that?" I whispered.

"Yes."

Eris's voice was softer now too. "We know this situation isn't exactly... traditional."

I let out a shaky breath. "That's one way to put it."

"People already stare," he continued with a faint shrug. "They already think it's strange. Unnatural."

His eyes flicked briefly to Azriel before returning to me. "We don't care."

Azriel nodded once. "Whatever this is between the three of us... it's real."

Emotion surged up my throat again. "I thought I was the only one feeling it," I admitted quietly.

"You weren't."

Eris reached for my hand then, threading his fingers carefully through mine. "You never were."

Azriel's palm settled over my stomach again, warm and steady.

The baby shifted faintly beneath his hand. Alive. Here. Binding us together in ways none of us had expected.

"For the record," Eris murmured gently, "you staying was always the outcome we were hoping for."

My vision blurred again. This time the tears didn't feel like grief. 

They felt like something dangerously close to relief.

For the first time since this whole arrangement had begun—the future didn't feel like an ending anymore.

Azriel's POV -

"You're going to strangle the flowers with the way you're gripping them."

Eris's voice drifted across the room, dry and amused.

I looked down. My fingers were indeed wrapped around the stems like I was preparing to snap them in half.

I loosened my hold immediately.

"They're fine," I said.

Across the dining room, Eris raised one brow, leaning back slightly to observe the arrangement of candles on the long oak table.

"Mmh," he hummed. "Convincing."

I ignored him and adjusted the flowers again, rotating the vase slightly so the white petals faced the doorway. They were simple, nothing extravagant but they smelled soft and clean, the kind of scent that wouldn't overwhelm her sensitive stomach.

Eris had insisted on them anyway. "Pregnant women like flowers," he'd said earlier.

"They like not vomiting," I'd replied.

Still, he'd brought them home.

The house looked different tonight. Warmer. Softer.

Candles lined the table in quiet rows, their light flickering gently against the walls. The heavy overhead lights were off, replaced by the dim glow of lamps and flame.

Dinner rested in the kitchen behind us, carefully prepared, meticulously planned.

Every dish had been chosen for one reason. She'd craved it.

Mango sorbet in the freezer. Fresh bread still warm. Lasagne she had complained about being denied that night at the hospital.

Eris had even gone out of his way to find the brand of ginger tea she'd mentioned liking weeks ago.

"You're pacing again," Eris observed lazily.

I stopped mid-step. "I am not."

"You are."

I exhaled slowly.

It had been three days since the hospital.

Three days since she had sat in that bed with tear-streaked cheeks and confessed she didn't want to leave. Three days since we had told her she never had to.

Everything between us had shifted after that. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just... gently.

Like a door that had been closed for months finally opening.

And yet tonight felt strangely important. Not because of the food. Not because of the candles.

But because it was the first time we were openly acknowledging something that had been building for months.

Care. Affection. Something deeper that none of us had been brave enough to name before.

"She'll be down soon," Eris said. His tone had softened slightly now.

"She said she needed five minutes," I replied.

Eris smirked faintly. "She said that fifteen minutes ago."

Pregnancy had made time an unpredictable thing. Five minutes could mean twenty. Or thirty. Or an hour spent trying to tie shoes she could no longer reach.

"She'll come when she's ready," I said.

Eris studied me for a moment. "You're nervous."

"I am not nervous."

"You are gripping flowers like a man preparing for war."

I looked down again. My hand had drifted back to the vase. I released it.

Eris chuckled quietly. For all his teasing, I could see the same tension in his posture too. He'd changed shirts twice tonight.

The sound of footsteps upstairs interrupted us. Both of us looked toward the staircase immediately.

And then she appeared. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Eight months had transformed her in ways I hadn't anticipated.

Her stomach curved prominently now beneath the soft fabric of her dress, round and unmistakable. The gentle slope of it shifted her centre of gravity slightly, giving her movements a slower, more careful rhythm.

One hand rested instinctively beneath her belly as she descended the final step.

Her hair was loose tonight, falling softly over her shoulders.

She looked... radiant. Not in the glowing, polished way people described pregnancy. In the quieter way. Real. Alive. Beautiful.

Her eyes moved from the candles to the table to the flowers. Then to us.

"What..." she began slowly.

Eris spread his hands. "Dinner."

Her brows lifted. "With candles?"

"Yes."

"And flowers?"

"Yes."

"And you both looking like you're about to attend a royal banquet?"

Eris smirked. "You wound me."

She looked back at the table again. Realisation softened her expression. "You did this for me," she said quietly.

I stepped forward. "Yes."

Her eyes flicked to mine. "Why?"

The answer felt obvious. "Because you deserve it."

Something in her expression shifted then, something warm and vulnerable. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble," she murmured.

Eris scoffed lightly. "It wasn't trouble."

"Cooking for three hours is absolutely trouble," she said.

"Incorrect," he replied smoothly. "Cooking for people we don't like is trouble."

That made her laugh softly. Gods, I loved that sound.

I stepped closer and pulled out the chair for her. "Sit," I said gently.

She obeyed, lowering herself carefully into the seat while adjusting the fabric of her dress around her stomach.

Eris moved to the kitchen, returning moments later with the first plates. Lasagne. Her favourite. Her eyes widened slightly.

"You remembered."

"Of course we remembered," Eris said.

I watched her carefully as she took the first bite. Her expression softened immediately. "Oh my god."

"Good?" Eris asked.

She nodded emphatically. "Incredible."

The tension in my shoulders eased slightly. We ate slowly. Talking. Laughing.

She told us about a strange dream she'd had the night before where the baby had been born already arguing with Eris about vegetables.

"Accurate," he said.

"You're already corrupting them," she replied.

At some point, Eris brought out the sorbet.

Her entire face lit up. "You're spoiling me," she said.

"That's the goal," I replied.

She finished the last spoonful and leaned back in her chair with a content sigh. "I might actually cry."

Eris leaned forward slightly. "That would be a good review."

She laughed again. The room felt warm. Peaceful. Safe.

And then her gaze drifted toward us both. Something softer entered her expression. "You two are ridiculous," she said quietly.

"Correct," Eris replied.

But she was still looking at us. Still watching. Emotion flickered briefly across her face.

Before I could think too hard about it, I stood and walked around the table.

She looked up at me curiously. "What are you doing?"

Instead of answering, I placed one hand gently on her cheek. Her breath caught slightly. "I've wanted to do this all evening," I admitted.

Then I kissed her. Softly. Carefully.

Her lips parted against mine almost immediately, her hand lifting instinctively to rest against my chest.

The kiss was slow. Tender. Full of everything we hadn't been able to say for months.

When I pulled back slightly, she was smiling.

Eris leaned against the table beside her. "Are we taking turns now?" he asked.

She laughed breathlessly. "Yes."

He didn't hesitate.

His hand slipped beneath her chin, tilting her face up before pressing his lips to hers.

Where my kiss had been gentle, his carried warmth and confidence, slow and affectionate, his thumb brushing lightly along her jaw.

When he pulled away, she looked slightly dazed. "Well," she murmured.

Eris grinned. "Successful evening."

She looked between us, eyes bright. "You two planned all this just to kiss me."

I shrugged slightly. "Partially."

Her laugh filled the room again.

And as she reached for both of our hands across the candlelit table, for the first time since this whole journey began—

None of it felt temporary anymore.

A/n - The hospital scare was a very intense moment that finally pushed everyone to say what's been building for months... and wow, those confessions were LONG overdue!!

And then we switch to Azriel's POV where the two soft idiots put together the sweetest little candlelit dinner (with approved food this time) just to spoil her... which of course leads to kisses, feelings, and a whole lot of "oh... this is real now" :)

We love a little emotional whiplash, panic—relief—romance x

Thank you so much for reading <33

Contents -

☁︎ One | The Arrangement | 2.3k words

☁︎ Two | Intentional | 3.7k words

☁︎ Three | A Shift | 3.3k words

☁︎ Four | Everything Unsaid | 3.5k words

☁︎ Five | Temporary | 3.4k words

☁︎ Six | Bittersweet Moments | 3.5k words - coming soon

☁︎ Seven | Where You Belong | 3.6k words - coming soon

☁︎ Eight

ACOTAR Masterlist

A/n - This series will include content warnings at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.

Another requested fic that I was very excited to write! I'll admit, it took a bit of thinking (and some serious back-and-forth with myself) because I really wanted it to feel just right. Fingers crossed it lands the way I imagined x

Expect plenty of emotions, intrigue, a little spice, and lots of domestic Azris shenanigans because who doesn't love a little cosy chaos? :)

Azriel and Eris had business associates over, something small, they'd said. Intimate. Just a handful of people they trusted. A dinner to smooth over months of half-attended meetings and postponed obligations.

They'd asked me three times to join.

"You don't have to hide upstairs," Eris had told me, leaning against the doorway while I adjusted the soft wrap dress that now barely tied over my stomach.

"I'm not hiding," I'd insisted.

Azriel's gaze had softened in that quiet way of his. "You'd be welcome."

I knew that.

But tonight the baby had decided my internal organs were enemies of war. Sharp little jabs beneath my ribs. Sudden rolling pressure against my bladder. An ache low in my back that made sitting upright feel like a negotiation.

"I'll just ruin the ambience by groaning," I'd said lightly.

Eris had smirked. "We can market it as realism."

Still, I'd declined.

So they went downstairs without me, and I settled into the guest room with a pillow wedged beneath my hip and one hand resting absently over the curve of my stomach.

From below, laughter drifted up. Glasses clinked. The low murmur of conversation rose and fell like a tide.

I told myself I didn't mind. This was their world. I was simply living in it for a while.

Hunger had become relentless lately. Not gentle cravings. Not polite suggestions. A gnawing, insistent need that ignored time and pride and comfort.

By ten, my stomach was growling so loudly I half-expected someone downstairs to hear it over the conversation.

"Fine," I muttered, pushing myself upright with a soft grunt. "You win."

I padded down the hallway slowly, one hand braced at my lower back. The house smelled rich, roasted herbs, wine, something buttery and indulgent.

The dining room doors were mostly closed, warm light spilling through the narrow gap between them.

Laughter burst from inside just as I passed.

I slipped into the kitchen quietly, grateful that no one noticed. The island still held remnants of preparation, cheese boards, sliced fruit, a half-covered loaf of bread.

I reached for a plate, cutting myself a modest slice, adding a handful of grapes. Something simple. Something quick.

I didn't mean to linger. I didn't mean to listen. 

But as I stepped back toward the hallway, my name drifted through the crack in the door. Clear enough to halt me mid-step. I stilled.

"...No, truly—congratulations," a male voice drawled, thick with wine and self-importance. "On securing such an easy surrogate."

The word hit before the meaning did. Surrogate.

The room hummed with polite amusement.

Another voice chimed in, lighter, a woman this time. "Yes! Most of them are so high-maintenance and needy. You two got very lucky."

I stepped back before I could hear more. Before they could hear me.

The hallway felt longer now. Colder. The laughter resumed behind the doors, muted and distant, as if I'd already left.

This house is theirs. The thought came without bitterness at first. Just clarity. The art on the walls. The polished floors. The dining room filled with important voices and easy confidence.

The baby is theirs. Planned. Anticipated. Toasted over wine glasses.

And I am—temporary. The word settled heavier this time.

I looked down at my stomach, at the firm curve beneath the soft fabric of my dress. The baby shifted, a slow roll that pressed outward against my palm. I swallowed.

"You're theirs," I whispered before I could stop myself. Not mine. Not really.

I had agreed to this. Signed for it. Understood it. And yet—

The image of Azriel kneeling beside the toilet at six in the morning. Eris tracking appointments in his phone with meticulous care. The way they both cried at the first scan.

Had that just been... professionalism? Good clients managing their investment?

My throat tightened at the thought, because I knew that wasn't fair. They had never treated me cruelly. Never dismissed me. Never reduced me to anything in private.

But in that dining room, in front of people who mattered to them I was an arrangement. A smooth process. An easy surrogate.

The plate in my hands felt absurd now.

I didn't want the bread anymore. I didn't want to hear the laughter. I didn't want to walk back into the guest room and pretend I hadn't listened.

For the first time since moving in, I felt the edges of the house. The invisible boundary lines. Where I stood. Where I didn't.

Upstairs, I closed the guest room door softly behind me.

The laughter downstairs continued. Life as usual.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed both hands to my stomach, breathing slowly through the ache rising in my chest.

The ache didn't rise all at once. It gathered. Slow. Patient. Like water seeping through cracks you hadn't known were there.

I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed long after the laughter downstairs softened into background noise. Long after the sound of cutlery faded. Long after a door opened and closed somewhere below.

I told myself I wasn't going to cry. I had known what this was.

I had signed papers. Initialled clauses. Agreed to terms in ink that had not trembled the way my hands did now.

The baby shifted again, a firm little nudge beneath my ribs, and I let out a shaky breath.

"I know," I whispered to the curve of my stomach. "I know."

My chest tightened anyway.

Downstairs, chairs scraped. Voices drifted toward the front hall. Coats rustled. Polite goodbyes echoed faintly up the staircase.

I waited. I didn't want them to hear me.

The front door shut. Once. Twice. Silence settled over the house again, deep, familiar, intimate.

That was when it broke.

The first sob slipped out before I could stop it, small, startled, like it didn't belong to me. I pressed my fist to my mouth immediately, horrified at the sound.

No. No, no, no.

I slid back onto the bed, curling onto my side, pulling a pillow against my chest as if I could compress the grief into something manageable.

The tears came anyway. Hot. Silent. Relentless.

I buried my face in the pillow to muffle it, shoulders shaking despite my best effort to stay quiet. The baby shifted again, unsettled by the movement, and guilt flared through me immediately.

"I'm okay," I whispered hoarsely, though I wasn't sure who I was reassuring.

I cried for the house that wasn't mine. For the dining room I didn't belong in. For the way they had offered for me to join them and how I hadn't trusted that offer enough to accept it.

I cried because part of me had started imagining staying. 

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

A soft knock sounded at the door. I froze. Another knock. Quieter.

"Are you alright?" Azriel's voice low, controlled, but threaded with something tight.

I didn't answer quickly enough.

The door opened anyway. They must have heard something. A hitch in my breathing. The mattress shifting.

The hallway light spilt in around them, outlining their silhouettes before they stepped fully inside.

Azriel reached me first. He was at the bedside in two strides, crouching immediately, one hand hovering near my shoulder but not touching yet.

"What's wrong?" he asked, already scanning me. "Is it the baby? Are you in pain?"

Eris closed the door softly behind him, his expression stripped of all sharp humour. "Is it cramping? Is it sharp? Tell us."

Their urgency only made it worse.

"No," I managed, shaking my head quickly. "No, it's not that."

Azriel's hand settled carefully on my upper arm. Warm. Steady.

"Then what?" he asked.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Because what was I supposed to say?

That I had eavesdropped? That someone had called me easy and it had lodged in my chest like a splinter? That I had started wanting something I had no right to want?

"I'm just..." My voice broke. I swallowed hard. "Hormonal."

Eris didn't look convinced. "Love," he said quietly, moving closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Talk to us."

I shook my head harder this time. "I can't."

Azriel's brows pulled together. "Can't or won't?"

"Both," I whispered.

Silence stretched between us. Not angry. Not offended. Just concerned.

Azriel's thumb brushed absently over my sleeve, grounding. "You're sure it's not pain?"

"I promise."

Eris studied my face like he was trying to read what I wouldn't say. His jaw flexed once, tension there, but he didn't push.

"Alright," he said finally, voice gentler. "Then we won't interrogate you."

That almost made me cry harder.

They exchanged a glance over me, silent communication I still didn't fully understand. Then, without another word, Azriel stood and toed off his shoes. Eris did the same.

My breath caught. "What are you—?"

"Moving," Eris replied simply. Azriel pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed.

"This is a guest room," I protested weakly.

"And?" Azriel asked.

Before I could argue further, the mattress dipped behind me as he slid in carefully, one arm coming around my middle. Eris stretched out in front of me, facing us, his hand settling lightly over mine where it rested on my stomach.

They were warm. Solid. Real.

"You don't have to tell us tonight," Azriel murmured near my hair. "But you don't have to be alone either."

That did it. The sob that escaped me then was quieter, but deeper.

Eris shifted closer, brushing his thumb slowly over my knuckles. "We've got you," he said.

I turned my face into the pillow again, but this time it wasn't to hide. It was because I didn't know how to survive the tenderness.

Their breathing eventually evened out, slow and steady, anchoring me between them.

Azriel's palm rested protectively over my stomach sometime during the night. Eris didn't let go of my hand.

I lay awake longer than they did, staring into the dark.

Temporary. By morning, the word had hardened into something almost practical.

I stopped saying "our baby" after that. I didn't do it consciously at first. It just... slipped.

When Azriel asked how I was feeling at breakfast, I answered, "the baby kept me up half the night."

When Eris rested his hand over my stomach and murmured, "our little menace," I smiled faintly but didn't echo it.

Just "they've been active."

Small shifts. Almost unnoticeable. But I saw it. And eventually, I knew they did too.

I stopped drifting into the kitchen when they cooked. Stopped leaning into Azriel's side on the couch without thinking. Stopped reaching for Eris's hand when the baby kicked hard enough to make me gasp.

They still touched me gently, hands at my lower back when I climbed stairs, palms warm against my stomach at night but I grew careful. Polite. Measured.

If Azriel's fingers lingered too long at my waist, I'd shift slightly, pretending not to notice. 

If Eris brushed his lips against my temple in passing, I'd smile but step away before it could become anything more.

They didn't push. That made it worse.

I stopped initiating entirely.

No more curling into them during movies. No more quiet kisses pressed into the hollow of a throat just because I felt like it. No more sleepy murmurs through half-lidded eyes.

It wasn't punishment. It was survival.

Because every time I leaned into them, every time I let myself forget the contract and the calendar and the ticking inevitability of it all—it hurt later.

So I started preparing. Quietly.

At night, when they thought I was asleep, I would prop myself against the headboard with my laptop balanced carefully above the curve of my stomach.

Apartment listings. Studio. One-bedroom. Somewhere modest. Somewhere practical.

I filtered by price first. Always by price. The numbers had to make sense.

I opened my debt spreadsheet next, colour-coded cells, careful calculations, the one piece of my life that had always obeyed logic.

The compensation after delivery. Minus remaining credit cards. Minus student loans. Minus a modest emergency fund.

What would be left? How long would it last if I was careful?

I stared at the final number until it stopped looking like security and started looking like a countdown.

It would be enough. Not luxurious. Not comfortable. But enough. 

Temporary had always been the point.

They felt the shift. Of course they did. Azriel grew quieter around me, watching instead of speaking sometimes. Eris's humour sharpened at the edges, like he was trying to coax me back into something warmer.

One evening, they were both in the living room with travel brochures spread across the coffee table.

Actual brochures. Eris insisted physical copies made things "feel real."

I had been in the kitchen, rinsing a glass, listening to the low murmur of their voices.

"We should go before the third trimester," Azriel was saying. "Somewhere quiet."

"Coastal," Eris replied. "Or countryside. Somewhere she can rest." A pause. "After the birth, too," Eris added more softly. "Once things settle. Just the three of us for a few days."

My hands stilled under the running water. Just the three of us. 

I dried them slowly and walked into the living room. They both looked up immediately.

Eris smiled. "Perfect timing. We're planning your babymoon."

"My what?"

"Babymoon," he repeated. "A final indulgence before sleepless nights."

Azriel's gaze was gentler. "We thought somewhere peaceful. You deserve that."

Deserve. The brochures looked beautiful. Soft beaches. Rolling hills. Sunlight over quiet terraces. 

For a split second, I let myself picture it.

Waking up somewhere unfamiliar but safe. Azriel reading beside an open window. Eris complaining about overpriced room service. The baby shifted lazily beneath my ribs while we laughed over nothing.

A family. The image bloomed so vividly it almost knocked the air from my lungs.

And that was exactly why I couldn't let it stay. I sank into the armchair instead of joining them on the couch.

"When the baby's born," I said, keeping my voice steady, "I'll leave."

The room went very still. Eris blinked first. "What?"

"That was always the plan," I continued carefully. "I'll recover for a bit, obviously. But after that... I'll move out."

Azriel's hand, which had been resting on one of the brochures, curled slowly into a fist.

The silence that followed wasn't confusion. It was impact. I could see it.

The way something shuttered in Eris's expression. The way Azriel's jaw tightened, his breathing evening out in that deliberate way he used when he was containing something.

"We know what the contract says," Azriel replied quietly.

"This isn't about the contract," I said. 

It was entirely about the contract.

"And the trip?" Eris asked, voice too casual. "That doesn't include you?"

I swallowed. "It shouldn't."

There it was again, that word. Shouldn't. Because this house was theirs. The baby was theirs. And I was—

Temporary.

Azriel's POV - 

The distance had become an obvious thing. It wasn't subtle. Not to me. Not to Eris.

She thought she was being careful, softening her tone, stepping half a pace out of reach instead of a full one, smiling just enough to make it seem natural.

But I had spent my entire life reading what wasn't said. And she was retreating.

It started with language. "Our baby" became "the baby."

It happened gradually enough that anyone else might have missed it. I didn't. Eris didn't either.

Then it became physical.

When I brought her ginger tea in the mornings, she thanked me politely. When I knelt behind her on the couch to rub the tension from her shoulders, she'd let me for a minute, maybe two, before gently shifting forward.

"I'm okay," she'd say.

You don't have to. Three words she never spoke aloud but they lived in her posture.

Eris tried in his own way.

He'd come home with whatever she'd mentioned in passing. Green apples at midnight. A very specific strawberry pastry from across town. That ridiculous sparkling water she'd declared tasted "like static but good."

She'd smile but it didn't reach her eyes anymore.

One night he came back with an armful of tulips because she'd once said they reminded her of something soft and hopeful.

She stared at them like they were an apology she hadn't asked for. 

"They're beautiful," she said carefully.

Carefully. I hated that word.

One evening, after she'd gone upstairs early with the excuse of being tired, Eris poured himself a drink and didn't touch it.

I leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him watch the untouched glass.

"She's leaving," Eris said finally.

It wasn't an accusation. It was confusion wrapped in something heavier.

"I know," I replied.

He exhaled slowly. "Is this some kind of nesting thing? Hormones? They say month five is when it shifts."

I didn't answer immediately. Maybe it was hormones. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was us.

"She's different," he continued. "You feel it too."

"Yes."

That was the only certainty.

"She barely lets me touch her anymore," he said quietly. "Not like before."

I thought of the way she'd angled her body away on the couch earlier. The careful smile. The polite thank you.

"She's tired," I offered, though it sounded thin even to me.

Eris's eyes flicked to mine. "She's been tired for months. This is new."

He wasn't wrong.

"She said she'll leave when the baby's born," he added. "Like she was reminding us."

I leaned back against the counter, folding my arms. "That was always the plan," I said.

"Yes," he agreed immediately. "But it didn't sound like a plan. It sounded like a warning."

That unsettled me. A warning.

"She's overwhelmed," I said after a moment. "Halfway through. Body changing. Everything's real now."

Eris rubbed a hand over his mouth. "So you think it's just... panic?"

"I don't know."

And I hated that. I was good at reading people. At anticipating. At preparing. But with her, every time I thought I understood the shift, it moved again.

"She used to say our baby," Eris said quietly. I looked at him. "Now it's just the baby."

I hadn't realised he'd noticed that too. "It could mean nothing," I said.

"It doesn't feel like nothing."

Silence pressed in around us. Upstairs, a faint creak in the floorboards. Both of us stilled instinctively.

"She flinched when I kissed her," he said.

"She didn't flinch," I corrected automatically.

"She pulled away."

I replayed it. The way her smile had lingered a second too long. The way her hand had dropped from his arm.

"She said she could manage when I offered to rub her shoulders," I admitted. "That she didn't need help."

Eris let out a humourless breath. "Since when does she not need help?"

Since when does she not let us give it? That was the part neither of us said aloud.

"I saw apartment listings on her laptop," I added after a moment.

His head snapped toward me. "What?"

"It was open. I didn't snoop."

His jaw tightened. "So she's planning."

"Maybe she's just being responsible."

"That's not comforting."

No, it wasn't. We fell quiet again. The not-knowing was worse than an answer. If she were angry, we could fix it. If she were hurt, we could apologise. If she were afraid, we could reassure her.

But this? This felt like something internal. Something she wasn't sharing.

"Do you think we did something?" Eris asked finally. The question was softer than I'd ever heard from him.

"I don't know," I admitted.

That silence again.

"She cried the other night," he said. "And wouldn't tell us why."

I felt that low in my chest. "She said it wasn't pain."

"So what was it?"

I had no answer. Hormones, I told myself. Stress. The reality of what's coming.

"She's five months," Eris said quietly. "Halfway."

Halfway. The word echoed strangely. Halfway to sleepless nights. Halfway to handing over something that had lived inside her. Halfway to change none of us fully understood.

"She might be bracing," I said slowly. "Creating space so it hurts less later."

"For her?" he asked.

"For all of us."

Eris stared at the staircase like he could see through it. "I don't like it," he muttered.

"No."

I didn't either. I didn't like the polite smiles. I didn't like the way she stopped reaching for us first. I didn't like feeling like a guest in her grief, whatever it was.

"I don't want to push," he said.

"If we push, she'll retreat further."

"And if we don't?"

I held his gaze. "I don't know."

That was the truth of it. Not clarity. Not certainty. Just unease.

Upstairs, another soft shift of movement. Alive. Present. Still here. And somehow already pulling away.

Eris ran a hand through his hair. "I want that child," he said quietly. "I've never been more sure of anything."

"I know."

He swallowed. "But I don't want to feel like we're losing her before we even get there."

Neither did I. And the worst part? We didn't know whether we were imagining it. Or if she was already preparing to disappear.

The house had never felt so full. Or so fragile.

A/n - We finally have the switch in her POV and yeah... it hit exactly how it was always going to, this was never meant to be permanent :(

Meanwhile, Azriel and Eris are absolutely spiralling, they're confused, a little heartbroken, and trying to piece together what changed (they have theories, of course... some more accurate than others x)

Things are getting a bit fragile in this house... and we're only halfway there!!

Thank you so much for reading <33

The balcony to the mansion’s main suite is open, filling the room with a lulling cool breeze as the last of the sun’s setting rays turn the scene from a gold hue to blue. Propped up on the pillows of our bed, the High Lord to the Spring Court, lips pressed to my head in a permanent kiss, draws circles over my shoulder with his thumb while his other hand applies pressure to my belly, lulling me to sleep. His deep and steady breathing is cradling me between the cool air of the room and his warm embrace.

My instinct is to face upwards to him and climb the way up his neck with kisses until I meet his adoring face, but I’m all but unconscious now. I know he will stare at me in his embrace long after I’ve drifted off. Only for me to rouse first the next day and have my share of gawking and memorizing my partner’s sleeping form, resisting the urge to try to find a way to burrow myself under his skin.

I’m falling freely into the serenity of sleep when the sudden light brush of my hip by the beds of his fingers dragging up sends lightning through me, piercing my body to him with need for more. Before I can inhabit my body, a moan of pleasure escapes, and I know my fate.

At the crease of my lower back, he’s perched himself, holding me now on my side. He breaths in the scent of my neck and moans with need. His teeth sliding over me, my body lay decadent in his hands that are splaying themselves over my breasts, back pressed to him. He plays all of my strings, and now greed is burning inside me as I can’t help but grind myself along him. My openings blooming for his presence.

He moans my name, “I’m so sorry. I know you were close to sleep.” He says, lifting my arm to find my breast. He buries his face, embracing me, licking and biting as I succumb to the pleasure. His hand finds its way to the bottom of my entrance and slides up and down in the wetness of my labia. He plays with the wall at the bottom of my vagina before he inserts his thumb and grips me. Holding me tighter, he kisses me and pulls back, and I swear he wants to eat me. Two fingers inside and his thumb at my clit, he bites my nipple to the perfect point of pain. “I love you,” he says into my ear as I start to twitch around him. His tongue finds my sensitive clit and gently strokes while one hand is curling inside me and the thumb of the other slides into my ass. I arch into him, and he hoists my legs over his shoulders. When my release comes, he meets it, greedy, diving deeper into me as I shake around him.

He licks it all, burying his nose in it and painting his face. He rests his head on the crevice of my thigh and sighs as though he has met heaven until he flips me over, folds my pliant body, and plants his face into my ass inhaling deep. At this I rouse to alertness and arch into his caressing tongue. I shake my ass into his face, and he lets out a growl and a moan, catching my legs in an arm and sitting himself on the bed. My ass presented to him his tongue licks and enters.

When I can no longer take it, I rest my weight on him, pushing his back to the mattress, sitting on his face. I squirm at his tongue as I reach forward, taking him in my hands and lick up along his length from base to tip. His nails bury into my hips when I place my lips around his tip and suck. It’s so smooth. I swirl my tongue and drool from my bottom lip to add to the liquid of his precum and begin sucking him deep. His moan is all I need to speed the pace and grind my wet folds over him for friction.

The twitching of his phallus at my effort excited me for the salty flood of his cum. I drank it in and let the rest fall on my breasts and stomach as I sat back on his face. He has me on my back in seconds, licking his cum of me with his knee between my legs. I cannot help but to ride him for any pressure. I’m almost to the edge when he bites down on my neck and I climax into the pain.

I’m stuck dumb. His bite still holding, my body pricks with another wave of deranged arousal as I display my neck to him further. When he finally releases himself from me, his grip is around my ankle, holding it above my head. He slides himself up through my folds and enters deep as I arch myself into him. After what felt like hours of emptiness, his girth spreads me wide and gives me pleasure beyond content. I cannot help but bite down on his shoulder to secure myself in my body as he rhythmically churns my stomach into ecstasy with his face buried in my hair. His body drips sweat into my mouth and eyes. I claw his forearms as my body shakes with heat. He pounds harder and faster into me and the sound of him slapping against me sends me into waves of release. He plunges deep, pouring his hot seed into my core, satisfying my greed.

• When he kisses you, sometimes he'll tell you that you taste good. Please thank him for letting you know.

• Sometimes P's smooches are kinda... wet. He puts too much mouth into them. Especially when he's being very affectionate. This is fine when he's kissing you on the lips, but no one wants their forehead or cheek covered in puppet saliva...

• If you have any sort of marking, scar, or other quirk on your skin, P takes a bit of an interest in it. He's curious about human features and will probably want to compare his skin with yours.

• You use nicknames for each other of course. After the Krat restoration, when he is going by "Pinocchio" you start calling him "Pino," "Pinocchi," even "Pocchi." There are like, 10 different shortenings of his own name that you use. Plus his other standard pet names.

• P just referred to you as "You" for a while, when trying to give you a pet name. This actually stuck, and now he warmly coos "You..." When he sees you. Please respond with, "Me." He likes this.