Chapter Text
Veritas was hungry.
He’d tried to sleep it off, tossing and turning under the covers, but the hunger only worsened. It was humiliating, how close he was to tears.
Realistically, he knew pregnancy cravings were normal—just his body’s way of asking for what it needed to keep the baby alive. But still. It was embarrassing.
He bit his lip and reached for his phone.
2:47 a.m.
Golden honeycakes. Gods, he would kill for golden honeycakes with dried sagelore fruit.
He glanced at his sleeping husband, then back at the glowing screen.
2:48 a.m.
Veritas stared at the numbers like they’d personally insulted him. His stomach gave an undignified growl. He winced.
Kakavasha was still asleep—peaceful, serene, completely unaware that his spouse was on the brink of a full-blown breakdown over pastry.
Veritas flopped back dramatically, groaning into the pillow. This was ridiculous. He was fine. He didn’t need to wake his husband just because he was craving something absurdly specific.
He was a grown adult. A powerful being. A dignified entity capable of commanding awe and fear.
…But he was also so hungry.
He picked up the phone again. 2:49 a.m.
Okay. He’d give it until 2:50. If the craving vanished, he’d move on. Forget it ever happened.
If it didn’t... well.
He turned to look at Kakavasha again, gaze full of tragic longing.
2:50 a.m.
He nudged him. Gently. Barely a tap. Feather-light, really.
Kakavasha didn’t move.
Veritas hesitated—then nudged him again, a little more insistently.
A faint noise of protest. One eye cracked open. “...What’s wrong?” Kakavasha murmured, voice hoarse with sleep.
Veritas met his gaze, unflinching. “I want honeycakes.”
A pause.
“…Now?”
A solemn nod. “With dried sagelore fruit.”
Kakavasha blinked. Then—much to Veritas’s horror—smiled. A slow, sleepy, far-too-fond smile.
“Gods, I love you,” he mumbled, already sitting up.
Veritas nearly cried. “You don’t have to—”
“Honeycakes,” Kakavasha said, rising like a man on a holy quest. “And sagelore fruit. Got it.”
Veritas watched him shuffle off to the kitchen, heart swelling with a nauseating cocktail of emotions. Embarrassment. Gratitude. And love—so much love it nearly drowned him.
He pulled the blanket tighter around himself like a cocoon and whispered under his breath,
“…I’m going to marry him again for this.”
Aventurine liked watching Veritas eat.
Pause. That sounded creepy—but it was true.
He used to think people were exaggerating about the whole pregnancy glow thing. But low and behold, Veritas was glowing.
His cheeks were round and full now, a soft contrast to the sharper angles of his face. He’d grown squishier, curvier in all the right places, and Aventurine could barely keep his hands to himself.
“Must you watch me eat?” Veritas asked, pouting as he took another bite of his honeycakes.
Aventurine beamed at him, utterly unrepentant. He leaned in and kissed both of Veritas’s cheeks—because frankly, that was the least inappropriate thing he could get away with without getting smacked.
“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed.
Veritas flushed red and looked away, grumbling under his breath, but Aventurine caught the twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips.
Anastasius was having so much fun coloring on the wall!
His friends had told him their parents never let them do that, but Veritas said this was a special occasion.
“Careful, darling,” Veritas said softly, painting beside him. “Do try to stay within the lines.”
Anastasius grinned, focused on his masterpiece. He was helping paint the walls for the baby’s room!
Him and Kakavasha had picked the color themselves—after getting Veritas’s approval, of course—so now the room was a soft, cozy blue.
Anastasius dipped his paintbrush into the yellow paint. He was going to finish the little duck Veritas had drawn. That was their system. Veritas did the drawing, and Anastasius got to color it in.
As he painted, he listened to Veritas humming a gentle tune.
“What song is that?” Anastasius asked, curiosity tugging at his voice.
Veritas paused his painting, his brush hovering mid-stroke. His shoulders went rigid for a moment before he eased them again.
“That was a song my mother used to sing to me when I was young,” he said quietly, resuming his careful brushwork.
“Your Mama?” Anastasius tilted his head, curiosity blooming on his face. He hadn’t realized Veritas had a mama too. “So… Grandma?”
He blinked in thought. He’d never met his birth grandma—Papa never talked about her, or really anyone from before—so the idea of suddenly having a grandma was a strange one.
“Mhm. I suppose so,” Veritas murmured. “You’ve met her, actually.”
Anastasius furrowed his brow. “I did?”
“She was the purple-haired lady who came to visit, early in your stay here.”
Anastasius’s face twisted in confusion. “The mean lady?”
Veritas laughed softly. “She was quite mean, wasn’t she?”
Anastasius couldn’t help but pout. He’d always thought grandmas were supposed to be nice. All his friends’ grandmas were—sure, they pinched his cheeks a lot, but they also made him amazing cookies.
“Why the long face?” Veritas asked, glancing over with amused curiosity.
“I want a nice grandma,” Anastasius whined.
Veritas paused, then burst into warm, genuine laughter. “Oh, you sweet child.”
He set down his paintbrush and leaned in, cupping Anastasius’s cheeks gently. His touch was cool and careful, like he was holding something precious.
“And what brought that thought up?” he asked, smiling.
Anastasius leaned greedily into Veritas’s touch—a habit he’d definitely picked up from Kakavasha.
He nestled himself against Veritas’s chest, careful not to press against his pregnant belly. The steady rise and fall of Veritas’s breathing was soothing, and Anastasius let out a quiet huff.
“All my friends’ grandmas are nice. I thought grandmas were supposed to be sweet and make cookies,” he grumbled.
Veritas let out a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Some of them are,” he murmured. “But not all.”
They stayed like that for a while, warmth and silence wrapped around them like a blanket. Then, shyly, Anastasius asked, “Could you keep humming that song you were singing?”
Veritas smiled, resting his chin lightly on Anastasius’s head. And then he began to hum again—soft, low, and full of memory.
Veritas was tired.
He loved his baby—truly, deeply—but he was so ready for them to get out of him.
He and Kakavasha had decided not to find out the baby's gender, preferring to be surprised. A whimsical idea, at the time. Now? Veritas looked down at his belly, swollen and unmoving. He was due any day now, but the stubborn child refused to budge.
As sticky as their father. Veritas sighed fondly.
“We still haven’t settled on a name,” he said offhandedly as they all lounged on the living room couch, watching the children’s movie Anastasius had picked.
“Why not Crystal?” Kakavasha offered playfully.
“We are not naming our child after a rock,” Veritas replied flatly, instantly shutting it down.
“We should name her Rosie!” Anastasius chimed in, beaming. Veritas kept his expression neutral, though he was pretty sure the name came from a duck in that overly cheerful kid’s show Anastasius loved.
Kakavasha, ever the enabler, laughed. “Rosie is adorable. That’s a perfect name.”
Veritas’s eye twitched. “Maybe not. And let’s keep things neutral—we don’t know the gender yet.”
That finally made Kakavasha thoughtful. “How about Aster? It means star.”
Veritas paused, genuinely considering it.
But then Anastasius looked up at him with big, soft doe eyes. “I thought I was your star?”
Veritas melted instantly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You will always be my star.”
“Yeah, buddy. Always our little star,” Kakavasha added, pulling them both into a warm embrace.
Anastasius snuggled sleepily between them. “Can we name them Kai?”
“Kai?” Kakavasha echoed, intrigued.
Anastasius nodded. “It means sea, I think.”
“It does,” Veritas said gently. “But what made you think of it?”
Anastasius yawned. “Back in Thalassa, some kids were talking about a naming ceremony after the festival. They were yelling out names. I just… liked how Kai sounded.”
Veritas and Kakavasha exchanged a look over Anastasius’s head—one full of quiet understanding and affection.
“Kai,” Veritas repeated softly. “It’s a good name.”
“It really is,” Kakavasha murmured.
Veritas cursed him out in yet another language Aventurine didn’t recognize, and Aventurine accepted it with a bemused smile.
The baby had finally decided to make an appearance—fashionably late, a few days past their due date. Veritas had grown more irritable with each passing hour, a ticking time bomb of discomfort, frustration, and sheer spite.
And then, on a warm summer afternoon, their child finally chose violence.
Veritas let out another furious string of unintelligible curses as he pushed.
“You’re doing great, honey!” Aventurine encouraged brightly.
“I will castrate you so your vile bloodline dies with this stupid child!” Veritas snapped back through gritted teeth.
Aventurine couldn’t help but laugh. He was completely, irrevocably in love.
The sound of a baby crying filled the room, and Veritas felt himself begin to relax. The pain hadn’t vanished, but the worst of it was dulled by the medications they’d administered to him.
He sighed, sinking deeper into the bed as he adjusted his position. Once the nurses had wiped the baby down, they placed the small, wriggling bundle into his arms.
“Welcome to the world, baby Kai,” Kakavasha murmured from beside him, voice thick with awe. He leaned in and kissed Veritas’s forehead. “You did so well, love.”
Veritas let out a soft, exhausted breath and nuzzled Kai. He’d heard people say newborns had a strangely addictive scent—and as he inhaled, he realized the rumors were absolutely true.
“Welcome to the world, Kai,” he whispered. “Our ocean child.”
Anastasius loved Kai—a lot. They looked just like their parents, with Veritas’s eyes and Kakavasha’s hair, and in Anastasius’s opinion, they were the best baby sibling anyone could ever ask for.
Kai was still too little to play, but that didn’t stop Anastasius. He made it his personal mission to read all his favorite bedtime stories to them—plus a few extras for good measure.
Kai seemed to love it, too. They always gurgled happily whenever Anastasius read to them, like they understood every word.
“They seem just as enchanted by you as you are by them,” Veritas had said once, watching them with a fond smile.
Two years ago, Anastasius could never have imagined that his papa would abandon him. Two years ago, he could never have imagined that anyone would help him. Two years ago, he could never have imagined that he’d be adopted.
Two years ago, he could never have imagined that he’d have a family again.
Two years ago, he never would’ve believed he could be this happy.
But he was.
He was free. He was loved. And he couldn’t wait to see what the future had in store.
Whatever it was, he knew one thing for certain—he wouldn’t have to face it alone.