Chapter Text
The morning sun filtered through the wide front windows of Paws & Whiskers Café, casting soft golden stripes across the floorboards. The cats—four permanent residents, each with their own dramatic personality—were already lounging in their favorite spots. Muffin occupied the sunniest patch near the pastries display, Pudding perched on the highest cat tower like a queen on her throne, and Whiskers, the café’s unofficial security guard, sat by the entrance with a vigilante seriousness that made customers giggle.
Lynx stood behind the counter wiping down mugs while humming softly, a habit he’d picked up ever since they opened the café. The scent of espresso lingered in the air mixed with warm milk and the gentle musk that always clung to Tiger—his Alpha, his partner of almost three years, and the reason Lynx couldn’t stop smiling this morning.
Tiger, of course, was in the back room negotiating with one of their cats.
“No, Mochi, you can’t steal chicken from the delivery guy again,” Tiger’s voice echoed half-laughing. “I saw you planning it. Don’t deny it.”
A loud meow of protest answered.
Lynx chuckled to himself. Tiger’s gift—talking to cats—had been ridiculous in theory, magical in practice, and dangerous to their grocery budget. Lynx peeked around the corner and found Tiger crouching down, arms crossed, staring seriously at a fluffy white cat who very much did look guilty.
“You’re grounded,” Tiger declared.
Mochi meowed dramatically, flopped over, and pretended to faint.
Tiger rubbed his face. “Oh my god. Lynx, help, he’s being dramatic again!”
Lynx laughed out loud, but the motion made his stomach flip in that peculiar morning way again—a gentle nausea that wasn’t quite unpleasant but very noticeable.
He pressed a hand to his abdomen.
Another wave.
Soft but… different.
He knew these signs. His omega instincts had been whispering for days now, but he pushed the thought aside. Not here. Not in the café with cat hair floating like confetti and Tiger trying to convince Mochi that crime was wrong.
But those instincts tugged at him with every heartbeat.
And his chest warmed with quiet hope.
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The lull between lunch and the after-school crowd gave Lynx a moment to breathe. Tiger had gone to pick up new cat litter and a shipment of treats; apparently, Whiskers demanded salmon-flavored ones “or else the café’s reputation would suffer,” according to Tiger’s very serious translation.
Lynx locked the front door temporarily, flipped the sign to Back in 15 minutes, and dashed upstairs to their small apartment above the café.
He had bought two pregnancy tests the night before after closing, heart pounding the entire walk home. He hid them in the cabinet behind the towels because Tiger had a habit of opening things purely out of curiosity.
He closed the bathroom door and sat on the edge of the tub, his fingers trembling.
Okay. Okay, Lynx. Just breathe.
He took the first test.
Five minutes felt like an hour.
His heart hammered.
And then—
Two lines.
Clear as day.
Lynx’s breath hitched.
His throat tightened.
He set the test down carefully and grabbed the second one.
Just to be sure.
Just to keep his heart from exploding too soon.
Another five minutes.
Another result.
Positive.
Again.
Lynx let out a soft sound—half laugh, half sob—as tears welled up instantly, overflowing in warm streaks down his cheeks.
“Oh… oh my god…”
His hands shook as he clutched both tests against his chest.
He was pregnant.
He, Lynx—an omega who thought he’d need years to settle into family life—was carrying a baby. Tiger’s baby.
A warmth bloomed inside him almost painfully sweet.
He imagined tiny hands.
The sound of soft purring from the cats curled around a crib.
Tiger’s arms wrapped around him, palms over his stomach, voice thick with awe.
Lynx wiped his tears quickly before they could drip onto the floor.
He needed to tell Tiger.
But not like this.
No—this deserved something special. Something memorable. Something that matched three years of love and a shared dream that neither of them had ever dared voice out loud.
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Lynx paced the living room for a good five minutes, tests still in his hand, until Pudding hopped onto the couch and stared at him with the expression of a judgmental grandmother.
Lynx sniffled.
“I’m pregnant,” he whispered.
Pudding meowed loudly, tail flicking.
“I know!” he said, voice cracking into a giggle. “I can’t believe it either!”
Pudding pawed at his ankle, demanding attention.
“Oh fine, but don’t tell Tiger.”
She meowed again—clearly offended by the implication that she would gossip.
But Lynx knew better. Pudding loved drama.
He tucked the tests into a drawer, grabbed a small cardboard box from their storage, and began gathering things.
Inside the box he placed:
A tiny pair of soft baby socks with paw prints
A pacifier he bought impulsively because it had cat ears
A small wooden keychain engraved #1 Dad
And the two pregnancy tests wrapped neatly in tissue
He tied the box with a blue ribbon and placed a handwritten note on top:
“Tiger, open me.
There’s something beautiful growing between us.”
He stared at it, hands over his chest.
Perfect.
Romantic.
Warm.
Heart-melting.
Just like Tiger deserved.
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When Tiger returned with the delivery, Lynx hid the box and hurried downstairs to help.
Tiger pushed the door open with his foot. “I swear someone cursed our shopping cart wheels. They squeak like a dying squirrel.”
Before Lynx could laugh, Whiskers trotted up and demanded to inspect every bag.
Tiger leaned in, listening.
“He says you bought the wrong brand of cat litter.”
Lynx rolled his eyes. “I bought the kind he liked last week.”
Tiger snorted. “Apparently his preferences evolved.”
Before Lynx could respond, Muffin jumped into his lap, sniffed him once, twice, then stared at him intensely.
Lynx froze.
Muffin meowed loudly.
Tiger blinked. “Uh… Muffin says…”
“Mmmroww!” Muffin insisted.
Tiger’s eyes widened slowly.
He stared at Lynx.
Then back at Muffin.
“Wait. Are you—?”
Lynx panicked and slapped a hand over Tiger’s mouth.
“DONT. Say. Anything.”
Tiger blinked rapidly, confused.
Muffin meowed again, annoyed.
“Tell him to hush,” Lynx said desperately.
Tiger turned to the cat. “Muffin, no spoilers.”
Muffin looked personally offended but relented.
Lynx sighed. “Cats are too observant.”
Tiger frowned, still confused but obediently distracted by Whiskers complaining about the new bag of treats.
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They closed the café early since it was a slow weekday. Tiger wiped down tables while Lynx prepared dinner upstairs.
The cats followed Lynx around the apartment like a furry parade.
Pudding sat on the counter, tail curled elegantly.
Mochi pawed at Lynx’s shirt hem.
Muffin meowed every two minutes.
“Stop staring at me,” Lynx muttered at them.
Mochi blinked with innocent offense.
“You all know, don’t you?” Lynx sighed.
A chorus of meows confirmed it.
But they didn’t tell Tiger again—they only watched Lynx with gentle curiosity, as if sensing the tiny life forming inside him.
It made Lynx’s heart swell until it was difficult to breathe.
----------
Tiger finally came upstairs with tired eyes and messy hair. “I swear Whiskers tried to lecture a customer about shoe choices today.”
Lynx laughed and took his hand. “Sit on the couch. I… have something for you.”
Tiger sat, blinking up at him with the soft, warm look that always melted Lynx instantly.
Lynx placed the little ribboned box on his lap.
Tiger raised a brow. “Is it… early Valentine’s Day? Late anniversary? Surprise tax bill?”
“Just open it,” Lynx whispered, unable to contain the tremble in his voice.
Tiger untied the ribbon—slowly, too slowly—and Lynx squeezed his own hands to keep from grabbing it out of his hands.
Tiger opened the lid.
First he saw the baby socks.
Then the tiny pacifier.
Then the keychain.
He froze.
“...Lynx,” he breathed.
And finally, he reached the tissue paper bundle.
Opened it.
Saw the two pink-lined tests.
His breath stuttered.
He looked up at Lynx, eyes wide, stunned, trembling.
“Are you,” Tiger whispered, voice cracking, “are you really…?”
Lynx nodded, tears already gathering. “Yes. Our baby. I’m pregnant, Tiger.”
Tiger stood so fast the couch creaked, grabbed Lynx by the waist, and pulled him into the tightest, warmest embrace he had ever given.
He buried his face in Lynx’s neck, body shaking.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, voice thick. “Lynx… my Lynx. We’re having a baby. A baby.”
His hands slid to Lynx’s abdomen, barely touching, as if afraid of breaking something precious.
Lynx placed his own hands over Tiger’s.
Warm.
Perfect.
Right.
Tiger pulled back enough to look at him. His eyes shimmered. “I love you. More than anything. And I already love our little one so much.”
Lynx laughed wetly. “You’re crying.”
“I—no—I’m sweating from the eyes.”
“Tiger.”
“Okay, fine, but don’t tell Whiskers.”
From behind them, a loud, judgmental meow echoed.
Tiger jumped. “OH MY GOD THEY HEARD.”
All the cats had gathered like a tiny audience:
Muffin, Pudding, Mochi, Whiskers, the whole gang.
Tiger cleared his throat. “Uh. Guys. We’re having a baby.”
Mochi meowed happily.
Pudding flicked her tail approvingly.
Whiskers stared like he was evaluating the baby’s future moral standards.
Tiger gasped. “They’re happy for us. Mostly. Whiskers says he wants naming rights.”
Lynx burst into laughter.
Tiger wrapped his arms around him again, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “This is the best day of my life.”
And surrounded by warm fur, soft purrs, and the gentle hum of their shared home, Lynx believed it too.