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Month 1
After discovering the pregnancy, things had been going smoothly. They started preparing for it—their cottage had one extra room, and Noé had already cleared it out because it would serve as the baby’s nursery. Vanitas merely watched and commanded the vampire on what to remove and what to retain, directing him from the doorway like a tyrant. Murr observed the entire process with judgment in his mismatched eyes, as usual.
They decided not to buy a crib yet—or any clothes. Still, the room was beginning to take shape, slowly transforming into something gentler, quieter, expectant.
Their daily rituals remained the same. Noé worked from home most of the time, resorting to letters and mailed drafts to deliver his work to the newspaper press. Vanitas still cooked, and Noé still hovered nearby, learning to help with small chores in the kitchen.
Cleaning was still assigned to the vampire—and so was washing the dishes, because Vanitas usually took an afternoon nap, only waking up to cook dinner, then sleeping almost immediately after bathing in the evening.
But the real struggle began during the last week of Vanitas’ first month of pregnancy.
The human was never much of an eater—he only ate when he wanted to. But since they had settled together, he ate three times a day, though in small portions. Ever since he got pregnant, those portions had increased, and more often than not, he found himself eating four times a day.
Lately, Vanitas had been waking up at midnight because of his cravings. Each one grew stranger than the last—and of course, he always—always—woke Noé up. The vampire had no real knowledge of cooking, so Vanitas prepared his own cravings while Noé stayed close, making sure he didn’t hurt himself. Still, Noé helped little by little, doing what he could manage.
And Vanitas never snapped at him for it.
He had long since accepted that Noé simply didn’t have the talent for cooking. And he didn’t love him any less because of it—if anything, Vanitas loved him more. There was something grounding about being the one in the relationship who knew how to cook, about the sense of autonomy it gave him.
Either way, tonight, Vanitas woke with another craving—something sweet, salty, and bitter all at the same time. Such a strange combination, truly—but somehow, his mouth was searching for it, insistent and restless.
So he groaned and pushed himself up, then turned onto his side. He wasn’t showing yet—his stomach still flat enough that no one would consider him pregnant at a glance. Noé was asleep beside him, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, peaceful. Vanitas felt guilty knowing he’d have to wake his husband again—Noé had lost sleep over the past few weeks because of him. Not that Vanitas had been doing any better.
Still, he reached out and shook the vampire gently.
“Noé—wake up,” Vanitas said.
Noé groaned instantly, violet eyes opening and fluttering as he slowly registered that Vanitas was awake.
“Vani? Is there anything wrong? Something hurts?” Noé asked.
“No, silly,” Vanitas replied. “I’m hungry.”
“Hungry?” Noé echoed. “Your cravings again?”
“Yeah. I want something sweet, salty and bitter at the same time,” Vanitas said.
“Oh—okay,” Noé chuckled softly.
“Weird, right?” Vanitas smirked.
“Not really—quite an interesting choice of flavors, I’d say,” Noé replied. “Should I cook for you?”
“Is that supposed to be offensive?” Vanitas said.
Noé chuckled. “Then you cook, and I’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”
So they walked to the kitchen hand in hand—Vanitas practically dragging the vampire—they wore matching sleepwear. Even Vanitas did not expect he’d allow himself to do something cheesy—but he did.
When they reached the kitchen, Vanitas had Noé retrieve the pan from the high cabinet—then he lit the coal stove, adjusting the flame carefully with the tongs. He looked at the cupboard to see if they had any ingredients—there was bread from the bakery and cocoa—then Vanitas remembered they had fresh milk stored carefully in their icebox, kept cool with blocks of ice from the cellar. It was because Vanitas could only tolerate drinking milk—he wasn’t allowed to drink coffee anymore. The closest thing he could have was fresh milk.
“Noé, can you get the milk from the icebox?” Vanitas said. “Oh, also the butter, chéri. Thank you.”
“Sure,” Noé smiled—pressing a kiss on the human’s forehead. He yawned as he carefully made his way around the kitchen to retrieve what he was asked to. Vanitas felt his heart flutter at the thought—but still felt bad that Noé’s sleep was interrupted.
When Noé got back, he placed the ingredients on the cupboard within Vanitas’ reach.
“Can you put the milk in a bowl?” Vanitas smiled.
“Of course,” Noé said. He did as he was told, then placed the bowl near Vanitas. The human smiled and murmured a soft thank you.
“I need you to help me, though,” Vanitas said.
“Okay, what is it?” Noé asked.
“Just dip the bread in the milk while I melt the butter in the pan—then drop the bread in here. Be careful, don’t put your hand too close.” Vanitas said.
“I won’t burn myself,” Noé said with a chuckle.
“You said that too before you got oil on your skin because you forgot to dry the pan before putting oil in it,” Vanitas frowned. “It was just a small reminder, idiot—you’re reading too much into it.”
“Okay, I’ll help,” Noé said.
They fell into rhythm—Noé dipping each piece of bread in milk, then placing it carefully onto the pan once Vanitas had melted the butter. The human gently toasted the milk-soaked bread in the pan, filling the kitchen with a warm, sweet-and-salty aroma.
When he was done frying two pieces, Vanitas put them on a small plate and turned off the stove with the tongs. Then he reached for the cabinet to get the cocoa and lightly dusted it over the bread.
He looked at his presumed masterpiece before grabbing a fork—slicing a small bite and tasting it.
“I needed this,” Vanitas said. “God, I made it perfectly well.”
“I wonder what it tastes like,” Noé said.
“Wanna try?” Vanitas said—already shoving a piece into Noé’s mouth. The vampire had no choice but to eat—he thought it was a strange combination: sweet, salty, and bitter—but when he tasted it, it wasn’t as odd as it sounded.
“It tastes good,” Noé said.
“Not weird?” Vanitas asked.
“Not weird,” Noé confirmed.
“Good—the baby would be offended if you said my cravings were weird. Because they’re the reason why I’m having these cravings in the first place.” Vanitas glared at Noé before giving him another piece of bread.
Vanitas was gleeful as he ate piece by piece, Noé watching him—his heart warming at the sight of Vanitas enjoying himself, taking care of both his own hunger and the baby growing inside him. This was their life now, and no one was going to take it away.
Vanitas’ stomach was still flat, barely hinting at the pregnancy, but the tiny life inside made every bite feel more meaningful. He pressed a hand over his abdomen briefly, almost unconsciously, savoring the strange mix of sweet, salty, and bitter that his body demanded tonight.
When he was done, he dropped the plate on the sink—as well as the pan and utensils he’d used. Noé approached, intending to wash the dishes, but Vanitas held up a hand.
“Save that for later, it’s late—we haven’t had sleep for days. Especially you,” Vanitas said.
“But you don’t like leaving a clutter anywhere around the house,” Noé said.
“Yes, but for today I’ll allow it,” Vanitas said. “I need you when I go back to sleep.”
Noé couldn’t resist that look—Vanitas’ soft, pleading expression, like a lost cat asking to be taken home. He set the dishes aside. If Vanitas needed him, the dishes could wait.
“Okay, I’ll come up with you,” Noé said. Vanitas smiled and gently, though still with his usual insistent energy, led the vampire back to their bedroom.
As soon as they arrived, Noé propped Vanitas on the bed with pillows behind his back, careful to make him comfortable after his midnight feast. Vanitas didn’t protest—he trusted Noé’s instincts even when the vampire sounded like he was hovering.
Noé sat next to him, their shoulders pressed together. Even without a visible bump, Noé placed a protective hand lightly on Vanitas’ flat stomach, feeling the tiny stirrings of a life just beginning.
“Do you think the baby’s satisfied now?” Noé asked softly. “Because you got your cravings.”
“Oh, they should be. Not only did he wake me up—but he made me wake you up,” Vanitas said, leaning slightly into him.
“Right,” Noé said.
“Hey—tell me the truth. Are you annoyed you’re losing your precious sleep?” Vanitas asked. “I mean, you love sleep—you used to sleep so deeply back at the hotel—but nowadays it’s like you’re already anticipating I’m going to wake up at any hour.”
“Sacrifices need to be made, Vanitas. We both chose the baby, and we’re doing our best to stay loyal to that responsibility. Sleep doesn’t matter if I get to be with you through this,” Noé said, fingers brushing lightly over Vanitas’ flat stomach, the gesture tender but grounding.
“You’re such a sap,” Vanitas murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“You told me to tell the truth,” Noé said.
“Right, I did,” Vanitas replied. Then he rested his head on Noé’s shoulder. “But thanks for waking up for me—and for staying while I satisfied my cravings.”
“Of course, anything for you, chéri,” Noé said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Vanitas’ temple.
Vanitas closed his eyes, curling slightly into the pillows, feeling the comfort of Noé beside him. Even in the middle of the night, with cravings satisfied and dishes forgotten for the moment, the pregnancy was already weaving itself into their lives—even if it wasn’t yet visible.
——
Month 3
Vanitas had been nesting lately.
Aside from the time Dante caught him nesting before Vanitas even discovered he was pregnant, Vanitas did it far more often now that he was three months along—his small bump faintly visible beneath oversized clothes that clearly weren’t his own. Noé’s clothes.
The vampire had asked his boss at the press if he could work from home now that Vanitas’ pregnancy was progressing. The omega needed him—the human had become noticeably more clingy as their baby continued to grow.
Even when Noé was working, Vanitas would peek into the vampire’s study and, without hesitation, climb straight into his lap.
“Don’t say anything—just keep working,” Vanitas always said.
And Noé did. Because the press of the omega’s slightly swollen stomach against him was reminder enough that the clinginess wasn’t arbitrary—it was instinctive, grounding, and good for the baby. So instead of teasing Vanitas, Noé indulged him without complaint.
Every piece of clothing in their wardrobe was scented with Noé’s pheromones. Oftentimes, Vanitas nested—building a fort atop their bed with a mix of their clothes, all of them carrying Noé’s scent. And there was an unspoken rule: omega nests were delicate. Even their own alpha wasn’t allowed to touch it—unless it was the omega who pulled them inside.
There were days when Vanitas slept in the nest and only woke to prepare meals. Noé stood beside him while he cooked, helping where he could—scenting him deliberately. Vanitas always responded, releasing his own pheromones in return, clinging his scent back onto his alpha.
After every chore, Vanitas retreated to his nest. Sometimes he slept. Other times, he occupied himself quietly, doing whatever passed the time. Noé watched him occasionally—hovering nearby while doing his own work, sometimes reading, sometimes simply staying close.
One afternoon, Vanitas asked Noé to join him inside the nest.
Noé was hesitant. He didn’t know how to handle a nesting omega. Vanitas had never really nested before—his secondary gender hadn’t been stable until after he bonded with Noé. Even then, they were almost always together; there was never any absence to trigger it.
But this time was different.
Vanitas wasn’t nesting out of longing or insecurity—he was nesting because he was pregnant.
So Noé went in carefully, mindful not to disturb the carefully built fortress of clothes and blankets. He sat beside Vanitas, cautious and still.
The omega immediately climbed onto his lap, curling his body close. Noé wrapped his arms around him, stroking his back in slow, steady motions.
“You okay?” Noé asked.
“Yeah—just tired,” Vanitas said softly. “You smell nice.”
“The cottage smells like me at this point,” Noé chuckled.
Vanitas only hummed in response.
Noé leaned in and scented the human more deeply, and he heard it immediately—the soft whine Vanitas let out as he released his own scent in return, responding instinctively, eagerly.
After scenting the omega, Noé leaned down to scent the baby bump as well—pressing his lips and his hand there, gentle and careful, mindful not to trigger Vanitas’ protective instincts.
Vanitas sighed, fingers threading through strands of Noé’s hair.
“You need anything?” Noé asked quietly.
“No—I’m fine,” Vanitas murmured. “Just don’t dare let go.”
Noé smiled.
That afternoon, Vanitas slept—curled against his alpha, basking in his scent. And Noé held him the entire time—steady, gentle, grounding—never once letting go.
——
Month 4
The fourth month of Vanitas’ pregnancy fell during Christmas—they decided to spend it at Dominique’s house. The vampire had sent a carriage to take Vanitas and Noé there—understanding that traveling and walking to and from the train station would be taxing for Vanitas now that his stomach had grown a small bump.
That morning, Vanitas had slept in—only waking early in the afternoon, hours before the carriage arrived to fetch them from their cottage. He ate a little food, though Noé had to coax him to eat more. Since Vanitas couldn’t cook most of the time anymore, he had made sure to teach Noé basic skills—over time, the vampire had improved, though he was still a work in progress.
After a late lunch, they packed lightly, and by the time the carriage arrived, they were transported to Dominique’s house, where she and Jeanne now lived as a married couple.
Upon arrival, they were escorted to their room—they’d be staying the night, as it was dangerous for Vanitas to be out at night even with Noé beside him. Noé agreed, stating it would be safer to return home only after sunrise.
Vanitas protested, as usual—but a little coaxing did the trick. Noé simply scented him and rubbed his baby bump to calm him down.
The dhams arrived later, bearing gifts. Dante, of course, teased Vanitas again, noting how round he had grown since the last time he had seen him months ago.
“I don’t hate the bump—I hate you for making fun of it,” Vanitas said.
“I’m not making fun of it, I’m saying you look healthy—and you should be grateful you’re married to Noé,” Dante teased.
“Whatever,” Vanitas said.
Dinner was served—Noé hovered at Vanitas’ side. The omega didn’t comment, but the rest of their friends asked questions—about Vanitas’ due date, the baby’s gender, and his overall health.
“I’ll give birth around May—Noé and I already prepared for it. We’re neighbors with a midwife, and we already asked her to do it for us,” Vanitas said. “We’re yet to know the gender.”
“Have you thought of names?” Dominique asked.
“How would we when we don’t know the gender yet?” Vanitas replied in his usual tone. Their friends were used to it by now; they knew he wasn’t upset, not entirely, though being in the same room as Dante still irked him slightly.
As Christmas drew closer, they began exchanging gifts. Vanitas mostly received baby clothes and a new set of earrings, while Noé received books, a quill, and a cufflink. Murr the cat even received his fair share of treats.
Vanitas gifted Dante a pair of funny-looking socks, teasing him relentlessly. “Reminded me of you when I saw these at the market,” he said with a smirk.
Dante, in turn, gave Vanitas something valuable—a book about raising a baby.
“Got it for sale and thought of you too—thought you could make use of it since you’re literally softening now. It’s disgusting,” Dante said, a teasing edge in his tone.
“Tch—so annoying,” Vanitas replied, though deep down, he appreciated Dante and all the years of friendship and shared hardship.
They continued exchanging gifts—Vanitas and Noé received more baby clothes in colors safe for either gender.
Finally, Vanitas held the last gift in his hands—Noé’s present for him—a small box wrapped perfectly along the edges.
As he prepared to unwrap it, a sudden jolt on his stomach made his fingers twitch and sent shivers down his spine. A faint kick—his first sensation of their baby moving.
The first person he called for was his husband.
“Noé…” Vanitas said. Noé’s brow furrowed immediately with worry.
“What’s wrong, chéri?” Noé asked.
“The baby kicked—I just felt it.” Vanitas’ voice was trembling with awe. “The baby kicked me from inside.”
“They did?” Noé said.
“Yes!” Vanitas smiled and placed Noé’s hand over the spot. They waited a few moments, then a stronger kick pushed against Noé’s palm.
“There—you felt it?” Vanitas said. Noé’s eyes widened.
“Yes…yes I did,” he whispered. “That’s our baby?”
“That’s our baby,” Vanitas confirmed. “They’re saying hi.”
“Hi, little one. It’s Christmas day,” Noé murmured. Their friends watched silently, awed by the milestone.
“Vani, they kicked again,” Noé said.
Vanitas’ eyes glimmered, almost melancholic, as if he were about to tear up—but he didn’t. Instead, he hummed, cupping Noé’s face gently and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
When he pulled away, his smile widened again. The baby kicked faintly, as if sensing their shared intimacy.
“I just got the best Christmas gift ever,” Vanitas said. Noé returned the smile, resting a hand over the small bump.
And they spent the rest of Christmas night whispering to their little one inside the womb.
——
Month 6
They learned their baby’s gender during the sixth month.
Vanitas and Noé traveled to Paris for a check-up—their doctor had informed them that it was possible to determine the baby’s gender through a blood test. Over the past two months, Vanitas’ stomach had grown considerably—large and unmistakable now—and he had begun to waddle when he walked, prompting Noé to support his back whenever possible.
Vanitas walked with one hand cradling his stomach, the other occasionally reaching for Noé.
When they arrived at the clinic, they were instructed to wait. After some time, Vanitas’ name was called, and they were led inside to see the doctor. Vanitas was examined carefully.
“Your vitals are stable—no other complications. The baby’s heartbeat is also stable. And you mentioned they’ve been kicking quite hard,” the doctor said. “That’s a good sign. It means they’re very healthy.”
The doctor paused, then added, “By the way, would you like to know the baby’s gender?”
“Yes, we’d like to know,” Vanitas replied, nodding.
Blood was drawn swiftly, efficiently. The doctor explained that it would likely take two days for the results to be ready. Noé immediately volunteered to return for them, insisting Vanitas remain at home to rest.
After the check-up, they headed back toward the cottage. Vanitas waddled as they made their way to the station, holding Noé’s hand tightly while his other hand supported his stomach. He sighed under his breath, quietly complaining about how difficult walking had become. Noé simply watched him, fond and enamored by how Vanitas had grown rounder over the past few months.
When they reached the train station, the carriages were crowded. The train they boarded had only a few available seats, so Noé prioritized Vanitas without hesitation. The human settled onto a bench while Noé remained standing beside him—one hand gripping the railing, the other intertwined with his husband’s fingers.
Only after several passengers disembarked was Noé finally able to sit beside Vanitas, close enough to offer his shoulder and steady presence for the rest of the journey home.
When they reached home, Vanitas immediately went to the bathroom to wash. He was already sweaty—though Noé, ever unhelpful, said he smelled really fine because of the omega pheromones. Vanitas snapped at him for it anyway.
In the end, Vanitas took a proper bath. Afterward, he dressed in comfortable clothes—because none of their old clothes were comfortable for him anymore. So Noé had bought him those loose garments meant for pregnant people. They weren’t too tight or too loose—just right. And Vanitas liked them, even if he would never admit it out loud.
He padded down to the living room afterward, Murr following closely behind as if on guard duty. Noé was already on the sofa, the hearth lit and crackling softly. Their cottage was warm, the air carrying faint traces of the flowers from their garden, cinnamon from the bread cooling in the kitchen, and the clean soap scent lingering on Vanitas’ skin.
The vampire was reading, but Vanitas didn’t care. He plopped himself directly onto Noé’s lap, pressing his back against the vampire’s chest. Noé parted his legs instinctively so Vanitas could sit comfortably. The human hummed, settling in, and Noé wrapped his arms around Vanitas’ stomach—rubbing the swollen bump gently, feeling the faint kicks of their growing baby beneath his palms.
“Is there something wrong?” Noé asked.
“Do I need to feel like something’s wrong for you to hug me like this?” Vanitas shot back.
“I didn’t say that, silly,” Noé chuckled, pressing a kiss to the human’s temple. “You can be clingy anytime you want.”
Vanitas puffed out a breath, pouting. Murr climbed onto the sofa, staring at the two of them with open judgment.
“We haven’t thought of names,” Vanitas whispered.
“We have—we just haven’t picked the best ones for both genders yet,” Noé said. “It’s because you’re very picky.”
“You gave such funny recommendations,” Vanitas said. “They sound old. Do you want your kid to feel old before they could crawl?”
“Hey—they sound really decent,” Noé replied. “They just don’t fit your standards.”
Vanitas pouted harder. “I want a name that’s perfect.”
“Alright—we’ll run down the options again,” Noé said.
Together, they ran down name options—jumping from one suggestion to another. Vanitas disapproved of every single one; to him, they all sounded silly, as if they’d leapt straight out of Noé’s far-too-vivid imagination.
“We’re not naming them those,” Vanitas said flatly.
“Why?” Noé asked. “You have ideas, no?”
“I do—I just won’t tell you yet. I’ll let you know once we know the gender,” Vanitas said.
“You don’t like Eugène?” Noé asked.
“It sounds really old,” Vanitas replied. “If it’s a boy, they’ll hate having a name that sounds ancient.”
“Oh! Agnès for a girl?” Noé suggested.
“No. Just—no.” Vanitas shot him a glare.
“Alright—we’ll finalize the name once the baby’s gender is known,” Noé said easily. “For now, we keep thinking of names that would suit your taste.”
Vanitas let out a small chuckle. “You always indulge me, you know?”
“It’s second nature for me,” Noé said. “Whatever you like, I like it too. But I’ll never understand your preference with coffee—how can you drink it black?”
“You dare insult my taste?” Vanitas glared at him. “And to think—it’s been six months since I last tasted coffee. I’ve been drinking nothing but milk.”
“Even the milk you drink isn’t sweet,” Noé said. “It’s bland.”
“Because it’s meant for me. Not for you,” Vanitas shot back.
Noé only chuckled.
Their banter continued like that—light, familiar, effortless. It never turned into a real argument, never crossed into anything sharp. Somehow, even when they raised their voices, neither of them could stay mad for long. They both knew it was pointless to fight like that—and so, they didn’t.
Two days later, Noé went back to Paris to retrieve the results of Vanitas’ blood test. Vanitas was left behind at the cottage despite his protests—Noé already knew Vanitas would complain the entire way about his waddling, about how he couldn’t walk properly now that his stomach had grown so round.
Eventually, Vanitas gave in and agreed to stay home. He waited in the living room at first, restless, pacing in small circles until his back started to ache. About an hour after Noé left, he retreated to their bedroom to nap.
He woke just before lunch to the soft sound of their bedroom door opening. Murr immediately hopped down from the bed, weaving around Noé’s legs as if inspecting him.
Vanitas opened his icy blue eyes, registering the sight of the vampire entering the room—still wearing his coat.
“Vani?” Noé called softly.
Vanitas pushed himself upright, letting out a yawn as Noé walked closer and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I got it,” Noé said, smiling.
“What does it say?” Vanitas asked.
“Mhm—you open it,” Noé replied, handing him the folded paper. Vanitas raised a brow, then took it and unfolded the sheet, scanning the doctor’s careful writing.
“Our baby’s a boy—it says here,” Vanitas said.
“Mhm,” Noé nodded. “That’s why the doctor said the baby kicks really hard. It’s because he’s a baby boy.”
“A boy…” Vanitas murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “That’s why you’ve been kicking so hard, you little rascal.”
“The doctor also said he’s very healthy,” Noé added, a warmth in his voice.
“That’s good,” Vanitas said, smiling, his hand resting gently on his stomach.
“Now you can tell me the name you thought of for him,” Noé said, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“Yeah, I figured,” Vanitas replied, rubbing his stomach with the palm of his hand. “Cael—I thought of that name for him.”
“Cael,” Noé repeated, tasting the sound. “It sounds like an angel’s name.”
“It’s because it means the sky, silly,” Vanitas said, a proud grin spreading across his face. “He’ll be named after the vast sky—what do you think?”
“I think it’s fitting,” Noé said, smiling softly.
“You have to thank me for it—it’s a good thing I thought of that name,” Vanitas teased.
“You’re truly wonderful, Vani. It’s thanks to you our baby will have a very good name,” Noé said, pressing a tender kiss to Vanitas’ temple.
Silence settled over the room, only broken by the faint sound of the hearth crackling. Then, suddenly, Cael kicked inside Vanitas. The human yelped, hand flying to his stomach, stroking and rubbing it instinctively. Noé chuckled softly, leaning closer to the bump, pressing his cheek against Vanitas’ stomach. Vanitas hummed contentedly, fingers threading through Noé’s soft locks, stroking his hair.
Then, all of a sudden—
“Ow!” Noé yelped, pulling back from Vanitas’ stomach. Vanitas laughed, a musical sound that filled the room.
“That’s what you get for thinking of old names for baby Cael,” Vanitas teased.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Noé said, hands raised in mock surrender. “Can you forgive papa now?”
“Let’s see—” Vanitas said, and Cael kicked again, stronger this time. Both of them laughed. “I think he says he forgives you… because you’re his father.”
“I won’t let you down, Cael. Thank you for forgiving me,” Noé whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Vanitas’ stomach. Cael kicked again, as if echoing the sentiment, and they laughed together once more.
Their afternoon was spent in laughter and tender kisses, the warmth of the moment marking the memory of when their baby boy finally gained his name.
——
Month 9
By the time the last month of Vanitas’ pregnancy arrived, everything was ready.
The nursery had been fully painted—a crib with a hanging mobile carefully built and placed at its center. Cael already had a small wardrobe filled with clothes, most of them gifts from their friends. There were tiny bows, soft socks, and little shoes neatly arranged on the shelves. Blankets were folded and stacked within easy reach, and a small bag sat ready for Cael’s things whenever they decided to go out.
The nursery floor had been personalized as well. Instead of hardwood, Noé had specifically carpeted it so it would be soft—so Cael wouldn’t get hurt when he played on the floor. There was a rocking chair tucked into one corner, and a small adjoining bathroom stocked with baby necessities.
Cael’s toys were already lined up along one side of the room.
It was all finished—the room simply waiting for its owner to be born so it could finally be occupied.
At this point, Vanitas spent most of his days admiring the nursery, sleeping, and taking slow morning walks around their garden with Noé. One day, the children Vanitas usually tutored came to visit the cottage. Each of them brought a toy for the baby. Vanitas adored them—surprisingly so. He’d had his fair share of caring for a child before, back when he and Mikhail were together.
Sometimes, the children reminded him of his younger brother. He wondered if Mikhail was safe wherever he was—and Vanitas hoped that his little brother was finally healing, the same way he himself was.
Noé had taken over cooking entirely—and, surprisingly, he was getting better at it. Vanitas didn’t just tolerate the food anymore; he liked it at a normal amount. Noé, of course, was happy to cook for his husband.
They no longer traveled to Paris often, knowing Vanitas could give birth any day now. If their friends wanted to visit, they came to the cottage instead. Dante, in particular, frequented often—much to Vanitas’ surprise. Still, he appreciated the effort the dham put into visiting, sometimes arriving with a loaf of cinnamon bread—Vanitas’ recent obsession.
Vanitas’ nesting had lessened by now. He was usually too tired to build a full fortress, so instead he curled up on their bed, Murr guarding his stomach. Oftentimes, Noé joined him, snuggling close.
The midwife also visited frequently to check on Vanitas, reminding him that the birth was near—that it could happen tomorrow, or in the next few days.
And it came three days after her visit.
Vanitas had been pacing around the cottage, Murr trailing behind him with his tail swaying. Noé had just come out of the bathroom when he noticed his husband moving back and forth, sweating profusely. Confused, he watched as Vanitas walked in and out of the nursery—until a sharp pain suddenly radiated through Vanitas’ stomach, stronger each time it returned.
Vanitas clutched the nearest surface, whining in pain.
“Ah—” Vanitas said.
Noé was instantly beside him.
“Hey, chéri. What’s wrong?” Noé asked. “Are you alright?”
“It hurts,” Vanitas said.
“Okay—where does it hurt, love?” Noé said as he supported Vanitas’ back, stroking it gently. He released his scent to calm him, but no matter what he did, Vanitas remained frantic.
“The contractions are regular—” Vanitas said. “The pain is also constant.”
“You think?” Noé said. “You’re in labor?”
“I think—fuck, it hurts,” Vanitas said.
“Alright—I…” Noé said, then carefully gathered Vanitas into his arms and guided him to the bed. He propped pillows behind Vanitas’ back, making sure he was as comfortable as possible.
“How do you feel?” Noé asked.
“I should’ve noticed I’ve been in labor since the afternoon—I ignored the contractions—fuck, I’m an idiot,” Vanitas said, closing his eyes as his toes curled from another wave of pain.
“It’s alright—I’ll go get the midwife now,” Noé said.
He tried to leave the bedroom, but Vanitas caught his wrist. The human looked up at him, desperate—like a pleading cat.
“Stay—please, it hurts,” Vanitas said, his lips wobbling as he tightened his grip when another sharp contraction hit.
“I’ll be quick, I promise,” Noé said.
Vanitas groaned, then finally let go, allowing Noé to rush out and fetch the midwife from next door.
Noé came back minutes later, followed by the midwife from next door.
“Let me see him,” the midwife said. “What do you feel, son?”
“Noé—come here, please.” Vanitas’ fingers were twitching, and Noé instantly took his hand—sitting next to Vanitas on the bed and gathering him close so the human could lean onto him while the midwife checked him.
“Mhm—you’re in labor, yes,” the midwife said. “It won’t be long before I tell you to push.”
“It’s going to be okay, Vani—just breathe like we practiced, hm?” Noé said.
Vanitas did as he was told, inhaling and exhaling deeply. His contractions were increasing now—sharp and constant—sweat beading on his forehead.
“You’re ready to go and push now,” the midwife said.
Vanitas inhaled, then pushed—clutching Noé’s hand so tightly it almost felt like a bone might break. The midwife guided him: push, breathe, stop—push, breathe, stop.
Vanitas groaned, all strength in his body dissipating. He had fought curse-bearers, survived the demands of the Book while rewriting the world formula, endured being pushed, thrown, falling—debris striking his head—and survived the pain of his husband’s bite the first time Noé drank from him.
He could survive childbirth if it meant meeting their baby.
So he pushed again—Noé whispering reassurances and praises into Vanitas’ ear as his husband held him steady through the labor.
“You’re close, just a few more,” the midwife said. Vanitas whimpered, tears streaming as another sharp contraction hit—he had to turn his head, lips wobbling. Noé pressed a soft kiss to his lips, scenting him to calm him down.
And then—
A cry broke—a high-pitched, soft wail that immediately brought Vanitas to his senses.
Cael—the pale, squirming baby—was being cleaned, checked, and eventually handed to him.
“Healthy baby boy, good job,” the midwife said. “Now go bond with mama.”
Vanitas immediately took the baby into his arms—tears beginning to dry. Somehow, Cael had already calmed down—quiet, cooing softly. The baby’s dark hair mirrored Vanitas’, and he seemed to recognize his mother instantly.
Both Noé and the midwife cleaned Vanitas, changing out the soiled linens. Noé wiped Vanitas’ legs, and the midwife reassured them she could manage from here, leaving the vampire free to bond with his husband and their son.
“Hello, Cael,” Vanitas whispered. “You gave me a really hard time, little rascal.”
“Hey,” Noé said.
“Noé, he’s here. The little menace is here,” Vanitas said.
“You did very well, mon chéri,” Noé said, pressing a gentle kiss to the human’s forehead.
“He’s so small and chubby at the same time—the cheeks, look at his cheeks,” Vanitas said.
“Indeed, he’s a very healthy baby,” Noé replied.
And then Cael opened his eyes—violet, like Noé’s. Vanitas’ eyes widened, and he turned to his husband.
“He’s got your eyes,” he breathed.
“Oh—that’s…” Noé said, a soft smile forming. “That’s great—he’s got a part of me too.”
“Of course, silly—we made him. What did you expect?” Vanitas said.
“I thought—” Noé began.
“He deserves a part of you, Noé. You’re all good—and I’d like him to have all of those,” Vanitas said.
“Vanitas—thank you,” Noé whispered. “He’s so beautiful—you’re so beautiful.”
Vanitas smiled and brushed his thumb across Cael’s chubby cheek. The baby cooed, warming immediately to his mother—mouth opening and closing as if tasting the world for the first time.
In that moment, Vanitas realized he had never felt such happiness in his life. Only when he married Noé and gave birth to their baby had he ever felt this complete.
And honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Welcome to our chaotic life, Cael,” Vanitas whispered.
And the baby cooed once more, as if agreeing—starting today, he would live a life filled with love, laughter, and chaos.