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It only took one morning of emptying his guts into the toilet to know he was pregnant.
Virtues don’t get sick. They do not bleed. They do not have wills of their own. They don’t have time for breaks, so the witches baked them perfect. Supposedly.
It’s not like the Fount was trying to not get pregnant either. Since he let Healer ride out his rut with himself as the outlet, it was inevitable really.
Knowledge will deny to anyone who dares ask that he could’ve made himself infertile.
Still, seeds of regret begin to plant themselves in the virtues mind as he grips the porcelain rim of the toilet he had newly installed a week ago.
No one had to know of the Fount’s relationship with Healer, but he’d never make his lover feel unwelcome. Even if Knowledge was above mortal necessities like a restroom, he still had one made by his puppeteered rabbits for the blonde. He silently thanks his past self as another heave of bile lands in the toilet.
He hears the wood of his bed frame creak and sheets get thrown to the floor as calloused feet quickly pad closer to him. Healer, dressed in only his boxers, hastily makes his way to the Fount’s side. The man purrs at the warmth, melting into the warm man beside him as he kneels on the cold floor and his skin grows clammy.
“Oh dear…are you okay, my Fount?” Healer frets, taking a nearby hand towel to wipe Knowledge’s face and the few unfortunate hair strands clean. The stars that usually shine so brightly have become dim. Poor thing, he must be stressed.
“Yes, perfectly fine. Just had to get that out of my system,” the virtue croons. He turns to fully embrace the healer, attempting to soak up his freshly-awoken warmth like a sponge. His purring grows louder in contentment as he nuzzles the scarred over claiming bite on Healer’s tanned neck.
“At least I’m not ill. Virtues can’t get sick, you know?” The Fount mumbles. His tail goes to wrap around the both of them. Those moon yellow and lake blue eyes look up at Healer with something analytical. He’s dissecting the man holding him, his reactions and thoughts. Though it’s something Healer has come to expect—the Fount’s fear of abandonment runs deeper than he could ever hope to understand in his mortal life—it still pains him to know he’s not fully trustworthy to Knowledge. Even with the man he loves, the Fount can never let his guard fully down.
His arms wrap tighter around the virtue.
“I am aware you and your siblings can not get sick, yes,” Healer looks over towards the toilet. “So then why-“
“I’m pregnant.”
His head whips towards the Fount, ears perked in alarm and eyelashes snapped open to show those beautiful colors Knowledge wishes he’d show off more. Even with his lover’s posture, the steady thumping off his tail tells him that the blonde isn’t entirely opposed to the idea of a child.
“Is that- it- it’s not mine, is it?”
“Healer,” Fount deadpans.
Tanned hands fly up in surrender, and Knowledge whines at the loss of heat.
“Sorry! I just…still can’t believe you’d have my child out of all the cookies on Earthbread…”
“Has cookiekind really put me on that high a pedestal?” Knowledge laughs, but the eyebags sunken into his skull and the rasp in his tone are themselves answers to his questions.
“I am not above the desire to lay with someone. Just because I know more than your average cookie doesn’t mean I’m better than anyone else,” he punctuates with a kiss to Healer’s lips.
The man eagerly reciprocates the kiss, tail audibly thumping on the tile behind him. Soft hands hold the Fount at his hips as he bites the virtues bottom lip. Knowledge pulls back to breathe after who knows how long, trying to quietly gulp down air as Healer chuckles. As the healer looks over the Fount’s form, imagines him preaching with a growing child and responsibilities, he sobers.
“Do you…want to keep it? What will your people think? The Witches? I don’t want to be the thing that ruins you,” Healer stands from where he was cradling the Fount to help the man to his feet.
Dark claws press into Healer’s back as Knowledge buries his head in the warm neck of his mate. Soft breaths become gasps, hitching into sobs after less than a minute. The rough stubble of the Fount scratches the blonde’s collarbone as he shakes his head in grief.
“You can’t leave if I keep it. Healer, you can’t leave me. Please,” Knowledge struggles to get out, shaking and sobbing as he is. His claws dig into the man’s back to keep him close. Desperation plagued his movements. An unraveling. Healer has never seen the virtue like this.
“My Fount, you know I won’t leave you,” he says with a kiss to the blue cookie’s head. “Whether you keep it or not. I promise.”
Frantic mumbles spill from Knowledges bitten lips. Jam lazily drips down his blue hands as the claws dig into Healer’s spine. The warmth of his love’s life seeps into his cold hands, and for even a moment he can pretend the warmth is his own. He pretends he can ever be anything without the warmth of his Healer to fill him up.
“Liar. Liar,” he whimpers.
His shoulders are wrapped in warmth as he’s pushed away by the gentlest of hands.
“I’m not lying, my Fount. Please,” the blonde begs, hand going to cup Knowledge’s chin to thumb at the lip he’s been worrying.
“You don’t have to hold me so close. You are all I could ever ask for,” he plants a soft kiss to the Fount’s lips before pulling back to look at the softening expression before him. Poor thing used to look so confused when Healer would be affectionate with him, even when it was the virtue who formed the relationship first. He’d stare at Healer expressionlessly until he left his line of sight. Nowadays he leans into the touch, or even seeks it out himself, curling up as a cat on Healer’s stomach at night to steal his warmth as the blonde reads.
“I want to keep it,” Knowledge admits. Healer opens his mouth to voice some form of reassurance, but quickly halts as the Fount brings up his (still bloodied) hand.
“But I’m…scared. I know it’s stupid for the literal embodiment of knowledge to be scared of something like having a child but…I don’t know. I don’t know why I feel like this and I want it to stop! I’m above this! I’m not supposed to feel these sick things!-“
“Hey, hey. Fount. It’s okay. I promise. No witches are here to punish you. You’re okay.”
His bloodied hand is brought to Healer’s lips as he plants a kiss to Knowledge’s knuckles. He still looks up at the Fount so kindly, even when he’s difficult on days like this. The thought brings another onslaught of tears to gather in his eyes. His nose is runny, his throat hurts, and he’s so so tired.
Knowledge just wants Healer to hold him in their bed til he doesn’t wake up again. He wants him to stay forever. To love him without condition.
‘He’s going to grow tired of you, scholar,’ that cruel voice hisses in his ear.
‘Unconditional love is a pipe dream for things like you. All love is conditional, it only matters to what degree.’
‘I wonder when his love will run out,’ is the last thought planted in his head before the voice seems to dispel itself.
The Fount curls in on himself, cradling his concave stomach. Distantly, fuzzy hands hold him. Something outside of his conscious. The lights feel far away and Knowledge himself is in the backseat of his own actions. He looks up at Healer. He looks concerned, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he leaves, does it? No matter what, a piece of him will permanently be the Fount’s.
“Let’s head back to bed, love. You can take today off,” Healer offers.
The Fount shakes his head repeatedly, but does not fight Healer’s guiding hands as the man beside him walks him to their mussed bed. Thin blue curtains hang from a frame, obscuring the bed and making the suns rays like a purple puddle of light on the floor. It’d be so tempting to forget his position, even for a day. To lay with Healer in bed, cradled in his warmth and bundled in blankets stacked so high he can’t see the star patterns in the canopy.
A day off…haha…like a common cookie… maybe…maybe it’s not so bad an idea. He hasn’t taken a weekend off in half a century or so, maybe his people won’t be too mad at him for a disappearance. Then he can pretend he’s just like Healer, and not the thing he was made to be. Would…having a name help the illusion? To his people, he’s nothing but Knowledge, but Healer doesn’t care about his status. If he wants more love, then he should change himself to earn it, right? Of course! Of course!
The Fount is layed to rest in their shared bed as the blonde man walks to pick up the blankets he flung off the bed earlier during his panic. Soft fluff is tucked under Knowledge’s chin, a weighted blanket placed atop it to mimic a cuddle. The space next to the virtue dips as the Healer joins Fount in bed and he’s once again wrapped in a hug. Healer’s chin rests in the dip of the blue cookie’s neck, softly kissing the claim he planted weeks earlier.
The silence in the room wraps around like another blanket: protection and comfort in one. Still, the desire to be someone worth loving as opposed to a tool worth revering outweighs the desire to keep the safety of silence. Greedy as he is, it will never be enough for the Fount. Nothing will ever be enough.
“Healer?” His weak voice barely manages to get out. The silence immediately fades into stillness. Warmth giving way to cold—to vulnerability.
A hum comes from the man still kissing at his neck, but he can feel him stopping to look up at the Fount. Even if he can’t see, he still puts the effort in to appear attentive. The sobs almost pick back up at the Healer’s care.
“I think I want a name.”
The man next to him props himself on his elbows to better look at the Fount. Even with his eyes closed, the Fount always feels seen in a way no one else cared to. He feels stripped bare, left even more vulnerable than when Healer takes him late into the night. It feels like a knife in his guts, but true to his name his Healer always seems to make it all better afterwards.
“A name?” Healer asks.
Heat crawls up his cheeks. Embarrassment claws at the recesses of his mind. This is stupid. He was made without a name for a reason. But…Happiness’ people gave her a name and she wasn’t punished too badly…maybe First Milk won’t be too hard on him for slipping up this time…
Memories of cookie crumbs falling from the sky in waves, the deafening crunch as inanimate corpses smile at the Fount only to be moments later decapitated by pearly white teeth. He had taken too long a break from his duties. So in the name of First Milk, the others had brought him to witness a banquet. His mother wasn’t there, likely too disgusted by him to even deign him with an appearance. He sat kneeling on the hard wood of the banquet table for hours as the witches around him tried their best to get him to break. Broken arms and legs placed in front of him as both offerings and threats grew stale as he stared at the carnage.
He hasn’t slipped up since.
“I think…is Blueberry Yoghurt a good name? I know Blueberry *Milk* would probably be more apt but…”
But he can’t make himself take on the monicker of his creator. Every time he hears the word, he’s reminded of his abandonment. Of his inadequacy as a virtue.
“I think it’s lovely, Blueberry,” Healer smiles. He lowers himself to plant a kiss on Blueberry Yoghurt’s nose.
“Wh- already with the nicknames?” He sputters.
“It was right there! My tiny little blueberry, so small and-“
“I’m literally one inch shorter,” Blueberry Yoghurt pouts.
Healer chuckles and attacks him in a hug.
“So tiny! You can just fit in one palm! Little thing!”
”You’re impossible,” he huffs playfully.
Despite all the (frankly untrue, I mean come on! He’s not even that small! He’s above average height for a cookie!) teasing from Healer, the virtue feels nothing but loved. More accepted than he has been in millennia.
His people don’t have to know. Neither does his mother. Neither do the other witches. They don’t need to know of his greed and selfishness in wanting to be more than a tool—for asking more than he’s been given. All that matters is someone will be waiting for him when the day is done. Someone who will see him and talk to him as a person, even if it’s only another masquerade of the Fount’s. And maybe…maybe someone to have a child with. To nurture a little sponge of knowledge of his own with the love of his life. A family of his own after watching thousands behind the glass of his station.
It can never come out to anyone, but Blueberry Yoghurt doesn’t care.
This joy will be his and his alone. He is nothing but Earthbread’s greatest liar. Anything he must do to keep Healer or his child safe will be an action worth taking.
So long as Healer doesn’t leave him.