A/n: I made it a reality.
The apartment is quiet in that rare, peaceful way that only happens in the evenings. The curtains are half-drawn, warm light spilling across the floor, and you’re settled comfortably on the couch, one hand resting over your belly, eyes glazed over in bliss.
And of course, Yor is kneeling in front of you.
She’s cooing softly, eyes wide and shining, both hands warm and gentle as they cradle you. Every so often she leans in, pressing her cheek or her lips to your belly like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Oh,” she murmurs happily, “you’re being so good to mommy. You must be very comfortable in there.”
You smile without even thinking about it, relaxed, content, utterly adored.
A few steps away, Loid stands stiffly, arms crossed, staring.He tells himself he’s assessing the situation. Monitoring comfort. Ensuring proper care.
It does not explain why he hasn’t blinked in a full thirty seconds.
“You’re forgetting who the father is,” he says finally, tone automatic, professional. “She needs—”
Yor’s head snaps up, a scowl forms on her face watching the man.
The suddenness of it makes Loid pause mid-sentence.
“You’re forgetting,” Yor says calmly, though there’s steel beneath the softness, “that Y/n is also mine.” Her hand still on your belly, her gaze flicks back to you immediately, tenderness returning like it never left.
“And Y/n needs attention,” she continues, leaning forward again. She presses her face gently into your belly, sighing in contentment. “Lots of attention...womanly attention.”
Your fingers slip into Yor’s hair, stroking slowly. Yor hums, clearly pleased, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
“Draw a bath for us,” Yor adds without looking up. “With all her essential needs.”
“Provide... I—” Loid starts.
He stops himself. His shoulders tense… then drop as he exhales. This is not a battle he’s winning, he knows it.
“Well?” Yor prompts, glancing up at him, eyebrows raised just slightly.
Loid sighs, already turning away. “I’ll prepare it.”
“Do not forget the sweets,” Yor calls after him sweetly. “Wine for me and juice for Y/n.”
Loid mutters as he heads for the kitchen, barely audible.“I should be the one taking a bath with her.”
“What was that?” Yor asks, turning her head sharply.
Loid freezes in the doorway.“…Nothing.”
From the couch, Anya suddenly giggles.“Heh.”
All three of you look at her.
“Papa is jealous,” Anya announces cheerfully, swinging her legs.
“Anya,” Loid warns from the kitchen.
Anya grins wider. “Mama is winning. Mama cuddles. Papa makes snacks.”
Yor blinks once, then looks back down at you. Her expression softens completely, a proud little smile curving her lips. She adjusts her grip on you protectively, like the matter is settled.
“Jealousy is silly,” Yor says gently. “Y/n needs calm. And comfort.”
“I am perfectly calm,” Loid replies from the kitchen, cupboard doors opening a little louder than necessary.
The sound of running water begins down the hall. Towels are set out. The faint clink of glasses. The unmistakable smell of something sweet being prepared with meticulous care.
Yor leans closer to you, whispering, “The bath will be ready soon.”
You smile, warm and cherished, wrapped in the quiet certainty that you are loved deeply, fiercely, and from all sides.
And somewhere between juice, wine, sweets, and perfectly measured bathwater, Loid exhales again—resigned, devoted, and utterly outnumbered.
