The living room buzzed with chaos, the kind Monopoly was infamous for. The coffee table was buried under game money, dice, and a half-demolished snack spread. Laughter tangled with curses as friends argued over property cards.

Troy sprawled across the couch, taking up more space than anyone needed. Her massive frame was relaxed, but her posture screamed coiled energy. Two of her four arms were folded over her chest while the other two draped lazily at her sides, claws tapping a slow rhythm into the cushions.

Across from her, her wife slammed a fistful of fake bills onto the board.

"Fourteen hundred for rent?" she snapped, eyes blazing.

Their friend grinned, smug and unrepentant. "Don’t blame me. Blame the system. Pay up."

"Capitalism," she growled, "is a scam."

Troy’s lips curved into a smirk, the faint tips of her tusks catching the lamplight. She chuckled low, the sound rolling out like distant thunder. Usually, this was just another game night — loud, ridiculous, and perfect.

But tonight wasn’t normal.

Because beneath the noise, Troy heard it.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Soft. Faint. Rhythmic.

Her ears twitched, tuning out the laughter, the scraping of game pieces, even the hiss of soda cans. Her star-flecked pupils dilated as she zeroed in on her wife, every muscle in her body locking into stillness. Her claws stilled mid-tap. Her tails went rigid.

Her golden eyes widened.

She’s pregnant.

The thought slammed into her like a meteor, leaving her breathless. Her chest felt too tight to contain everything bursting inside her — awe, terror, exhilaration.

Troy wasn’t built for subtlety.

"You need a pillow?" she blurted.

Her wife blinked, halfway through counting bills. "...What?"

"A pillow. For your back. Or legs. Or neck."

"I—what? No. I’m fine."

"You thirsty? I’ll get you water. Or tea. Or…"

She didn’t finish the sentence. One moment she was on the couch; the next she vaulted over the backrest like gravity was optional, claws clicking against the kitchen tile.

Thirty seconds later, she reappeared carrying an absurd tray stacked high with crackers, fruit slices, two protein bars, and three drinks balanced perfectly in her upper arms. Her lower right arm clutched a folded blanket, and the other already held a pillow.

The table went silent.

Her wife stared at her. "Troy… what the hell?"

Troy crouched beside her, tucking the blanket around her lap with impossible gentleness for someone her size. "You’ve been sitting too long. It’s bad for circulation. Snack. Water. Both. Do you want my hoodie? You look chilly. Or maybe warm? Are you warm?"

"I… I’m fine!" she insisted, exasperated.

"You’re perfect," Troy corrected without missing a beat, sliding the tray closer.

One friend leaned toward another, whispering, "Is she dying or something?"

"She’s precious," Troy growled, without even glancing up.

"Precious for what?"

"For existing."

Her wife froze mid-reach, suspicion flickering in her eyes. "Troy. You’re acting like a hover-drone on overdrive."

"I’m being attentive," Troy said smoothly, though her restless tails betrayed her.

"No. You’re hovering."

Another friend coughed. "I thought she hated Monopoly. She hasn’t threatened to flip the board once."

Troy ignored them. Her gaze softened, glowing faintly in the dim light, pupils blown wide as she brushed her thumb along her wife’s knuckles.

"Do you… know something I don’t?" she asked carefully.

Troy hesitated, tusks glinting as her grin turned sharp and crooked.

"…Nope," she lied, voice too soft, too steady.

But her claws trembled where they rested on the blanket, gripping tight like restraint alone was a battle.

She could wait to tell her.

…Probably.

…Maybe.

Unless she couldn’t.