✧ characters: Baelor Targaryen x Daughter!Reader, Valarr x Sister!Reader, Matarys x Sister!Reader
✧ summary: Baelor has never been able to say no to his daughter. Her older brothers choose to take advantage of this fact. Valarr and Matarys are like 12 years old in this.
✧ genre: fluff
✧ warnings: she/her pronouns, children
The afternoon had settled into the kind of golden quiet that only came when lessons were finished and supper was still hours away. She had found her usual spot near the old stone bench, skirts spread around her in the warm grass, her doll propped carefully against her knee. Six years old and entirely content, unbothered by the heat, unbothered by anything at all.
The shadows that fell over her belonged to her brothers.
Old enough to know better, young enough not to care. They stood over her with the particular energy of boys who had a plan and were very pleased with it.
She looked up.
“We need you to ask Father something,” Valarr said.
She tilted her head. “What?”
“We want to go to the tournament next week.” Matarys crouched down to her level, which she had always found more convincing than being talked at from above. “All three of us. You have to be the one to ask him.”
“Why?”
The brothers exchanged a look. Valarr cleared his throat. “Because he likes you best.”
Tournaments held no particular magic for her. She had never once begged to attend one, never pressed her face to the window when the knights rode through the city, never cared much for the noise and the crowds and the dust. But Valarr and Matarys were looking at her the way they always did when they wanted something, that particular hopeful, slightly guilty look, and she loved them more than she disliked crowds.
“What do I say?” she asked.
They told her, carefully and in some detail. Matarys made her repeat it back twice. Their father was not an unreasonable man. It was simply that no one had ever worked out how to say no to her, least of all him. His sons had noticed. They were not subtle about having noticed.
She listened to all of it. Then she picked up her doll, stood, smoothed her skirts, and went inside without another word.
The study was quiet save for the scratch of quill on parchment and the distant sounds of the yard below. Afternoon light fell long and warm across the desk, catching the dust motes that drifted in the still air.
Baelor looked up from his correspondence just in time to see his youngest come through the doorway at something between a walk and a run, cross the room entirely, and climb onto his knee before he had said a single word.
“Hello Papa!” she exclaimed settling in
“Hello my love,” he responded, setting down his quill
She looked up at him with great purpose. “Papa. Valarr and Matarys and I want to go to the tournament.”
He looked at her baffled. “You want to go to a tournament?”
“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.
“It runs three days. The last day goes very late into the night, and it is very loud.”
“I am very brave,” she said.
“You are,” he agreed, because this was simply true.
She looked at him carefully, weighing something. Then, with the air of someone bestowing a considerable honour, “You can come too, Papa. If you want.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” A nod, “I will hold your hand the whole time so you won’t be frightened.”
His expression shifted entirely. This small careful child had arrived with what was clearly her brothers’ agenda and somewhere along the way decided to protect him. At that, the last of his resistance simply gave way.
“That is very kind of you,” he said
She nodded. It was only fair, her expression said.
He glanced toward the door. Two faces disappeared from the gap so quickly they might have been imagined.
“Valarr. Matarys.”
A beat. Then footsteps, nervous and shuffling. The footsteps of two boys who had absolutely not just been crouching at a door. The boys appeared in the doorway, doing their very best to look as though they had simply been passing.
Baelor regarded them over his daughter’s head. They had the grace, at least, to stand up straight.
“We go on the first day only,” he said. “You leave the moment your sister is tired and you do not argue with me about it.” His eyes moved between them, “Understood?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Yes, Father.”
He looked back down at his daughter, who had already returned to her doll, entirely satisfied with the afternoon’s work.
Baelor tucked a strand of hair back from her face and reached for his quill.
“Thank you for the invitation,” he told her.
“You’re welcome, Papa,” she said, content
From down the corridor came the muffled but entirely unmistakable sounds of celebration.
✧ a/n: I am simply trying to create as much Baelor fluff as possible before the pain of this week’s episode. Thank you for the likes, comments, reblogs, and messages. Send me your requests
Hi pretty💕 I really love your writing! If you don't mind can you write a reaction of Ateez hearing their baby's say dady for the first time?
thank you💛
pairing: Ateez x reader
warnings: I have no idea when babies start to talk sooo....i'm not mentioning an age and also San and Wooyoung are girl dads and you cannot convince me otherwise
Hongjoong sat close to you on the couch, one arm draped along the back, the other loosely around your son who sat between you like the most precious buffer in the world. The living room glowed with the TV light, Ateezs latest performance filling the screen with sharp movements and roaring energy. The bass thumped softly through the speakers, low enough not to startle him but loud enough to feel familiar.
Hongjoong leaned forward, eyes bright, and pointed at the screen.
“That’s the opening formation,” he explained softly, voice gentle like he was telling a bedtime story instead of breaking down choreography. “See how we stand like that? It’s so the focus lands right here.”
Your son followed his finger with complete seriousness, then suddenly burst into giggles, little hands flapping as if the explanation itself was hilarious. Hongjoong broke immediately. He laughed, a full, delighted sound, shoulders shaking as he looked down at them.
“You think it’s funny too?” he asked, lowering his voice even more. “This is Daddy working, you know.”
You watched the scene with fond amusement, your heart warm and heavy at the same time. Hongjoong explaining stage details to a baby who barely understood words yet somehow understood him felt like something unreal, like a memory from a future you had once only dared to imagine.
On screen, Hongjoong appeared clearly now, center frame, eyes fierce, movements precise. Without thinking, you turned to your baby and smiled.
“Look,” you said softly, nudging him just a little. “It’s Daddy.”
Your son looked at the screen, then turned slowly toward you instead. His big eyes blinked once, thoughtful, like they were turning a tiny gear in their head. Hongjoong noticed the shift and glanced over, curiosity already blooming on his face.
Then, quietly, carefully, your son opened his mouth.
“Da… ddy.”
The world stopped.
Hongjoong’s breath caught so hard it almost hurt. His eyes flew to you, wide and shining, and you mirrored him perfectly. For half a second neither of you moved, like sudden noise would shatter the moment into dust.
“Did you hear that?” Hongjoong whispered, voice already breaking.
“Oh my god,” you breathed. “He said it. He actually said it.”
And then all composure evaporated.
Hongjoong made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and pulled your son into his arms, hands trembling as he held him close. He laughed again, louder this time, tears spilling freely as he pressed his forehead to theirs.
“I’m Daddy,” he said, disbelief and wonder tangled together. “I’m your Daddy.”
You lost it right alongside him, laughing and crying as you leaned into both of them, one hand on Hongjoong’s arm, the other brushing your baby’s cheek. Your son giggled again, clearly pleased with the chaos he had caused.
Hongjoong kissed his tiny head again and again, whispering the word like it was new and holy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.
Later, the performance kept playing in the background, but neither of you watched it anymore. The only thing that mattered was the way that one small word had rewritten everything in an instant, turning an ordinary night on the couch into something you would carry forever.
✴︎Seonghwa✴︎
The kitchen smelled faintly of sweet potato and apples, the puree sitting stubbornly untouched in a small bowl on the high chair tray. You leaned forward with the spoon, smiling through clenched patience.
“Just one bite,” you said softly, lifting the spoon like it was an offering.
Your daughter scrunched her face, turned her head away with impressive determination, and let out a tiny but very dramatic whine. The spoon hovered uselessly in the air.
You sighed and tried again. Airplane noises failed. Funny faces failed. Even your last resort, softly singing while bouncing a little on your feet, earned you nothing but louder protests and a very firm refusal.
“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your forehead. “I’m trying. I really am.”
Footsteps padded into the kitchen. Seonghwa appeared in the doorway, hair slightly messy, sleeves pushed up, watching the scene unfold with calm curiosity. He leaned against the counter, lips twitching.
“Is this still the fight from last night,” he asked lightly, “or did a new battle begin without me?”
You shot him a tired look and gestured helplessly toward the high chair. “She won’t eat her puree. She’s decided it’s the enemy.”
Seonghwa chuckled softly and walked closer, peering at your daughter with fond eyes. “She’s persistent. I respect that.”
You handed him the spoon with a sigh. “If you have some secret magic, now would be the time.”
His eyes sparkled. “Let Daddy try.”
He pulled a chair close and sat down directly in front of your daughter, lowering himself to her eye level. He picked up the spoon like it was a microphone, cleared his throat dramatically, and smiled.
Then he sang.
His voice was gentle and warm as he hummed a few lines of Dancing like butterfly wings, swaying slightly as if the kitchen was suddenly a stage. It was soft, playful, and unmistakably Seonghwa.
Your daughter froze. Then her face lit up.
She laughed, a bright, delighted sound, little hands clapping together as her feet kicked excitedly. Seonghwa smoothly slipped the spoon toward her mouth between lyrics, and without hesitation, she opened wide and took the bite.
You stared.
He sang another line. Another spoonful disappeared.
Your daughter giggled again, clearly enchanted, happily eating as if the earlier meltdown had never happened. You covered your mouth, torn between disbelief and relief.
“You’re kidding me,” you whispered.
Seonghwa finished the bite and leaned back slightly, grinning with quiet triumph. “See? Easy.”
You laughed, shaking your head, joy bubbling up now that the crisis had passed. “I’ve been fighting for twenty minutes.”
He praised your daughter softly, brushing a thumb over her tiny hand. “Good job, princess. Daddy knew you could do it.”
Then it happened.
Clear as day, your daughter looked at him, eyes bright, cheeks messy with puree, and said, “Dadda.”
Time snapped in half.
Both of you yanked your heads back toward her so fast it almost hurt. Your heart slammed against your ribs.
“Did she just,” you whispered, barely breathing, “did she just say…”
Seonghwa’s eyes filled instantly. His hand flew to his mouth, then to his chest like his heart needed physical support. “She said it,” he breathed. “She said Dadda.”
You laughed in disbelief, tears springing up as you looked between them. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
Seonghwa leaned forward, completely undone, voice shaking as he laughed and cried at the same time. “I’m your Dadda,” he whispered, overwhelmed and glowing.
Your daughter smiled proudly, as if she knew exactly what she had done. The puree no longer mattered. The kitchen no longer mattered.
That single word filled the room, warm and permanent, settling into both of you like a promise you would never forget.
✴︎Yunho✴︎
Your son rested against your chest, warm and heavy in the most comforting way, his small fingers curled into your shirt as you swayed slowly across the living room. The lights were dim, the late afternoon sun slipping in through the curtains, and you rocked back and forth with practiced ease.
“Mama,” you said softly, smiling down at him. “Ma. Ma.”
He blinked up at you, wide-eyed and curious, mouth opening like he might try, then closing again as if he had decided against it. You laughed under your breath and kept swaying, refusing to be discouraged.
“You can do it,” you encouraged. “Just say Mama.”
The front door opened with a familiar click. Footsteps followed, and then Yunho appeared, bag slung over his shoulder, hair slightly messy from the day. The moment he spotted you two, his face lit up like the room had just gained another window.
“What’s going on here?” he asked brightly, kicking off his shoes.
You grinned without stopping your gentle rocking. “I’m on a mission,” you said. “I’m trying to get him to say Mama.”
Yunho chuckled, walking closer. “You can’t rush these things,” he said easily. “He’ll say it when he’s ready.”
You shot him a playful look. “I absolutely can try.”
You leaned in again, exaggerating the movement of your lips. “Mama,” you repeated. “Say Mama.”
Your son’s attention drifted past you instead, eyes locking onto Yunho. Yunho noticed immediately and froze in place, then broke into the most ridiculous face he could manage. He puffed out his cheeks, crossed his eyes, and wiggled his eyebrows with dramatic commitment.
Your son burst into laughter, a bright, bubbling sound that filled the room. You laughed too, shaking your head.
“Daddy is being silly again,” you said fondly, glancing at Yunho.
And then, clear as anything, your son chirped, “Daddy.”
The air shifted.
You stopped swaying mid-step, your mouth falling open. Yunho froze, eyes wide, pointing at himself like he needed confirmation from the universe.
“Did he just say…?” Yunho started.
You laughed, breathless and disbelieving, covering your mouth. “He did. He really did.”
Yunho made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and crossed the room in two long strides. “No way,” he said, already reaching out. “No way.”
He gently took your son into his arms, lifting him up with a grin so wide it almost split his face. “You said Daddy?” he asked, voice shaking with joy. “You really said Daddy?”
Your son smiled back at him, clearly proud of the reaction he had caused. Yunho laughed, pressing his forehead to his son’s, bouncing him slightly.
“That’s my boy,” he praised warmly. “You’re amazing. You know that?”
You watched them, heart full, laughter still bubbling out of you. “I can’t believe I lost,” you teased. “I was right there.”
Yunho glanced back at you, still grinning, and laughed. “Maybe if you danced better,” he said playfully. “Your swaying needs work.”
You scoffed, stepping closer. “Excuse you, my dancing is top-tier.”
He laughed again, holding your son close. “Sure. He clearly disagrees.”
Your son giggled once more, nestled happily in Yunho’s arms, the room glowing with laughter and warmth. The word lingered in the air, soft and powerful, turning an ordinary evening into something unforgettable.
✴︎Yeosang✴︎
The room was still wrapped in early morning quiet, the kind that felt soft and heavy at the same time. Pale light crept in through the curtains, barely touching the edges of the bed where you and Yeosang slept tangled together. For a few seconds, everything stayed peaceful.
Then the baby monitor crackled.
A small cry broke through the silence, sharp and urgent enough to pull both of you out of sleep at once. You groaned softly, eyes blinking open as you reached for the edge of the bed.
You sighed, rubbing your face. “I’ll get her,” you murmured, already shifting to sit up.
Yeosang stirred beside you and gently caught your wrist before you could stand. His voice was still sleepy, low and warm. “No,” he said. “I’ve got her. Stay.”
You paused, then nodded, sinking back against the pillows as he slid out of bed. You heard his soft footsteps fade down the hall, followed by the creak of the nursery door and the murmur of his voice as he soothed her.
A minute later, he returned.
Yeosang stepped into the bedroom with your daughter in his arms, her little fists clenched in his shirt, her face still scrunched with lingering upset. He walked slowly, rocking her with small, careful movements, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile calm settling over her.
“See,” he said softly, pointing toward you with his free hand. “It’s okay. Mama’s here. Daddy’s here too.”
You smiled tiredly at the sight of them, reaching out to brush your daughter’s back. She pouted, lower lip sticking out, eyes glossy as she tried to decide if the world was still worth being mad at.
Yeosang tilted his head, watching her with a gentle smile. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. “Did you have a bad dream?”
She sniffled once, then looked up at him instead, studying his face like she was searching for something familiar.
Yeosang’s lips twitched. “Is there something you want to tell Daddy?” he asked, tone light and teasing, not expecting anything more than another small sound.
Your daughter stared at him for a long second.
Then, softly, clearly, she said, “Daddy.”
Your body jolted awake instantly.
You pushed yourself upright, heart slamming as the word echoed through the room. “Did she just—” you whispered, voice sharp with disbelief.
Yeosang froze.
His eyes went wide, his breath catching so suddenly it was visible. “She… she said…” He looked down at her, then back at you, panic and wonder colliding on his face. “Did you hear that?”
You nodded rapidly, already smiling so hard it hurt. “Yes. Yes, I heard it.”
For a moment, Yeosang just stood there, stunned, like his brain had short-circuited. Then his excitement burst through all at once. He laughed, a soft, breathless sound, pulling her closer to his chest.
“She said Daddy,” he said again, voice shaking. “She said it”
Your daughter blinked up at him, calm now, clearly pleased with the reaction she had caused. Yeosang pressed his forehead to hers, eyes shining, still half in disbelief.
“I’m your Daddy,” he whispered, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “You know that?”
You watched them, fully awake now, heart overflowing as the quiet morning transformed into something unforgettable. The word lingered in the air, warm and gentle, and Yeosang couldn’t stop smiling, like the world had just shifted into a softer, brighter place.
✴︎San✴︎
You lay sprawled on the soft playmat, the three of you in a loose, comfortable pile. Your daughter kicked her legs happily between you and San, tiny fingers grabbing at whatever she could reach. San hovered above slightly, phone raised, already grinning at the screen like this was his new favorite stage.
“Okay,” he announced dramatically, angling the camera. “Introduction time.”
You laughed as he tilted the phone toward you first. “So here we have the hot mommy,” he said proudly, wiggling his eyebrows.
You scoffed and nudged his leg. “Yah.”
He laughed and shifted the camera down. “This,” he continued warmly, zooming in just a little, “is our beautiful daughter. Cutest human alive. No competition.”
Your daughter squealed as if she agreed.
Then he flipped the camera back to himself, smiling wide. “And I’m San. Former idol. Current professional playmate.”
You chuckled, watching him lean back down beside you. “Your life really changed,” you teased.
He nodded seriously. “Idol life is over,” he said. “Now it’s chill life. Playdates. Floor time. And lots of boobies.”
You turned your head sharply. “San.”
He froze, then laughed sheepishly. “Okay, okay,” he said quickly. “I’ll cut that out. Promise.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.
San adjusted the phone again and zoomed in on your daughter, his voice softening immediately. “Look at her,” he said fondly. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
She stared at the camera with wide eyes, then tried to grab the phone. San laughed and pulled it back slightly.
“I already know,” he went on, mock serious, “no man will ever be good enough for you. Ever. Daddy will judge them all.”
You chuckled, watching the way his eyes crinkled with pure affection.
Then your daughter shifted, lips moving like she was working something out. A small sound bubbled up, barely louder than a breath.
“Dada.”
San froze mid-sentence.
The phone stopped moving. His smile vanished into stunned stillness, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
You turned to him slowly. “San,” you said, voice bright with disbelief. “You got that on camera.”
He looked at you, then down at your daughter, then back at you again, like his brain needed a second to reboot. “She… she just—”
Your daughter kicked happily, completely unaware of the emotional damage she had just caused.
San laughed suddenly, loud and breathless, joy bursting out of him. He lowered the phone and leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “You said Dada?” he asked, voice shaking with happiness. “That was for me?”
He praised her instantly, showering her with kisses and soft laughter. “Good job, baby. Daddy heard you. Daddy’s right here.”
Your chest warmed at the sight, your smile aching.
San looked back at you, eyes shining, grin unstoppable. “See?” he said proudly. “She knows who I am.”
Then his expression turned mischievous. “She probably heard you calling me Daddy earlier and thought it sounded fun.”
You gasped. “San!”
He laughed, already bracing himself. “I’m joking, I’m joking!”
You smacked his arm lightly, shaking your head. “You’re an Idiot.”
He only laughed harder, pulling both you and your daughter closer, the phone still recording as the three of you melted back into the playmat, one tiny word echoing happily between you.
✴︎Mingi✴︎
The air at the zoo buzzed with distant chatter, children laughing, and the low, steady sounds of animals settling into their day. You stood beside Mingi at the elephant enclosure, leaning lightly into his shoulder while he held your son securely in his arms. The massive gray shapes moved slowly in front of you, calm and powerful, their trunks swaying like living branches.
“I love elephants,” you said softly, eyes following one as it lumbered closer to the water. “They’re so gentle.”
Mingi hummed in agreement, bouncing your son slightly on his hip. “Yeah,” he said, smiling down at him. “And look at you. You look pretty cute here too.”
You laughed. “He gets that from me tho.”
Your son watched the elephants with wide eyes, fascinated, his tiny hand gripping Mingi’s jacket. Everything felt peaceful, like one of those perfect memories you wished you could freeze.
Then one of the elephants let out a sudden, loud trumpet.
Your son startled hard and immediately began to cry, face scrunching as his little hands clenched. Mingi reacted instantly, turning his body away from the enclosure and pulling him close.
“Nooo,” Mingi murmured, voice dropping low and soothing. He rocked him gently, hand rubbing slow circles on his back. “It’s okay. It was just loud, that’s all.”
You winced sympathetically and glanced toward the stroller parked nearby. “I’m going to grab his plushie,” you said, already stepping away. “That usually helps.”
Mingi nodded, still rocking him. “I’ve got him.”
You rummaged through the buggy quickly, fingers brushing past snacks and blankets until you found the familiar soft plush. As you turned back around, you slowed.
Your son’s cries had softened to sniffles. Mingi had leaned his forehead against his son’s temple, whispering something you couldn’t quite hear. Your son looked up at him, eyes still wet but calmer now, studying his face.
Then, clear and gentle, he said, “Daddy.”
You froze.
The world seemed to narrow down to that single moment. Your breath caught as you watched Mingi’s head snap up, eyes widening like he wasn’t sure reality had just happened.
He looked at you immediately, pointing at himself with disbelief. “Did you hear that?” he asked, voice high and shaking. “Did he just say Daddy?”
You rushed back to them, nodding eagerly, laughter bubbling out of you. “Yes! Mingi, he said it. He really said it.”
Mingi let out a laugh that cracked halfway through, equal parts joy and shock. He hugged your son closer, eyes shining as he looked down at him. “You said Daddy?” he asked softly. “That was for me?”
Your son sniffled once, then smiled faintly, clearly pleased with the reaction. Mingi laughed again, brighter this time, pressing a kiss to his hair.
“That’s my boy,” he said proudly. “You did so well.”
You handed him the plushie, still grinning, your heart feeling impossibly full. “Guess the scare was worth it,” you teased gently.
Mingi glanced back toward the elephants, then down at his son, then back at you, smiling wider than ever. “Elephants are officially my favorite animals now,” he declared. “Best day. Best animals.”
You laughed, stepping closer as the enclosure settled back into calm, the memory already anchoring itself deep in your heart.
✴︎Wooyoung✴︎
Lunch stretched lazily across the kitchen table, sunlight spilling over the counter and warming the space between you and Wooyoung. Plates sat half-finished as the two of you talked about the rest of the day, voices relaxed, words overlapping in that familiar rhythm you had perfected over time.
“So later,” Wooyoung said, leaning back in his chair, “we could go out. Or we could not go out. Very different options.”
You laughed. “That’s not a plan.”
He grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Fine. Then we stay home. And do… each other.”
You raised a brow. “You're nasty.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to make it ridiculous. “I was talking about skincare....I think."
You burst out laughing before leaning forward to kiss him, short and warm. He hummed happily, clearly pleased with himself.
You glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed softly. “Nap time is over,” you said. “I’m going to wake her up.”
Wooyoung winced theatrically. “You know she’s going to be cranky.”
You grabbed a napkin and stood. “You get cranky too,” you shot back. “And I deal with you just fine.”
He gasped, offended. “The audacity.”
You headed down the hallway and into the nursery, the soft hum of the baby monitor already unnecessary. Your daughter was awake, face scrunched, letting out small, unhappy cries as she shifted in her crib. You immediately softened, arms reaching out as you lifted her gently.
“Look who is already awake” you murmured, rocking her slowly. “It’s okay. Mama’s here.”
She clung to your shirt, still fuzzy with sleep, breathing uneven as you swayed back and forth. The door creaked open and Wooyoung peeked in, smug grin already in place.
“Told you,” he whispered loudly. “Cranky.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, continuing to rock her. “She just woke up.”
Wooyoung stepped closer, his tone melting as he leaned in. “Hi, baby,” he cooed softly, brushing his nose against her cheek. He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Did you miss Daddy?”
Your daughter sniffled once and slowly looked up at him, eyes still heavy but focused. For a heartbeat, the room felt impossibly quiet.
Then she said, softly, clearly, “Dada.”
Wooyoung froze.
His eyes went comically wide as he snapped his head toward you. “Did she just—” he whispered urgently. “Did you hear that?”
Your breath caught, surprise giving way to a bright, disbelieving smile. “Oh my god,” you said, voice warm and full. “She said Dada.”
Wooyoung made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and immediately scooped her out of your arms. “That’s it,” he declared proudly, hugging her close. “I win.”
Your daughter rested easily against him now, calm as if she hadn’t just rewritten his entire personality.
“You can go,” Wooyoung added, grinning at you. “I’ve got this. My daughter called for me.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you watched him sway with her, still glowing. “Enjoy your moment,” you said.
He looked down at her again, smile softening into something tender and amazed. “Always,” he murmured, holding her a little closer.
✴︎Jongho✴︎
The day blurred together in a haze of blankets, tissues, and the dull ache of having the flu. You stayed curled up in bed, hair a mess, throat sore, energy completely gone. The world outside the bedroom felt very far away. Jongho had insisted you stay put, and for once, you listened.
He had been moving quietly around the apartment all day, taking care of everything without complaint. Somewhere between naps and coughing fits, you heard him talking softly to your son, his voice steady and calm as he carried on with the day like this was the most natural thing in the world.
In the afternoon, the bedroom door opened gently.
Jongho stepped inside, careful and composed, carrying a bowl of soup in one hand while your son balanced on his hip. The smell alone made you feel a little better. You smiled weakly at him.
“You’re a lifesaver,” you said hoarsely.
He shook his head, setting the bowl down on the bedside table. “You’re sick,” he replied simply. “This is my job.”
He lifted your son down and placed him carefully on your chest. Your son immediately settled there, warm and familiar, like he belonged nowhere else. You pouted exaggeratedly.
“I miss my two boys,” you said. “I feel like I’ve been stuck in bed forever.”
Jongho chuckled softly. “We’re always within reach,” he said. “Even when you’re dramatic.”
You smiled and hugged your son close, pressing gentle kisses to the top of his head. He squirmed a little, then calmed, fingers gripping your shirt as if anchoring himself to you. The simple closeness made your chest ache in the best way.
Your son suddenly shifted, lifting his head to look past you. He pointed a tiny finger toward Jongho, who was standing near the bed, watching the two of you with quiet fondness.
Then, clear and confident, your son said, “Daddy.”
You nearly choked.
Your head snapped up so fast it made you dizzy. “Did he just—” you croaked, eyes wide as you looked at Jongho.
Jongho froze for half a second, eyes widening in pure surprise. Then he laughed, a warm, disbelieving sound, pointing at himself. “That is me,” he said. “He said Daddy.”
You stared at your son, then back at Jongho, stunned and laughing despite your sore throat. “I can’t believe this,” you said. “I’m sick and I miss it happening properly.”
Jongho grinned, clearly pleased. “Sounds like a victory to me.”
You groaned dramatically. “That’s not fair,” you protested. “I’m at a disadvantage.”
He laughed again and climbed carefully onto the bed, settling beside you. He leaned in to kiss your son’s head, his expression soft and proud. “You did so well,” he murmured.
Your son smiled, completely content, as if he hadn’t just dropped a life-changing word into the room.
You sighed, smiling despite yourself. “Fine,” you said. “But I’m getting out of bed today. I need to even the score.”
Jongho glanced at you, amused. “Focus on getting better first.”
You smiled up at him, holding both of them close. Even with the flu, even stuck in bed, the moment felt perfect.
