healing comes in small doses: stomach bug
pairing: husband! kim mingyu x wife! reader
healing comes in small doses masterlist
synopsis: in which, you're trying to get a message across your oblivious husband.
w.c: 6,7k
genre: domestic fluff
tags: npr, non idol!au, established relationship, gendered terms, terms of endearment (baby, babe, honey), reader is shorter than mingyu, soft mingyu, fluff, family dynamics, pregnancy
warnings: nsfw mentions, suggestive joke, sickness (pls let me know if i missed anything!)
takes place as newly weds and before seo ah!
a/n: the dialogue and idea of dropping hints are by my lovely alratatata @temptaetions <3 thank you so much, alta! I appreciate you for always having these boundless dialogues! also i need creative input for my banner. it's my first attempt ksghfdk. i was exhausted towards the end soo...i hope you guys enjoy! ~
Minors/Blank Blogs/Spam Likers will be blocked!
as always, i i thrive on tags, reblogs, and comments!<3
No one told you that part of the highs of being newlyweds was the giddy feeling of choosing the right colors of furniture, picking up on a main recipe for banchan to suit your preference for savory and your husband's affinity for spice, and to your surprise--budgeting.
It was something you both learned the hard way. Though you thought having a partner would make you accountable with your spendings, sometimes the excitement just gets the both of you. Like that ridiculous marble and glass coffee table whose granite color did not compliment your cozier apartment at all. Or that thrifted shoe rack you both got because it was “vintage” but you had to constantly nail together or choose which shoes could balance out the weight on each layer. Or the fact that you both lapsed into an unhealthy addiction for Mrs. Kwon’s fried chicken and that Mingyu picks up iced americano for you each weekend on his way back from his morning runs.
The attention towards your spending habits as a couple came to light when one evening, Mingyu decided to surprise you with his own take of said fried chicken. Being the amazing cook that he is, he nearly outdid Mrs. Kwon’s recipe. You immediately looked through the receipts, did a calculation and total of all your spendings. To your horror, you sat your husband down to tell him that you could have saved nearly 700,000 KRW if you had just had some self-discipline.
So, you sell the eyesore of a coffee table, use the money to get a good deal for both a new coffee table and shoe rack from IKEA. You get your own espresso machine later and make use of the tumblers your cousin bought you for your wedding day.
What you've both discovered with budgeting was, there were certain items you could save up on by simply doing it yourselves. Initially, you were hesitant about the prospect of doing a terrible job with DIYs that you end up spending more for the damage than saving. Luckily, Mingyu is very good with his hands. Any task or skill he'd put his mind into would always come out great.
You've both started baking your own bread for example. Just last week you've learned to culture your own yogurt. Mingyu, on the other hand, took up some carpentry classes for the sake of custom-building furniture in the odd corners of your home. In the beginning, you thought it was a stretch, not really keen on competing with Nara Smith. But considering that you were both starting on your savings goal for a new home, you let him.
Nearly a year into marriage and budgeting for two had been an adventure, and you've learned it at times didn't have to be strictly practical. You had fun with it too.
Tonight, for example, you gave into your week-long urge to dye your hair and your husband offers to do it for you.
"I never do these steps when I dye my own hair," you mutter, Mingyu scoops a generous dollop of vaseline on his fingers. The rough pads of his fingers smooth the product over the skin near your hairline.
"Yeah, me either," he whispers as if his concentration would break if he was any louder.
You snicker, imagining seventeen-year-old Mingyu and his chestnut brown hair that earned him a suspension and that one picture Wonwoo showed you of Mingyu at twenty-years old with the box-bleach hair fail.
Your husband immediately knew where your mind went with that sparkle of mirth in your eyes. He groans with a pout, "Don’t. "
You giggle once he reaches the back of your ears, "I didn’t even say anything!"
“Your face carries all the subtitles,” he huffs out before carefully applying towards the last few areas of skin the hair dye would touch.
It's incredibly endearing, you think, that Mingyu chose to do this extra step so you'd avoid the annoyance over the stains on your skin without the protection of the vaseline.
"Thank you, babe," you shoot him a dopey smile as he secures a plastic bag over your (his) old t-shirt. The man only smiles, quickly pecking your nose before slipping gloves over his hands. He looks over the bathroom counter. Plastic over the tiled surface, mixed hair dye, a brush, a comb, and towel.
You help him out by sectioning your hair and setting up a show for you both to watch from your phone. You don't even watch him brush the hair dye on to the first locks of hair. Simply setting your eyes on the show playing on your screen with full trust.
"It doesn't smell...strong or chemical-y," you note, briefly glancing at the mirror to see that your husband has covered half of your hair.
He smirks proudly, tapping at the box, "It's ammonia free~"
"Cool," you say, raising a disbelieving brow at him towards the mirror, "How'd you know about this stuff?"
"Only two failed hair-dyeing can teach ya."
"Oh, I'm starting to think you shouldn't be doing this."
“Please, that’s the exact reason why I should be doing this.”
You give him a look but let him be. You know how careful Mingyu is when it comes to you anyway.
An hour later, you’re drying your hair while your husband cleans up the bathroom of all paraphernalia and stains from the dye. True to his word, the color looks promising, a little darker than expected and you notice a section that’s uneven but you didn’t mind, it was at the back of your head anyway. It still scratches the itch for a new look without anything drastic. You catch Mingyu glancing towards the mirror from time to time, like he’s anxious you’ll hate it as if you didn’t choose the color and do this to yourself. You find it cute.
You also find it cute to tease him too, so you keep your expression neutral and finish up drying your hair.
Mingyu looms behind while you brush your hair and mindlessly style it to frame your face. You love it. The longer you look at it, the more the darker shade grows on you that you decide you love it more than your first choice.
You don’t say anything though, even when your husband compliments you. You only hum and after a while, release a deep sigh. His eyes hold that glassiness in them like it does when he’s worried and he gnaws on his bottom lip a little.
“You don’t like it?”
You tilt your head, doing your absolute best not to crumble at the way his voice sounded so small. But you stifle your smile and pull out the uneven section of hair, “Well…you missed a spot.”
A low whine escapes the back of his throat and he looks at you through the mirror while brushing his fingers through your hair. Wrapping his arms around you, he nuzzles his face into your neck in apology.
“But you look really pretty,” he rests his chin on your shoulder. “Would it help if we dyed your eyebrows too?”
That’s when you burst out in giggles unable to resist his pout—which grows 10x worse once he realized your ploy.
“Bully,” he pinches your side. You squeal, tilting your head up and reaching with one hand to cup his face and kiss the corner of his mouth. Then you keep pressing kisses anywhere your craned neck could reach till his mock offended expression falls away.
“Sorry, babe,” you smile, “I love it. Thank you for doing this for me.”
“Of course, baby,” Mingyu kisses the top of your head, a pleased smile stretching across his lips when his choice of brand of dye doesn’t smell of chemicals but rather a soft scent of a fruity conditioner. “The color really brings out your eyes.”
You laugh a little, endlessly amused and endeared how Mingyu speaks to you like he’s your girlfriend. You both take a few seconds to admire his handiwork. He hasn’t let go of you yet, swaying your bodies from side to side while you put away your things.
“Do you think our kids will have your eyes?” your husband asks.
You nearly drop your hairdryer along with the sudden swoop of your stomach at the question. You pause and sputter out a quiet, “What?”
Looking back at the mirror, you notice that he has that far off gaze in his eyes. He shrugs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Yeah, I mean, I’d love it if they would, y’know? Or your nose—especially your smile,” there’s a ghost of a cheeky smirk on his mouth, “But if they got my height though. Oh, the world is not prepared.”
A flush creeps up to the back of your neck and even while your brain is trying to process the conversation, you answer him dumbly, “Yeah…sure.”
You talked about kids before you got married. Only in passing and mostly in light hearted conversations such as:
“Imagine if our kid sees this photo then calls it vintage.”
“Hope the clumsiness isn’t genetic. I’d hate that for our kid.”
“Babe, can you imagine Soonyoung wants a whole ass baseball team? Think we can top that?”
Those count…right?
With the way Mingyu talks about children, sends you random cute baby reels, and plays with his little cousins—you know that he’s great with kids and that he’d probably want them in the future.
Still, that was when you were dating.
Being married makes the prospect even more real and nearer than you thought. And maybe Mingyu was right that your face carries all the subtitles because he suddenly pales.
“Oh baby…we…sorry...we never talked about it, haven’t we?” he composes himself and loosens his hold because it looked like you wanted to hurtle towards the toilet and vomit.
“I-…yeah …I guess?” you manage to mumble.
It was not like you and Mingyu couldn’t talk about serious topics. It just caught you off-guard and quite frankly you were still trying to imagine what it would be like to have child with the current set up you have now. Everything was just so easy with Mingyu but the idea that you’re married and doing life together after years of self-preservation--it was still something you’re getting used to. Now if you think about having a child to the mix—
You meet Mingyu’s eyes in the mirror, eyes naturally drawn to the glint of his wedding ring from the hand he has on your bicep.
Then your shoulders relax.
When you had your first heartbreak, you had thought that this wouldn’t be possible for you. No one could care for you better than you could care for yourself. And while your parents did their best for you, their marriage was not one you’d want for yourself. Coupled with having unhappily married co-workers and speaking with divorced ladies that constantly warned you about the woes of marriage—you unconsciously villainize the concept of union. Besides, the only happy marriages you personally know of are ones that don’t have kids.
You didn’t want to be spending evenings, exhausted after work explaining how the stove works. You didn’t want to be the one deciding which color fits the kitchen or argue over the difference between titanium white and eggshell white. You didn’t want to endure the broken doorknob for two weeks all the while you nag and remind your husband to get it fixed. You didn’t want to be that one exhausted mother with a newborn having to explain to her husband how to prepare a baby formula when all you want is a five-minute shower.
You weren’t keen on being on your own in a marriage when you’ve done better being self-dependent your whole life.
But then there was Kim Mingyu.
Kim Mingyu and his blanket hogging tendencies. Mingyu and the random songs he belts when he potters around the apartment. Mingyu and how he inhales your three spoons in one go. Mingyu and his low whiny voice that increases in 1.75x speed when he’s convincing you to humor him. Mingyu and him risking getting his tongue burnt when he’s too excited to try something you’ve made. Mingyu and his stupid little urgent waddles and cheers from the counter to the freezer when he’s purchased your favorite ice cream.
Being in love with Mingyu was easy. He was the easiest ‘yes’ and the easiest ‘I do.’ Mingyu made marriage look easy and fun.
Because Mingyu beats you to your alarm to cook breakfast when he knows you prefer slower mornings. Mingyu, who proactively listens to you ramble about how you should re-do the kitchen and take you to trips to IKEA and Costco all the while sharing his preferences. Mingyu, who always cleans up and never leaves the dishes out until they’re all piled up because to him it’s an eyesore. Mingyu, who makes every grocery trip interesting and fun because he’s simply giddy with the thought of purchasing things for your home together. Mingyu who notices how often you scoot towards his pillow in your sleep then purchases the same exact kind for your own side of the bed.
Mingyu is always paying attention even towards the things you don’t know you need.
All of the sudden you realize; marriage was fun because it was him.
He was a good man, a wonderful husband—and without a doubt, you know he’d make an incredible father.
“Baby?”
“Mm?”
“Were you listening to me?”
You don’t realize that you weren’t listening to him nervously ramble at all. Your husband’s gnawing his bottom lip, voice softer and lower than usual. The same tone he uses when he’s unsure. Is this okay? Did I do good? What do you think of this color? Do you like it?
Taking a deep breath with newfound reassurance, you spin in his hold and drape your arms over his shoulders. You look up at him with adoring eyes, quietly apologizing before asking him to repeat it.
“ ‘S okay, honey,” Mingyu squeezes your waist, “I just… asked how you felt about having kids? I know we haven’t been married for long. But you…make me love life more. I love everything about you and I love everything about us. You make me feel like we can do anything.”
Your husband’s eyes stare deeply on your own and he swallows, licking his lips, “Of course, whatever your answer is, it won’t change that fact.”
You play with the collar of his shirt, “And what about you?”
There’s a sweet smile that quirks up the corner of his lips, and even when he doesn’t tell you, you know what his answer is. He’d rather just not say in fear of pressuring you to agree with him.
Everything about this used to feel like a task, a call that revokes your freedom, and takes away your happiness.
But then there was Kim Mingyu.
Before him, you realize that you didn’t think you’d get married because you were too afraid of neglect and unfulfillment that you ultimately depend on your own. Before him, the thought of bringing life into a world where you’d exhaust everything for them only to have your partner do the bare minimum would be unfair for the child.
It wasn’t a question of what you want but rather the unease of slipping back into relying on yourself for these big responsibilities.
Yet of all the people you could choose to share them with, you were glad it was him.
Because with Kim Mingyu all those fears remain “before him.”
A child, half you and half him—it fills you with a foreign warmth you can’t name. You feel your cheeks ache at the thought of a mini version of yourselves, running around and picking up on your habits. You try to put a face on them and while you know your husband thought it first–you wish they’d have his kind eyes. And it's bizarre how there exists a love for a life that has yet to exist simply because they’re yours –and Mingyu’s.
So you shoot him a bashful grin before pecking his chin because the poor guy looked like he would faint if you kept him on edge like this.
“Yes, Gyu.”
The answer doesn’t make sense and you belatedly realize you don’t know how to answer his question. But his eyebrows raise and he blinks, “Really?”
His smile stretches out into a full grin as you nod and he just keeps asking you over and over again if you were serious.
And with how casually and out of the blue he’s brought the topic, you think it's only fair to answer just as chaotically. You reach for the drawer behind you, pull out the packets of your birth control pills, and toss them into the bin, all the while you maintain eye contact.
Mingyu’s surprised giggles fill the bathroom. The kind of giggle you’d never expect from a man his size, shoulders shaking and reaching the high pitched tone when he’s giddy and flustered.
The comfort and peace you felt over something so life changing has never left your mind. You’re a little freaked out with how easily you had given into the idea of being a mom rather than the idea of being a mom itself. Well, with Mingyu as the father, it does make sense. Especially with how he had cradled your face, kissed your forehead and told you that you were both in no rush. That everything will happen in its own time. The last thing he wanted was for you to pressure yourself to deliver (literally and figuratively) when it was something you both should enjoy.
Still, it was good to be prepared as you adjust your budget once more to start saving up on a house and funds for raising a child.
The longer the idea of family sits between you and the more open you both are talking about it, you quickly realize how you had nothing to worry about at all. Because between your conversations and how adoringly and consistently cares for you, he’s always viewed this life together as a partnership. Not in a corporate way but rather he never found the dishes or cleaning to be solely one person’s job but both of yours. You never had to go through it alone.
Every task had always been shared. A seamless dynamic that moved like clockwork. You knew when Mingyu was too tired to cook that you’d take over dinner. Or when it's both late and you’re both exhausted, Mingyu has delivery on the way. When you took trips across town, you had fun with it by playing rock, paper, scissors to see who gets to be passenger princess for the day. Daily cleaning was a must by Mingyu’s standards, such as vacuuming, wiping down surfaces, and putting away the dishes. They were easy, you find that it leaves your mind less cluttered too, more relaxed. The laundry was when either of you noticed first if it was full. The folding however, was another story. It was a task you both weren’t very fond of, so it either went through another game of rock, paper, scissors or a bribe to vacuum the car’s interior instead.
It felt nice and it felt right, knowing you felt capable but also supported. You loved doing life with Mingyu and you just know your worries of feeling alone or becoming a ‘married single mom’ will never come into fruition.
Of course, it has not always been easy and you always lived by love not being enough. But being with Mingyu further proved your point. Because it was not only love that sustained you both throughout. So did consistency, communication, consideration, empathy, wisdom, and friendships that further nurture what you had.
You distantly wonder if that will still be enough when you find yourself five months later, in your workplace’s bathroom, staring at the striking two lines on your pregnancy test.
Between Mingyu starting his new position over his workplace, and your own week off, you’ve had enough time to get another test at the doctor’s and process the same positive results that you are indeed five weeks into pregnancy.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering how your conversation in that bathroom coaxed a more feral and shameless side of Mingyu in bed. He took the whole breeding kink to the next level, pounding you into the mattress like it was nobody’s business. While his stamina has always been crazy, you’re still in awe of how easily he came and how much he had to give. And for the first time in your whole career, you had used up your sick leaves simply because your legs were too sore and knees wobbly.
Your husband had been apologetic about it, making sure to dote on you in ways you’d sometimes find obnoxious with how shamelessly whipped he was.
Though you don’t miss the smug edges of his smirk when you waddle to the warm baths he draws for you.
The nerves settle into excitement and you’re searching up creative ways to tell your husband that you are pregnant.
Wrapping up the test as a present–gross, you peed on that thing.
Placing a bun in the oven–it won’t be fun, not with how you can predict yourself explaining the pun to Mingyu.
Gifting an infant’s onesie–that’s more of something you’d rather do for your parents and his.
Writing over your belly with a washable marker–instant no, you don’t have the patience to mirror your writing.
You sigh, slumping on the couch contemplating between letting one of your mutual close friends know or stubbornly keeping on the idea that your husband should be first to know. There were too many ways to tell him and you just want to make it special.
Then it clicks.
Maybe you didn’t have to have only one big reveal.
You don’t have a meticulously curated step by step plan. The goal was to simply drop vague hints until Mingyu eventually gets it. It’s perfect since it was fun to tease your husband and though he’s the most observant person you know, he has his oblivious tendencies that were both infuriating and amusing.
And this morning, as your nails dig into the bathroom tiles and you empty your stomach of its contents–in spite of the nauseating sensation– you think this could be your opportune moment to drop your first hint.
“You’re okay, baby, breathe,” Mingyu whispers, voice low and rough with sleep while he holds your hair back and runs a big palm up and down your spine.
It pushes you to curl over the bowl and retch. At this point, all you have left is bitter liquid and it tells you there’s nothing more to expel. It leaves you lightheaded as you lift your head, weakly swiping the spit that spilled down your chin. Your husband’s soothing touches ground you–his hand rubbing up and down your arm, the other coming up to brush the sweaty strands of hair clinging to your forehead and neck.
He softly kisses your temple, “Don’t fight it if there’s more.”
Something about the gesture, his raspy sleepy voice, and patience makes you a little teary-eyed.
“Sorry,” you croak.
Mingyu tsks, a sound of protest as he squeezes your arms, “Why are you apologizing, baby? There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
The apology comes as an instinct by now, the guilt of inconveniencing people deeply ingrained in you. Even after years together, it’s still something you’re learning to unlearn.
The smell of your vomit makes you suddenly gag, and Mingyu is quick to reach over and flush its contents. He’s back to rubbing your back, encouraging you to release if there was more. Slowly, the twisting in your stomach quells, and your breathing regulates as you lean back against his chest, the warmth of him calming you down.
After a few moments, once he’s sure you’re fully okay, he kisses the top of your head again.
“Think you can stand up and gargle for me? I’ll get you a cup of water.”
You hum, scared that if you nod, you’d get dizzy.
Washing your hands and rinsing your mouth makes you feel significantly better. The heavy footsteps of your husband fill the hall and he appears beside you in the mirror. He sleepily smiles, brows dipped in worry and his hair fluffed up and sticking in odd directions. His old t-shirt is rumpled and the collar is tugged to one side in his haste to stumble after you when you had quite literally jumped out of bed. It’s probably around 2AM by now, judging by the lack of light outside and how it's only been a few hours since you went to bed.
He must have noticed the apology in your eyes because he cuts you off once your mouth opens.
“Baby, don’t. Please.”
You sigh and nod, taking the glass from his hand and letting him love you, letting yourself be okay with being sick. Well, not the exact reason why you’re this way but the side effects of pregnancy was definitely feeling sick.
Mingyu cradles your face, thumb rubbing over your clammy cheeks. His eyes have always been expressive and you can see the disquiet in them. “This is the third time this week, I’m bringing you to the doctor’s this afternoon.”
The sudden panic nearly swings you back to nausea because you didn’t want him to know the real reason why you’re like this. At least not from the doctor but from yourself.
“No, i-it’s…I mean,” you fumble a little, “I already went the other day actually.”
Mingyu’s brows furrow, not recalling you ever telling him you did. He looked a little confused, you always told him where you went and while he’s not particularly the type to monitor your every movement, he’d expect that you would at least tell him something as important as a doctor’s appointment.
Before he could ask further questions, you’re quick to explain, “It’s nothing serious, babe.”
“Baby…”
Oh, boy, he’s pouting now.
You bite your lip, trying not to fiddle with your fingers to give away your white lie, “It’s just…a stomach bug.”
“A stomach bug?”
“Yeah, I…have a stomach bug.”
Stomach bug. You inwardly flinch a little and apologize to your unborn child that you likened them to a sickness…a bug.
Mingyu’s searching your face, not fully convinced but you do your best to keep your expression neutral. He could easily read you, he’s always paying attention to you and you’re hoping you're somewhat achieving your goals here. Not that soon but just enough to keep him on his toes. You guess that it's the exhaustion on your face and his own that makes him acquiesce to your reasoning.
He sighs, rubbing your hips before he’s ushering you back to bed.
“Okay, honey, but will you remember to tell me about these next time?”
You flush a little, feeling flustered over his worry and a slight guilt that you did it on purpose. But you nod and apologize, he shakes his head planting a firm kiss on your mouth before he snugly tucks you in. He doesn’t settle in bed though, promising you he’ll be back as he heads out of your bedroom.
You listen to his shuffling in the kitchen, the refrigerator and cabinets opening, then the light bumps here and there that are typically Mingyu. Sleep takes over you quite fast, you don’t know if it's the gradual changing of your body or if you’re truly exhausted. He joins you later, out like a light and softly snoring.
The next day, you nearly give in and tell your sweet husband the big news when you learn that he went through your whole pantry to check the expiry dates and freshness of your foodstock, clearing out any potential food that could have made you sick.
“Do you think it was the kimchi?”
“Huh?”
“I think I might have over fermented the kimchi…now it gave you a stomach bug.”
“Uh…yeah, probably?”
“I’m really sorry, babe. I should have thrown it out earlier.”
“Oh, Gyu…this isn’t your fault.” (technically, it was.)
“It is…now you’ve got some weird kimchi monster making you sick.”
“Hm, you’re right. I should name it little Kim Chi, ‘cause y’know…the father is Kim Mingyu.”
“Ha ha.”
You’re at the grocery store a week later, watching your husband effortlessly reach over the top of the shelf for toilet paper. You’ve always enjoyed these trips with him, never growing tired of the thought that you’re both caring for yourselves and your home together. It’s mundane, it’s routine, but somehow it always feels special.
Mingyu’s mumbling out loud and counting calculations while he compares two brands of toilet paper–one being your usual and the other being on sale. That is usually your forte, something he’s quickly picked up on but you’re content watching him furrow his brows, lips jutting out as he calculates the tax. He must have said something you missed because he’s tilting his head over to you now, and coming around the cart to where you’re leaning on the handle.
“Hm? Sorry, babe, what’s that?” you lift your head from your arms.
“You look tired,” he says with a worried frown. He places an affectionate hand over your head before he gently nudges you away from the cart with his hip. “C’mon, just a few more on the list and we’re done.”
He takes over your self-assigned role as the ‘cart-driver’, while you stand there dumbly before following after him. You tuck your hands into your pocket and sigh.
You knew pregnancy would change your body but you don’t realize it comes up in ways that you don’t even recognize or even this early on. Like just ten minutes ago, you had to speed through the produce aisle cause you could not stand the smell of citrus. Then suddenly, everything about you feels so sluggish which didn’t make sense considering you just had the week off.
All the while your husband obviously thinks that it's simply due to your little stomach bug—little Kim Chi.
On your way to the personal hygiene aisle, you both find yourselves going through the baby aisle. Your eyes gloss over the nappies and baby formulas while your footsteps slow into a halt. Something in you twists and blooms into warmth when you think about how you’ll be finding yourselves here more often very soon.
With a quick glance over to your husband who’s busy cupping his pockets for your rumpled grocery list, you smirk and call him over to look at what’s caught your eye.
“Gyu, look here. Glass baby bottles…don’t you think that’s dangerous?”
Mingyu blinks, processing your question then scrutinizing the row of bottles you point at.
“I dunno, babe. All the stuff they put in plastic bottles kinda freaks me out…okay, I feel like a crunchy mom saying that and we don’t even have kids.”
“Not yet, anyway,” you add, leaning your cheek against his bicep while he picks up one out of curiosity.
“Oh? You wanna have my kids?” Mingyu tilts his head over to you, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
You roll your eyes and huff, “Gyu, we’re married and we’ve literally talked about this.”
Plucking the bottle from his grasp and taking another one in a pastel yellow shade to go with it, you walk towards your cart and place it there. You fight off the flush creeping up your neck, seeing the tiny baby bottles amongst the stacks of produce, seasonings, toilet paper–all things for your home.
Puzzled, your husband asks, “Why are you putting baby bottles in the cart?”
“I dunno,” you shrug, resisting the urge to break character and giggle, “Maybe it’s for when we have one. I’ll tell her that Eomma had her planned for a while.”
“Her? What makes you think it’ll be a girl?”
“You’re so girl dad coded, babe. I can see it now. She’ll put pigtails and pins on your hair and you’re crouched uncomfortably in her play set with a tiny teacup in your hands-”
“Are you ovulating?”
You cross your arms and shoot him your deadliest glare, “Wow, ask that louder why don’t you?”
Poor Mingyu, his cheeks are stained pink and he’s looking at you with wide eyes as he stammers, “I–I’m just saying! You never talk about babies like this, much less come into this aisle. We don’t even have a kid, honey.”
Your gaze falls to the ground, finding the scuffed up edges of your sneakers interesting, “We could though…”
Your husband takes note of your flustered state, distantly wondering whether you’re pressuring yourself into giving him children. He reaches a careful hand toward your arm, pulling you to his side.
“I mean, yeah, we could…in time,” he quickly pecks your head in reassurance, “But even then, we wouldn’t have to be here for a couple of months. Put that back! Weren’t we aiming for budgeting wisely–especially, for our future baby?”
You plant your feet firmly, blocking your husband from the cart as you look up at him with a pout you know he can never resist, “B-but, it's such a cute color! Imagine holding your newborn in butter yellow!”
It’s working, you know it, you can tell with how quickly he’s turning red and the sparkles in his eyes that he loves that idea as much as you do.
“There’s no newborn yet! Jeez, babe, was last night and this morning not enough tell you, I’m working hard to make that happen…pun intended-”
“Gyu, that’s nasty!”
“So was the way you were all over m-”
“Kim Mingyu!”
He chuckles as you weakly slap his chest, “What I’m saying is…we can always come back when we do have a baby.”
“Or…we can buy it now.”
“Honey.”
“Mingyu.”
The man stares you down. You’re rarely this whiny that he’s quite frankly stunned that it's this very topic that coaxed this side of you.
He sighs, then makes a poor attempt to look strict by scowling, “Fine, fine. But just this and don’t pin this on me the next time you go through our budget then call it a waste of money.”
You smile, satisfied and victorious. You lean up on your tippy toes to kiss the corner of his lips that resist the urge to stretch into a fond smile.
“Call it planning for the future.”
The days flew by and so do your hints over Mingyu’s head, each one being more obvious than the last.
He doesn’t question you when there’s a set of baby blankets you’ve carelessly left by the laundry basket. Or that one time he’s gone shopping with you and you’ve been extremely particular and vocal about keeping the fit around the belly area loose. Or that you requested for your bottoms to be twice your normal size. He’s only ever freaked out over a package of parenting books by your door before shrugging then picking up a volume to read, chucking it off to future planning.
If he only knew how much present that was.
You don’t know if it's the hormones or that you’re not being obvious enough, but you’re starting to feel restless over keeping your whole pregnancy to yourself for nearly three weeks after you’ve received your results. You’re nearing your eighth week now, and the solo doctor’s checkup earlier makes you feel odd that Mingyu isn’t there with you. Sometimes you’re giving into the urge to just toss a dinner roll over his head and yell that there’s a bun in the oven! But even then, you’re sure he’ll just rush over the oven and ask you where?
And while you’re cuddled up to his side, watching some boring nature documentary of the deep sea, you deduce that you’d much prefer this annoyed feeling over anxiety of how this news will change the trajectory of your lives.
It makes you smile to yourself, the thought that you’re just so secure and safe with Mingyu as your husband and a soon-to-be-father. There’s a fluttering in your chest you can’t suppress and you grin even wider. You snuggle deeper into his chest and Mingyu, who’s been scrolling through his phone, sets it down to look down at you.
“Wow, you must really like watching how the octopus eats its mate.”
You blink, readjusting your focus to the scene playing out before you. You’re a little startled to see that it was indeed a female octopus mauling a smaller male octopus. You feel your husband’s chest rumble and he knows you were simply zoned out. He lowers the volume, scooting back into the couch and running his fingers up and down your arm.
“What’s on your mind babe?”
There’s a mesmerizing shot of a jellyfish, floating and drifting through the deep blue current. The sunlight above it penetrates through its blushing hues. You’re entranced for a moment, feeling the steady rise of your heartbeat before you speak.
“You ever wonder what life is like inside a bag of water?”
Mingyu hums in thought, and you’re once again, endeared by how easy it is to have silly conversations with him. “You mean like…a fish going home from a pet store?”
“Or…back in the womb.”
“I don’t think I’d wanna be there again. I’m too large.”
You burst into a fit of giggles, an intrusive image of this 6’2’’ man fitting himself inside a belly.
Shaking your head, you add, “It’s also dark.”
“I hate the dark,” he agrees, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “It’s spooky.”
“Do you think the baby likes it?”
“Considering that it’s their first–” he pauses, processing your wording, “...what baby?”
“Our baby.”
You feel every muscle that holds you start to stiffen and seize up. You will yourself to stay calm and as nonchalant as you can, hoping that this time–your husband understands what you mean.
After a beat, Mingyu slowly pulls back to look at you. His eyebrows furrow,
“Our baby?”
You rest your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him with an expectant gaze and soft smile before you nod. You watch him unravel: his brow relaxes and his pink lips part–the gears in his head clicking and turning. His eyes are shimmering as they scan your face.
“You mean,” he licks his lips, mouth dry, “You’re…we have…one?”
You nod again, the edges of your vision blurring.
Mingyu twists his body, tenderly cupping your jaw. Pink dusts his cheekbones and his own eyes are teary and hopeful as they gaze into yours. You feel a warm shaky hand brush over your tummy, “You…have one…in there?”
You burst into a watery laugh, “Yes, honey. I’m pregnant.”
There’s a strained wheeze at the back of his throat and Mingyu all but throws himself into your arms. You grunt at the sudden weight off him, falling back into the cushions behind you. Your husband tucks his face into your neck, giggling and nuzzling beneath your jaw. Just as you’re about to return his enthusiastic embrace he pulls himself off, standing up and throwing his hands over his head. It’s like he’s overwhelmed, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands as he paces in nonsensical patterns, running a hand over his head.
“I’m…I’m going to be a dad? And you’re going to be a mommy?” he asks breathlessly, eyes wide in wonder.
“Yes, Gyu, we’re going to be parents,” your cheeks hurt so much from grinning.
Never did you think that breaking this kind of news would feel this way–overjoyed, and giddy. And you certainly didn’t expect the high pitched giggling your behemoth of a husband has while he bounces on his feet. His grin is bright, eyes crinkled into beautiful crescent moons as he stumbles back into your embrace. You can literally feel him vibrating and soon enough, you feel dampness gather into your collarbones.
“Aw, Gyu,” you coo, tenderly rubbing his head.
“I’m so happy,” he croaks into your skin, “I love you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
The warmth this man envelops you in, his soft cries, his joy and tenderness—they tell you that marriage, pregnancy, and starting a family, all things that you were terrified of were not scary at all. They were beautiful only because Mingyu’s presence allowed it to be. What you have is so filled with love that you can’t wait for your little one to thrive in it. You don’t know what they’ll be yet but you promise yourself that they will not lack the love they deserved.
They’d grow up with a mommy and daddy who’d dote on them, who’s comfortable with their affections, and who’s willing to give them better than what they once had. You vow to always pay attention, to never dismiss their excitement, and to unlearn the ways you’ve been raised.
They’d be with a wonderful man as their father, the kind that would make silly breakfast pancakes, the kind who’d crawl on the floor with them and risk a backache for their pretend tea parties, and the kind that would show them how big the world is but there’s nothing to fear—because mommy and daddy would be there.
You ball your fists. Don’t cry, don’t cry. But you can’t help how in love you are with your husband and a child you’ve yet to meet.
“I love you,” Mingyu repeats, lifting his head to kiss your damp cheeks. He smiles at you, eyes still glossy with tears as he slides onto the carpeted floor. Gently resting his forehead on your tummy that is yet to show, he presses a sweet kiss just above your belly button, “And nice to meet you, stomach bug.”
You crinkle your nose. With a chuckle, you correct him, “Little Kim Chi.”
Your husband shakes his head with a grin before he lays his cheek against your stomach. He whispers his own promises to the child you're yet to meet--the only thing you hear however,
“I love you, little Kim Chi”
taglist: @armycarat2612 @toplinehyunjin @roseandpeaches @jespecially
@soffiyuhh @8queenc8 @waldau
permanent taglist: @najaeminluvbot @automaticpersonabatpaper
if you've been tagged, please consider commenting/reblogging <3
