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The soft clinking of utensils, the low simmer of stew, and the rhythmic chopping of green onions filled their quiet apartment on a late Wednesday afternoon.
Kim Mingyu hummed under his breath, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the hem of his oversized white shirt occasionally brushing against the counter as he moved back and forth between the stove and the prep area. He was making doenjang jjigae — Wonwoo’s favorite — and had even added more tofu, just how his husband liked it lately. Mingyu had become even more particular about his cooking ever since Wonwoo entered his second trimester. And as possessive and overprotective as he already was, something about his spouse being pregnant dialed it up a hundred notches.
Mingyu checked the clock.
“Almost home,” he mumbled with a grin, setting the table neatly. A candle flickered in the center — not romantic, just one of those cozy, food-safe scented ones Wonwoo picked out last week. Mingyu stepped back to admire the setup, proudly rubbing the back of his neck.
Right on cue, the front door clicked open.
“I’m home,” came Wonwoo’s calm, deep voice — a little lower these days, maybe because of how easily he got sleepy.
“In here!” Mingyu called out, rushing over to help. “Shoes off, slowly, slow—yah, Wonwoo, let me help you!”
Wonwoo chuckled, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear as Mingyu gently took his bag and helped him step out of his sneakers. “I’m not that big yet.”
“You’re big enough that I get worried. Sit down. I made stew.”
“I can smell it,” Wonwoo murmured, hand over his belly as Mingyu led him carefully to the dining table.
The dinner started quietly, with the warm scent of fermented bean paste and garlic wrapping around them like a hug. Mingyu kept sneaking glances at Wonwoo, who looked cozy in one of his hoodies, sleeves covering his hands, chin barely peeking out.
Everything was peaceful.
Until Wonwoo casually reached for his phone.
And giggled.
Mingyu froze mid-bite.
“What’s that?” he asked, leaning a bit over the table.
Wonwoo turned the screen toward him, the video already halfway through. A clip of a tiny, handsome little boy — maybe around four years old — filled the screen. The kid was sitting with a straight back on a kids’ variety show, answering questions shyly, with sparkling eyes and a pair of small but visible fangs flashing every time he smiled.
Mingyu’s jaw dropped. “Wait—he looks—”
“I know, right?” Wonwoo said, grinning as he scrolled down the comments. “‘It’s mini-Mingyu,’ ‘Mingyu’s secret son,’ ‘the fangs are real,’” he read aloud, clearly amused. “You sure you didn’t go in some country years ago and forget something?”
“What?! Yah, Kim-Jeon Wonwoo—!” Mingyu almost choked on his tofu.
Wonwoo leaned back, eyes twinkling. “No wonder he’s cute. Maybe I should reach out to the mother. See if she wants co-parenting—”
“WONWOO!” Mingyu stood up, flailing. “Why would you say that when you’re literally pregnant with my child right now?!”
“Technically,” Wonwoo said, tapping his lip in fake thought, “you’ve already got one child with someone else and now I’m just the second—”
“THAT’S NOT TRUE!” Mingyu looked genuinely distressed, lips pursed in a pout, hands on his hips. “You’re the only one I’ve ever—Why would you joke like that?!”
Wonwoo giggled, placing a hand on his own belly. “I’m pregnant, I get to mess with you. It’s in the rules.”
Mingyu groaned, slumping dramatically back into his chair. “You’re evil.”
“Cute evil,” Wonwoo corrected with a smirk, poking at his rice.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Mingyu muttered, cheeks slightly red as he poured him more stew.
“I am lucky,” Wonwoo whispered back, with that calm, devastatingly affectionate tone that always caught Mingyu off-guard.
He blinked fast. “Yah. Don’t say sweet things right after accusing me of having a secret kid!”
“I didn’t say he was secret,” Wonwoo teased again, turning the video back on with a low chuckle.
Mingyu covered his face with both hands. “I hate this pregnancy version of you.”
“You adore me,” Wonwoo sang.
Unfortunately for Mingyu… that was absolutely true.
The lights were dim, and the room was soaked in warmth — a quiet sanctuary after a long day.
Mingyu sat behind Wonwoo on the bed, legs on either side, as his hands worked gently on Wonwoo’s back and shoulders. The massage oil he used was mild, something safe for pregnancy, and the scent was light — lavender and a hint of chamomile. Wonwoo had complained about backaches earlier, and Mingyu had immediately offered to help without being asked.
“You’re good at this,” Wonwoo murmured, eyes closed, cheek pressed against the pillow.
“I better be,” Mingyu replied softly, thumb rubbing small circles into a particularly tense spot. “I watched like six videos and read three articles about massages for pregnant people.”
“You really are obsessed.”
Mingyu huffed. “Of course I am. You’re carrying my baby. You think I’m gonna risk doing it wrong?”
Wonwoo smiled to himself, hiding the twitch of his lips.
A few more minutes of silence passed — just quiet breathing, the hum of their diffuser, and the occasional sleepy sigh.
Until—
“Hey,” Wonwoo mumbled, voice still relaxed.
“Mm?”
“You really, really didn’t get someone else pregnant, right?”
Mingyu’s hands stopped moving.
He leaned forward slowly until his chin was resting on Wonwoo’s shoulder, voice tight with disbelief. “You’re bringing this up again?!”
Wonwoo opened one eye, the teasing already dancing in his gaze.
“I mean… he looks so much like you,” he whispered dramatically. “Same fangs. Same smile. Same huge eyes. I’d understand if you had a brief moment of weakness while filming abroad—”
“WONWOO!”
The older man chuckled, not even trying to hide his amusement this time.
“You’re abusing the fact that I can’t get mad at you right now,” Mingyu whined, burying his face into Wonwoo’s back. “You know I can’t even raise my voice when you’re pregnant.”
“It’s a beautiful time in our relationship,” Wonwoo replied, smug.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Wonwoo yawned, turning just slightly to face him. “And pregnant.”
“And evil,” Mingyu muttered under his breath, helping him shift onto his side and tucking the blanket over both of them. “I swear, when you give birth and I’m allowed to fight back, I’m gonna prank you so hard.”
Wonwoo raised a brow, amused. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Mingyu nodded fiercely, settling down beside him, one hand protectively resting over the gentle curve of Wonwoo’s belly. “I’m gonna… hide your glasses. Or… rearrange your bookshelf in color order instead of genre.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. Just you wait.”
Wonwoo laughed quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzled closer. “Fine. I’ll enjoy my immunity while it lasts.”
“You better,” Mingyu mumbled, already pulling him even closer, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Because I’m writing everything down for future revenge.”
Wonwoo was nearly asleep now, his hand resting lightly over Mingyu’s.
“I love you,” he murmured.
Mingyu smiled, eyes closing.
“I love you more… and just for the record,” he whispered, “that boy is not mine. But if we have a son, he better look like me too.”
Wonwoo hummed, clearly half-asleep. “With fangs.”
“With fangs,” Mingyu echoed with a grin.
Outside, the world continued buzzing over the viral video of Mingyu’s “twin,” but inside their room, wrapped in warmth and sleepy laughter, the real Mingyu — flustered, doting, and just a little dramatic — had everything he needed.
His Wonwoo.
Their baby.
And maybe someday, fanged offspring of their own.
💚💜