Work Text:
My love, my love
Washing my hair, doing the laundry
Late night TV, I want you on me
Under the chemtrails over the country club, yeah
(You're born in December and I'm born in June)
Their house was unusually quiet for a Saturday.
Sunghoon’s day off had started with the kind of determination usually reserved for weapons deals or security briefings. He’d been up since seven, sleeves rolled, hair still sleep-mussed, following a printed recipe like it was top secret.
He even wore an apron.
It had a cartoon duck on it. The beak sat right over his abs and did absolutely nothing to soften the absurd contrast between his sculpted arms and the tiny embroidered face smiling up at the room.
The kitchen smelled like garlic and butter, sautéed, rich, with a hint of lemon that hit too hard on an empty stomach.
The kind of scent that usually had Sunoo drifting out of bed half-asleep, lured in like a cartoon character pulled by invisible steam lines.
Most weekends, he’d already be on the counter by now, legs swinging, fingers pinching at ingredients and demanding kisses with every stirring spoon.
But not today.
Today, Sunoo was hunched over the sink, both hands braced against the counter like the room might tilt without them. His face had gone pale, sweat beading at his hairline.
One hand moved to his belly, rubbing slow circles as if coaxing his insides to behave. It didn’t work.
He’d managed exactly two bites of the food—just two—before his stomach lurched. No warning, no time. Just a quick twist of the faucet and a quiet curse before he was gagging into the sink.
From the table, a small, wounded noise broke the silence.
“Oh, babe,” Sunghoon said, his voice cracking somewhere between heartbreak and full-on sulk. “I spent three hours making that…”
Sunoo, still bent over the sink, let out a miserable noise that might’ve been a laugh if he wasn’t mid-regret.
God , he was trying to be serious.
Sunghoon’s brows were drawn in like a kicked puppy, but there he stood in his ridiculous apron, hair pushed back from his face, sleeves dusted with flour, and those arms crossed tightly like a scolded chef on a cooking show.
Sunoo cleared his throat, still breathless from dry heaving.
“I wanted it,” he said miserably. “I dreamed about it. My body just decided to betray me. Again.”
He turned around, eyes watery from both nausea and sheer frustration.
“I literally woke up chewing on my hoodie string because I wanted it so bad. And then I threw up after, like, two bites. That’s rude, right? That’s betrayal.”
Sunghoon crossed the room, towel in hand, concern finally overtaking his fake-offended pout.
He said nothing at first, just reached out and rubbed slow, steady circles between Sunoo’s shoulder blades.
Then, without a word, Sunghoon leaned in and let his pheromones slip out, warm, subtle, calming. It settled over them like a weighted blanket.
Sunoo exhaled slowly, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as his body instinctively leaned toward the comfort.
“To be fair,” he murmured, “the hoodie thing’s kind of on you.”
Sunoo gave him a long, flat look.
Sunghoon winced. “Too soon?”
“Get me water before I throw up again.”
“Right,” Sunghoon said, guiding him toward the couch. “No jokes until after vomiting.”
He moved quickly, but not before sneaking one last look back at the untouched pasta plate, his beautiful, perfect, Jay-approved masterpiece like it was the fallen hero of the afternoon.
Sunoo watched him go, lips twitching despite himself.
Even when pouting like a five-year-old whose Lego tower just fell apart, Sunghoon still had the nerve to look good doing it.
Ridiculous man.
Once Sunoo was tucked into the couch, blanket curled over his legs, an extra pillow wedged behind his back to take the pressure off his hips, he finally began to settle. The nausea hadn’t fully disappeared, but it had softened.
Now it just hovered, quiet and threatening, like a storm that might pass if you didn’t breathe too hard.
He closed his eyes. The lingering scent of garlic clung to the air, stubborn but distant enough that it didn’t make him gag anymore.
The pasta had smelled amazing , tasted amazing too… for exactly two bites. Then his stomach had flipped, and he'd ended up gagging over the sink while Sunghoon hovered behind him with wet hands and a panicked expression.
He sighed and shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket.
And immediately winced.
His whole body was one giant complaint.
His back ached from being pulled forward all day. His thighs were tight. His ankles were warm and slightly swollen. And his chest, God. Even the soft brush of his shirt felt like sandpaper against his skin.
“I swear my body’s inventing symptoms,” he muttered.
From the kitchen, he heard the soft thump of a cabinet closing and the sink turning off.
Sunghoon reappeared a few seconds later, wiping his hands dry as he walked over. Without saying anything, he dropped onto the couch beside him, arm draped loosely over the backrest behind Sunoo’s head.
“You say that every week,” he said, not unkindly.
“That’s because it’s true every week.”
Sunghoon chuckled, shifting closer. His thigh pressed against his husband, warm and solid.
“Wanna nap together?”
“I want to nap,” Sunoo said. “But this baby thinks nighttime is training time for the toddler Olympics. And you’ve started snoring.”
“I do not snore,” Sunghoon said, clearly offended.
“You do,” Sunoo replied, eyes still closed. “You snore like a man trying to keep it quiet out of guilt. Like a chainsaw under a blanket.”
Sunghoon huffed.
“You stopped letting me touch you in bed. I think that triggered it.”
“You got weird about touching me,” Sunoo said, cracking one eye open.
“The last time you tried, you froze halfway down my thigh and whispered, ‘Sorry, baby,’ like you were confessing to a crime.”
Sunghoon winced.
“Okay, but in my defense, you looked so pregnant that night. Like really glowing. I felt like I had to get permission from your belly first.”
Sunoo didn’t even bother replying to that. He just stared at him, unimpressed.
Then Sunghoon’s hand, casual and criminal, crept under the blanket and gently cupped Sunoo’s chest.
Sunoo yelped and smacked at his wrist.
“ Hoon! What are you doing?!”
“ Checking in, ” Sunghoon said calmly, like this was a scheduled appointment. “Very soft. Slightly warmer than this morning. Still incredibly squishable.”
“I swear—” Sunoo started, face flushing scarlet. “I will throw you off this couch.”
“That would only prove my point,” Sunghoon murmured, completely unfazed, eyes twinkling.
Sunoo reached for a throw pillow and smacked him across the arm.
“You’re gross. ”
“You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
“You adore me.”
Sunoo groaned and turned to bury his face in the pillow.
But Sunghoon wasn’t done.
Without warning, he slid off the couch and knelt on the carpet beside him, both hands smoothing over the bump with an exaggerated tenderness.
It wasn’t theatrical, but it was definitely dramatic in that quiet, husband-on-a-mission way.
Sunghoon leaned in and whispered to the bump, “Hey, kiddo. You awake?”
Sunoo peeked down at him through one eye, already suspicious.
“Don’t rile them up.”
“I’m not riling,” Sunghoon said, brushing his lips over the curve of his belly. “I’m bonding.”
As he spoke, his scent shifted, rich and mellow, that calming alpha warmth curling gently around both of them. It wrapped around Sunoo like a second blanket, grounding, familiar. His body relaxed without permission.
And then, because of course, Sunoo's own pheromones responded. Soft and faintly sweet, like they always were when he was content, no matter how hard he tried to keep them in check.
Sunghoon grinned against his stomach.
“See? They like it. You like it.”
“I don’t,” Sunoo mumbled, but his fingers were already in his husband’s hair, stroking lazily.
“You do,” Sunghoon said smugly, “and you’re giving off that smug omega who’s pretending not to be happy scent again.”
“I will smother you with this pillow.”
“Okay, but affectionately?”
Sunoo sighed. But the way his hand kept playing with Sunghoon’s hair betrayed him entirely.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of the bump. Then another. Then a third, louder this time. And then, with all the gravity of a man reciting a prayer, he lowered his lips to the bump and blew a slow, wet fart noise into it.
Sunoo slapped both hands over his face.
“You’re a grown man.”
“I’m a dad,” Sunghoon shot back. “It’s different. This is… this is, like, mandatory bonding.”
Right on cue, the baby kicked hard enough that Sunghoon jerked back, eyes wide in delight.
“ Did you see that?! That was a love tap.”
“That was a warning shot, ” Sunoo muttered, trying not to laugh.
Sunghoon leaned back in with a grin, rubbing slow circles across the bump.
“That was morse code for, ‘Hi, Dad. Keep up the good work. Make more fart noises.’”
“You’re corrupting them already.”
“Just making sure they have a strong comedic foundation.”
Sunoo watched him for a beat. Despite himself, a laugh bubbled out, quiet, almost shy, but real. Sunghoon’s eyes softened at the sound.
With one final kiss to the bump, Sunghoon rested his cheek against it, hand still moving in slow, soothing motions. He kept talking, voice lower now.
He kept his cheek pressed gently to the bump, his palm still stroking in lazy, reverent circles.
His voice dropped just slightly, not for effect, but because that’s just what happened when he got tender like this, quiet in a way he didn’t even notice, like speaking too loudly might startle the peace out of the room.
“You should know,” he whispered to the bump, “your other dad is the prettiest person I’ve ever met.”
Sunoo let out a small sound of protest, but didn’t interrupt.
“I’ve met a lot of people,” he continued, unbothered. “And none of them, and I mean none of them can wear puffy socks, sweatpants three sizes too big, and a look of pure rage from throwing up... and still look like someone I’d fall in love with all over again.”
Sunoo groaned, half into the pillow.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“See?” Sunghoon said, to the bump. “That tone? That’s his embarrassed voice. You’ll hear that a lot once you start doing anything even remotely cute. Which, fair warning, I’m going to encourage.”
Sunoo’s hand drifted down to his head, fingers threading lazily into Sunghoon’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. It made Sunghoon sigh, eyes fluttering closed for a second.
“I hope you get his pout,” he said softly. “It’s very powerful. I’ve seen him get free donuts with it. And his weird lie detector instinct. You won’t get away with anything, but I won’t either, so we’ll suffer together.”
Sunoo cracked a smile despite himself, thumb tracing slow lines through his husband’s hair.
“Also,” Sunghoon added, “his obsession with his pillow. Try to steal it and you’ll learn fear early.”
Sunoo huffed a soft laugh, more breath than sound. He didn’t try to stop the smile pulling at his lips.
“But,” Sunghoon said, voice gentling further, “if there’s one thing I really, really hope you get… it’s his laugh.”
That made Sunoo still. Not frozen, but paused like he wasn’t expecting that one.
“Because,” Sunghoon murmured, brushing his nose gently against the side of the bump, “I don’t care if you’re quiet or loud or a total gremlin, but if you laugh like your dadda? That’ll be music. You don’t even know. When he laughs for real, like really laughs, it’s like the world just gets brighter for a second. Like everything is worth it.”
Sunoo blinked hard, and he hoped to God the dim living room lighting was hiding the way his eyes had gone glossy.
Sunghoon kept going, now half-mumbling into the bump like it was the most natural place in the world to have a heart-to-heart.
“Once you’re out,” he said, “we’re gonna take such good care of dadda, okay? We’ll spoil him rotten. Wake him up with kisses. Hide his phone so he rests. Make him laugh every day until he gets sick of us.”
“I already am sick of you,” Sunoo muttered, and his voice came out thick.
Sunghoon tilted his head up just enough to glance at him, catching the way Sunoo’s face was tucked stubbornly into the blanket.
“Too bad,” he said with a smile. “We’re a team now. Me and the baby. Operation: Keep Dadda Soft and Smiling.”
Sunoo sniffed quietly, hoping Sunghoon wouldn’t notice, and dragged his fingers lazily through his husband’s hair again.
“You’re such a sap,” he whispered.
Sunghoon only leaned up, kissed the underside of Sunoo’s belly one more time, and let his forehead rest there.
“I know,” he murmured. “And you love this sap.”
He crawled back onto the couch slowly, easing into the space behind Sunoo, arms winding around him with practiced gentleness. One hand found the bump again, thumb rubbing soft, steady circles as if to reassure the baby he wasn’t going far.
The apartment was quiet again, but not empty. There was warmth in it now. A kind of stillness that felt full instead of silent.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for staying home today.”
Sunghoon looked up at him, the corners of his mouth lifting, quiet and sure. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
“Even though I puked up your pasta?”
“I’ll make it again.”
“And I yelled at you?”
“You’re very cute when you yell. Like a very grumpy, very pregnant squirrel.”
Sunoo scoffed but didn’t deny it. His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, stubborn but lingering.
“If you grab my chest again, I’m locking you out.”
“That’s fair,” Sunghoon said, climbing back onto the couch, fitting himself behind Sunoo like he’d done it a thousand times. His arms wrapped around his husband with the ease of someone who knew exactly where he belonged. One hand slipped back to the bump, warm and steady. His thumb moved in slow, absentminded strokes.
Sunoo exhaled, body finally sinking into the cushions. Heavy, but safe. Comfortable.
“…You can squish them again later,” he murmured, just loud enough for Sunghoon to hear.
Sunghoon froze.
Then smirked, predictably.
Sunoo elbowed him in the ribs before he could get a word out.
But all Sunghoon did was kiss the crown of his head and pull him in a little tighter.
The room settled into a quiet that wasn’t empty, just soft. Sunoo was just starting to drift when something clicked in his mind.
“…Wait. Weren’t you supposed to be at the office this week?”
Behind him, Sunghoon hummed.
“Filed my paternity leave last Thursday.”
Sunoo opened his eyes. “You did what?”
“I’ve had the forms for a while. Thought I’d wait until you hit the third trimester. Seemed like a good time.”
Sunoo turned just enough to squint at him. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was gonna,” Sunghoon said. “But I figured this way, I could surprise you by being here. All day. Every day.”
Sunoo blinked. “So you’re just… home now?”
The older nodded, looking way too pleased with himself.
“At your service, baby!”
Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “Do you realize what this means?”
Sunghoon’s mouth curved. “What?”
“I can annoy you. Constantly. No breaks. No escape. You’ll be stuck with me all day .”
Sunghoon smiled, unbothered. “Too bad.”
“Too bad?”
“I actually like it when you annoy me.”
Sunoo let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh and buried his face in Sunghoon’s chest.
“You’re so weird.”
“I love you too.”
He kissed Sunoo’s hair, hand still resting over the curve of his belly like it belonged there.
They stayed like that for a while, quiet, comfortable, pressed together on the couch. Sunghoon’s scent was still warm in the air, something steady and grounding, and by now Sunoo had stopped pretending it didn’t help.
Even worse, his own scent had started to creep out, sweet and soft in a way that only happened when he was relaxed, or laughing, or halfway to a nap. Not that he’d ever admit it.
Sunghoon noticed, of course. He always did. But he didn’t say anything and just grinned into Sunoo’s hair like he’d won.
Then, casually, like it had just crossed his mind, “Hey. Want to do movie night later? I’ll make popcorn. We can watch something dumb.”
Sunoo made a soft sound that might’ve been a yes or just a noise of general survival.
“Only if I get to pick.”
“You always pick.”
“Exactly.”
Sunghoon chuckled under his breath and shifted, thumb moving slow and absent across the bump.
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. The room smelled like comfort and sleep and someone trying very hard not to smile too obviously.
Honestly, it was gross. Sunoo liked it anyway.