#im all sap and emo because of this story okay bye

[chwepen]

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 ↘︎ pregnancy au, domestic/marriage au ○ pairing: vernon | reader ○ genre: fluff ○ word count: 2.9k ○ summary: kids weren’t in the plan so soon, but the love you share makes any beautifully unexpected circumstances faceable with him.

Lay your head down on my shoulder, honey I won't ever let go. Because you pulled me like a magnet, now I'm right where I belong. I'm gonna love you the same for the rest of my days, and on and on and on.

A pregnancy test on one end of the kitchen table with day-old takeout on the other makes you question how you came to this Saturday morning.

Getting married almost a year ago took your relationship to a new level of possibilities, but having children so quickly wasn’t in your sights. You wanted more time before any kids came into the picture, partly because having Hansol to yourself was something you wanted always. While it was amazing imagining being parents in the future, it was the future. Not the now.

Minutes pass before you look down at the stick, two horribly pink lines sitting inside the plastic, confirming your fears, and giving them a new face. It leaves a dark twist in your stomach when one of the faces taking shape is of your husband. Your cheeks aren’t wet and you don’t feel the need to cry, and your mind knows you’re saving the feeling for when you tell him the news.

Despite the fear, you’re happy. Over the moon, schoolgirl crush happy. Marriage was one piece of proof of how much you loved Hansol, and another physical representation of that love grows from the two of you. Even if it’s a new turn, sharp and out of the blue, you’re ready to take the journey and find something beautiful on the other side.

Like clockwork, he comes home with music in his ears and a grin on his face. The slight gleam of his wedding band catches your eye, and he pulls you in with a kiss to your lips once he takes the ear buds out and greets you. In that instant, he feels every nerve in your body burning with something he can’t place, almost like each one is his own. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You’re mouth opens slightly, and you hope the words come out without hesitation. Unfortunately, your fears keep them all in.

“What’s that,” he asks while sitting his backpack down on the kitchen countertop. You hold the stick in your hands like it’s a hot coal, wanting to chuck it and forget it exists. It would be easier that way, but it’s not just a test. It’s a new truth, a fact that can’t be hidden, erased, or thrown away.

“I thought I would get my period two weeks ago, but it never came. Then I threw up this morning,” you start quietly, unsure how to give him the answer he wants without the fear he’ll react in the worst way possible, “and I drove to the pharmacy because I thought maybe it wouldn’t be bad to check. I would’ve called you, but you were working and I didn’t want to bother you. So, I took this test and...I’m pregnant.”

The pause in the room leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, every limb shaking from the inside out. Your bottom lip stays between your teeth while your nostrils flare, readying the tears as you stare at him, unsure if he’s ecstatic, terrified, or both.

“I know it’s fast, and it feels like we got married only seconds ago, but I hope that you’re okay with it because I’m really really okay with it. But if it’s too soon to even think about I understand. I just know this is something I want with you and—”

He silences you with a soft clutch on your hips and the press of his mouth to yours, flooded with emotions you thought he might not feel at the surprise. He smiles between your lips and gives an expression that says your existing doubt was ludicrous.

“Are you kidding me? Having this with you is completely okay and incredible. Yes, it’s a bit sudden, but I’m so happy. We’re gonna be parents.” His joy is unmasked and palpable, stuffed to full capacity and meant for the two of you. It tells you the news is an absolute reminder you both created something worth all your happiness.

“We’re having a baby, baby.”

You come to find the worst part of pregnancy is the incredibly early morning sickness. Almost every day of the first two months, you’re attached to the bathroom in the mornings and feeling early bouts of nausea at night. You already love your child wholeheartedly, but the hell of eating and having your food come back up is unavoidable thanks to the baby.

Hansol pats your back through it all and never leaves your side, always keeping a bottle of doctor-recommended stomach tablets nearby so you don’t feel completely awful. Even though he worries, he tells himself it’s normal and it won’t last the entire nine months.

The weirdest thing to take in is the weird cravings you have. Ice cream and crackers, mustard and eggs, and marshmallows with peanut butter are only a few combinations he thinks of to show how random your tastes are with the pregnancy.

Ready for breakfast and glad you don’t feel like running to the bathroom, you grab a box of cocoa cereal and fill your bowl until it’s full. Suddenly, the desire to grab some ice and plop it into the milk makes you hungrier. 

By the time the third ice-cube goes into the bowl, Hansol’s at the end of his rope with your weird tastes and mixtures. “Ice in cereal? What has our baby done to you?”

You laugh and stir your spoon into the milk before grabbing some cocoa chunks. “I wanted ice cubes in my cereal, so they’re in my cereal, and you’re just gonna have to deal with it. And babe, could you buy more marshmallows? We ran out.”

While Hansol heads to the store with a carefree chuckle, the words our baby leave a flutter in your chest so big you can’t miss it, and you beam as you dip your spoon into the cereal again, mixing the milk with the ice cubes.

Scheduling your appointment for the ultrasound, the topic of gender comes into conversation once you realize you’ve never discussed the topic before. “Do you wanna know,” Hansol asks while you type “nursery colors” in the browser’s search bar. Maybe it’s cliche, but you love surprises, and your first child shouldn’t be an exception.

“Not really. I mean, we’ll find out the day the baby comes, and won’t it be fun to know that second instead of being boring and already planning for it?” Maybe it would be too many reveals at one time, but the thought of revealing the day of delivery gives you a small sense of excitement.

“But how are we gonna paint the room when we don’t know, baby?”

“We’ll go purple! Who could hate purple,” you wink, looking through paint colors and names on the website you clicked, glad to see a few shades that catch your eye, Skimming them, you find a color that’s not too light or dark, and you envision the guest-room-turned-nursery painted with it and feel satisfied. But, like your husband would, Hansol searches for green samples and points to one that he likes.

“Oh, but I love Forever Lilac!”

“I like Kiwi.”

“That’s too green, Han.”

“It’s a nice green, though!”

The arguing doesn’t go past cute banter, but you agree Forever Lilac is the best shade for the baby’s room. While bickering about colors ends, you continue talking about names and other minuscule things, all until the baby’s gender comes back into question.

“Han, if you had to choose, what would you want the baby to be?” You stare as he rubs the bottoms of your feet, calm and relaxed before thinking of his answer.

“Having a baby with you matters more to me than the gender. But if I had to be honest, I want a girl. Just as breathtaking as her mother.” A shy smile accompanies his words that makes your heart flutter in your chest, not surprised he still finds ways to make you blush. “What about you?”

“A heartstopping boy,” you reply in response with a mirroring smile, “just like his father.”

He laughs and pulls you closer, thighs now resting on his and your faces close together, forehead to forehead just how you like it. “Let’s save a boy for the second try,” he whispers before kissing you with all the love he has, newly spaced for three. Second. 

Kids were never in the forefront for the next year or two, but this new life inside of you changed your plans so much that picturing two kids with Hansol sounds like a delightful future.

Hansol didn’t expect you to explode in anger over one mishandle of a fake baby, and neither did the couples instructor. She told you it was normal to get it wrong on the first few tries, but it felt like the end of the world. If you couldn’t hold a mechanical baby properly, how could you hold your own child without doing it horribly?

Coming home, you storm into the bathroom and close it hard, angry at your husband for the same confusion the instructor experienced. Maybe you’re overreacting, but you’d yell at a thousand inanimate objects if it meant you were assured you’re doing everything right, especially as a mother. Feeling inadequate makes the waterworks come, knees sinking into tile and soft whimpers reminding you of all you’re terrified of and what you’re worried you’ll become.

“Baby, can I come in?” The softness in his voice tugs at your heart, and while only a high-pitched sound comes out of your mouth, he excuses it as a “yes” and sit downs next to you against the tub once he comes in, placing your hands in his on his lap. “You cry too much. I don’t like it.”

“My hormones are all over the place, Han. I can’t help it.” There’s light humor in your voice, but it’s washed away by the sinking in your chest at the thoughts telling you every worry will come true.

“What if I can’t do this? What if people say I’m a bad mother, or I feel I’m messing this up, or I ruin our kid’s life all because I didn’t know what to do,” you sob, hands now resting on the new curb of your belly as he pulls you to him, your head on his shoulder.

“Who cares what anyone else thinks? You’ve read every parenting magazine man could create, you’re always mindful of your health and making sure we go to those parenting classes, and I think you’re dying without caffeine but you gave it up for the baby. Just because you didn’t hold that machine correctly or maybe you won’t change a diaper right at first doesn’t mean you’ll be a bad mother. Parents always hit roadblocks. That’s inevitable, but I have no doubts our kid is gonna think the world of you whether you mess up or not.”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes, feeling better after your husband’s declaration, but he knows he can do better. Placing his hands over yours on your stomach, he comes so close to your belly his mouth is practically brushing the cotton of your shirt. “Hey baby, can you do daddy a favor? Tell your mommy it’s okay she didn’t hold that hunk of junk right.”

Before you can joke about the baby’s inability to answer back, a sharp kick to your stomach makes you sit upright and gasp, unsure if it was an accident or not. Another kick comes in the same place, leaving the two of you mesmerized and delighted by your child’s physical response.

You weep happily at the sudden jolts, already knowing your baby will love you regardless of the slip-ups you might make down the road. The encouragement from both your husband and child bring the assurance you need to soothe your worries. Hansol grins at the movement against his hand, kissing the spot between your eyebrows. “We’re gonna be great at this. I know it.”

Six months in, seeing your baby’s ultrasound brings a new overflow of happiness, as though you’re a child again sitting under the Christmas tree and anticipating a new gift. The surprise doesn’t ween the day of, but it only builds when the machine starts and reveals an unexpected turn of events: two tiny bodies. You feel yours floating, eyes lit up as the outline of your children ground you to the exam table. Twins. Twins to love, care for, and share with the man you love.

You don’t ask to know the sexes, sticking to the original plan you two had, but the possibilities leave you in lighthearted suspense. Hansol’s hand doesn’t let go of yours until you come home. He’s quiet, a bit too quiet for your taste, but his eyes zone in on the nursery and take his feet to the door. You waddle behind with all the strength you can, ankles aching in protest.

The lilac of the walls makes you smile, amused in recalling the months-old memory and your talk about what the baby would be. Who knew you would have another baby to fit inside the purple room.

He touches the pieces of the crib in the center of everything, colored white and made of solid wood, matching the rest of the furniture and decorations you picked out together. Although he’s shocked, the still glee in his eyes and deep love in his heart, now built for four instead of three, gives you comfort in the happy reveal. “Two babies.”

You trail behind him, your arms wrapping around his front as best you can, your stomach making it difficult to hug him completely. But it doesn’t stop you from embracing him softly and nuzzling his back. “Having cold feet, Han?”

He laughs softly and turns around, cupping your face with tenderness. “Nope. They’re toasty warm.” The first time you saw him cry was the day he proposed, nervous hands and promises of a love you wanted to give to him the same way he gave it to you. This time, watching him fall apart with tears in his eyes over your children makes your heart double in size for him and how far you’ve come.

“Guess we’ll need to buy another crib,” you comment, water in the corners of your eyes mirroring his. The thought of a future reshaped by another child, another one that is all yours, leaves a hole that will only fill and fall away once they arrive. Months before, you were terrified to imagine a child in your arms. Now, not having them is a distant thought you never want to consider again.

“Do we have the blankets? Pillows? Robes? Socks? Oh, and the camera,” Hansol stuffs all you essentials in the carrier at once, still rattled from telling his family and his twelve closest friends you’re heading to the hospital. The morning sun hits his hair as it ruffles in all directions, and you know despite his preparation he’s as tired as you are. Unfortunately, your babies aren’t patient enough to wait any longer.

“Hansol, yes. Let’s hurry please, my body feels like it’s gonna explode.” He pulls the bag over his shoulder before he puts one hand in yours and the other on your back. He’s both anxious and jumping from the ceiling, knowing by the time you come back to the apartment, you’ll have two new people living inside of it.

“Ready to do this, Chwe?” You’re still sleepy and ready to fall back in bed, but you still smile at him and the bundle of animated nerves living in him. He kisses the top of your head before opening the door and helping you through it. Even though you’re tired, knowing you’ll meet your children soon leaves you elated.

“Really ready.”

They come into the world after ten hours of worrying, pushing, and crying, a boy and a girl with all the love you’ve built entirely for them pouring out in little cries. Hansol paced the room hundreds of times before the delivery came. And once he held his children in his arms, leaving you to rest and finally saying goodbye to the many friends and family members who visited, his heart was so full and complete with two more people in his world to love.

“We’re parents, Han,” You grin, holding onto your daughter swaddled in pink and sleeping peacefully. Her fist is only a minimal fraction as big as yours, but she’s already strong and determined to stay dreaming. Hansol sits by your side, his son looking away in the distance but quiet and content.

“They’re gonna need us to tie their shoes, take them to school, pack their lunches, hold them when their hearts break,” you cry while nuzzling your daughter’s cheek, making sure the droplets don’t touch her beautiful skin. They’re both perfect, you tell yourself. Absolutely perfect and equal pieces of you and him, an example of the love you’ve created in the life you’ve built together. “They’re you and they’re me, and knowing we made something this special is the best thing I’ll ever know. I’m gonna love them always. And I’m glad I can share that love with you.”

You think you see a few more tears escape his eyes, but he wipes them away before you say anything and inhales a shaky breath, undoubtably filled with unshakable happiness. “Always. They’re ours forever,” Hansol smiles, red eyes and swollen cheeks painting his face while he holds you, your son, and your daughter, the three most precious things he’ll ever have.

They were never in the plan, but the plan changed to mold perfectly around all four of you, and you wouldn’t see your life any other way.