- 950 words - Paranoid Junhoe - Fluff - Cute - Over reaction -

- Summary: Your face is heating up, but Junhoe needs to chill -

“Ya,” you huff, crossing your arms across your chest and staring daggers into the anxious face hovering just a few inches from yours. Junhoe’s brow is crumpled in worry as his hand reaches out to feel across your forehead and cheek. “Hwe, I said I’m fine.”

Junhoe pouts dramatically, but keeps his hand glued to your face. “Jagi, you never know with these things. It’s better to be safe than sorry, right?” He has a good point, but it’s the same excuse he’s been using all day to pester you. That morning you woke up with a slight fever and a dry cough, (read: nothing even remotely concerning) but Junhoe’s caught up on the fact that you’re only four months pregnant and still susceptible to complications. These past few months, Junhoe has fallen into the habit of treating you like glass, and though the concern is welcomed and sweet, it can get a bit… suffocating. In the last two hours alone, he’s been out to raid the pharmacy twice, tried and failed to make chicken noodle soup (he put the goddamn can opener in the microwave), and shoved a thermometer into your mouth too many times to count.

“Just wait and see where I shove that thermometer...” you grumble. You’ve been trying to get some peace and quiet to wait out the headache that’s kicking against your skull, but, surprise surprise, Junhoe is waiting for you around every corner.

(“Do you need anything yet?”

“Noooooooooo, Junhoe.”

“Okay, lemme me know. ^^”

“I brought you some water,” he pushes the glass at you, effectively spilling half of it down your shirt. “... My bad.”

“Hey, baby. Just peeking in to make sure you’re doin okay~”

“I’m trying to sleep, Hwe!”

“Oh,” he laughs sheepishly, “I forgot.”

//barging into the room// “So I read online that wearing wet socks cures fevers.”

“Could you like, get out??”)

Needless to say, Junhoe is quickly climbing the list of things you want to set on fire. “Fine fine fine okay,” he raises his hands in surrender, “I’m leaving.” He turns to exit the kitchen, but whips around a second later. “Just let me take your temperature reeeeeally quick before I go.”

Barring yourself in the upstairs bedroom and wearing headphones to block out the incessant knocking on the door gets you through the rest of the afternoon. You take a short nap, tidy up the room (Junhoe has a habit of leaving his clothes on the floor), and get through a few episodes of a drama before the growling coming from your midsection gets too loud to ignore. Baby gets cranky when she’s hungry.

You crack open the door an inch to peek down the hallway. When you’re sure the coast is clear, you step carefully out of the room and close the door silently behind you. It’s about twenty steps to the stairs then another thirty to the kitchen; you only make it halfway.

“Jagi!” Junhoe’s voice out calls out, making you jump from where you're crouched at the foot of the stairs.

You’re not sure why you feel like a criminal caught red handed, but you find yourself trying to flee the scene as quickly as possible. “Oh, haha… Junhoe… I was just, uh… going.” You turn to run back into the room, but he catches you easily, wrapping an arm carefully around your waste to pin you back against his chest.

“Are you trying to get away from me?” he teases, breath fanning down the side of your neck. “You’re not that fast anymore, you know?” He swats your softly then pulls back to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Hungry? You’ve been locked in there for hours.”

A soft nod confirms his suspicions. “Baby wants chicken.”

“Baby or mommy?” he grins, “Because as I recall, you used to eat fried chicken religiously.”

“Hey,” you poke back at him, “College was rough and chicken was cheap.” You can clearly remember the interesting dates you went on even when free time was hard to come by. He was a trainee and you were in your second year of college, so early morning runs to the closest chicken restaurant or street vendor was the classiest thing you had time for. Though his training schedule was quite literally hell and you were on the verge of dropping out and shaving your head, the hour in between it all that you were able to sit down and relax was magical. The two of you met for over two months before he asked you to date him officially (He was so shy and red and flustered you’ll never let him outlive it). Another four years later and bam you’re four months pregnant and married to the man of your dreams.

Junhoe ends up buying a bucket of chicken, helping you finish the whole thing, and taking your temperature eight more times in between bites.

“Your fever is almost gone,” he smiles relieved, “You feel okay?”

“Ya, I told you it’d go down.” You can’t help but grin and roll you eyes though his excessive worrying warms your heart. “And now that I’ve eaten 2000 calories in chicken, I think it’s about time baby and I take a nap-”

“I said almost-” he tries to protest immediately.

You cross your arms across your chest and throw him your beadiest side glare. “-Without interruptions.”

“O-Okay,” he shrinks back, “As silent as a mouse.” He pulls his fingers across his lips like a zipper. “Prms.”

The silence only lasts for a few minutes.

(“-I’m just saying, babe. Rectal temperatures are much more accurate, so if you could just bend over for a sec-”

“Oh my god, Junhoe. Get out!”)

A/N: Long time no see, my peeps! Working on some updates for you now that I'm out of prison school <3 ilysm and thank you for reading!