keureoh
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It scares him to venture into things he doesn't know much about on his own. There is no one for him to call names that set him on fire, and there is no one to whisper filthy things into his ears. Jisung isn't sure what he even wants whispered to him: maybe everything, maybe nothing. It eats at him.
Is it always this hard to know what you want? It used to be so easy, when it'd be given to him and Jisung would just take it with an open mouth and stretched out arms and he'd swallow every last drop. He'd love it, back then. And now Jisung can't physically call anyone but Minho daddy or any other name; he can't let anyone but Minho call him bug or baby or good boy. Jisung thinks he'd shrink until he disappears or something.
How is Jisung supposed to try new things when it all circles back to Lee Minho?
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Summary
The process has been a learning curve. He’s learned, mostly, that seeing Jisung with his skin stretched wide over his ever-growing belly does something to him that he cannot explain.
Or, well—he can explain that he gets a raging boner the moment he sees his heavily pregnant husband just exist, but it makes him sound like a pervert and a creep and a horrible guy all around. Minho swears he’s normal. How does he blame this on Jisung?
Jisung is simply too pretty. That must be it.