Ship/Member: Jihoon/Mingyu Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: angst, miscarriage, a/b/o, semi-explicit depictions of child loss Permission to remix: Please ask
oh hey you probably wanted something kinda sexy for this. sorry. *** “Kim Mingyu-ssi?” By now, Mingyu is familiar with every intonation of his name. Neutral. Positive. Negative. Angry. Impatient. And by now, too, the combination of awkwardness and sadness that comes with. Well. Mingyu doesn’t get up for a moment. As long as he sits here, it isn’t true. He doesn’t have to know. He can pretend. He can pretend.
Jihoon spreads his toast with honey, while Mingyu splays out colour charts all over the table. “I think the combination of pistachio and forest green as a base colour scheme is the best plan,” he says. “The pistachio brings light, the forest draws the eye, they complement each other perfectly. And then we can bring in blue and brown accents, make it a sort of, I dunno, kinda sea theme- not like, cheesy, like seaside, but like, remember when we stayed with Seungkwan on Jeju and—” He trails off. “Go on,” Jihoon says. “Stop it.” “Stop what?” “Looking at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you want to eat me.” “Maybe I do.” “Jihoon-ah—” Jihoon grins. Sharp teeth. Something in Mingyu shivers. “Alpha,” he murmurs. And Jihoon smiles wider.
The first time was overwhelming. The two of them in the bathroom, Jihoon on the edge of the bath, Mingyu sitting on the toilet, seat down, holding the stick in his hands. “If you look at it, it won’t—” “I know. I’m not looking at it.” And he wasn’t, he was looking at Jihoon. Appa. Or dad, or daddy, or whatever they come up with, or whatever their child- Jihoon’s phone drings. Mingyu glances down. “Fuck.” “Are we—” “Fucking—” “Mingyu, are we—” “We’re—” “Fuck—”
The first time was overwhelming. Mingyu wanted to sink into the bed. Wanted the starched hospital sheets to cover him, waves on waves. Why open his eyes again? Why wake up? Distant, a nurse, a beta, Mingyu could smell it, he’d been able to smell every last thing, still could, even though- “I’m so sorry, Lee Jihoon-ssi, this must be so- I can’t even- there are counsellors, therapists, the hospital can recommend—” “Please can we have a minute?” Jihoon said. The nurse left. Jihoon joined him in the bed. They lay next to each other. Jihoon held him. Jihoon cried. That was what hurt: Jihoon crying. Failing their baby, then failing his alpha. Mingyu lay there for what felt like forever, but they must have gone home. Jihoon must have pulled him to his feet and taken him home.
Because it happens again. It happens three times. There are things people say that hurt. You can just have another. Keep trying. Why don’t you just adopt, there are so many pups needing homes. Why don’t you use a surrogate. IVF. Donor sperm. There are things people say that heal him. Seungkwan calls him the first time and says, I love you, I love you, I’m so sorry, I love you. Myungho at work holds his hand and says, let it be painful. Let it hurt.
But by the third time? It’s a joke that’s grown old. Even Myungho, even his omega Junhui, they don’t know what to say. In his darkest moments, Mingyu hates them. They aren’t trying yet- Junhui is still on the birth control that gives him fat ankles and mood swings, Myungho confesses- but Mingyu knows that when they do, it will happen for them first time, no complications. He hates them.
“C’mon, yeobo.” Jihoon pulls him to his feet. As soon as he crosses the threshold of the office, it will be true, and he can’t, he can’t, not again-
“What about Sanghun?” “Or Iseul?” “I dunno how I feel about Korean names. What about Yeongcheol?” “How about generational names? Little Seongho and Seongjin and Seongsu?” Mingyu grins. He rolls over, brings the duvet with him. He kisses Jihoon on the nose. “You’re jumping the gun, huh?” “I’m excited,” Jihoon replies. “I can’t wait.” Mingyu kisses him, open-mouthed. I can’t wait, Jihoon whispers. Alpha, Mingyu replies, please-
“Lee Jihoon-ssi, Kim Mingyu-ssi, I’m Doctor Park.” Doctor Park, Doctor Geun, Doctor Ban- it’s all the same. Some beta holding a chart, holding the wand of an ultrasound scanner, holding a pen. Mingyu can see Jihoon holding back on snapping. Beta, his tight-set jaw says, you don’t understand. “I’m so sorry, but—” Mingyu doesn’t listen to the rest of the sentence. He sinks into the bed with a low moan, animal, wild. Jihoon grabs his hand. There is the immediate stench of him in the room, surely even the beta can smell it. “Go,” Jihoon says. Not, please can we have a minute, not, please leave. The beta goes, and they are alone again. Mingyu holds his alpha’s hand tight. His only anchor. He knows what will come next. More days of morning sickness while his body makes hormones to keep an already-dead pup alive. And then the cramps, and then sitting on the toilet while. While. Mingyu feels the bile rise in him already and vomits off the side of the examination bed. “Yeobo,” Jihoon says softly, rubbing his back. “Why?” he howls. “Why? How many times, Jihoon? How many times will I- kill our pup?” “Please don’t,” Jihoon sobs. He has clambered onto the bed again. By now he is adept. “You didn’t- you haven’t- please, please don’t say you killed—” “Why won’t my body work?” Jihoon laps at the mating mark on his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he says. Mingyu shuts his eyes. He is grateful that Jihoon didn’t try to contradict him. He asked Seungkwan, sobbing, after the first time: is it something wrong with me? Seungkwan had sent him an article about how fertility and miscarriages can be as much down to the alpha’s seed as the omega’s womb. It was meant well, but it killed another part of Mingyu’s soul, because what if it was both of them, what if there was no hope, not ever, what if-
Mingyu has to hold onto his instinct, that it’s his body that is killing his pups, because then it’s his body to fix. He loves Jihoon a thousand times more for letting him. “I don’t know,” Jihoon says. “But we’ll find out. We’ll make them do every test until we know what’s wrong.” He presses himself in closer, so Mingyu can almost taste his scent and his heartbeat slows, steady war drums. “You’ll have my baby, omega. I promise.” “You promise?” “I promise.”
[FILL] reel around the fountain
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: angst, miscarriage, a/b/o, semi-explicit depictions of child loss
Permission to remix: Please ask
oh hey you probably wanted something kinda sexy for this. sorry.
***
“Kim Mingyu-ssi?”
By now, Mingyu is familiar with every intonation of his name. Neutral. Positive. Negative. Angry. Impatient. And by now, too, the combination of awkwardness and sadness that comes with.
Well.
Mingyu doesn’t get up for a moment. As long as he sits here, it isn’t true. He doesn’t have to know. He can pretend. He can pretend.
Jihoon spreads his toast with honey, while Mingyu splays out colour charts all over the table.
“I think the combination of pistachio and forest green as a base colour scheme is the best plan,” he says. “The pistachio brings light, the forest draws the eye, they complement each other perfectly. And then we can bring in blue and brown accents, make it a sort of, I dunno, kinda sea theme- not like, cheesy, like seaside, but like, remember when we stayed with Seungkwan on Jeju and—”
He trails off.
“Go on,” Jihoon says.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to eat me.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Jihoon-ah—”
Jihoon grins. Sharp teeth. Something in Mingyu shivers.
“Alpha,” he murmurs. And Jihoon smiles wider.
The first time was overwhelming. The two of them in the bathroom, Jihoon on the edge of the bath, Mingyu sitting on the toilet, seat down, holding the stick in his hands.
“If you look at it, it won’t—”
“I know. I’m not looking at it.” And he wasn’t, he was looking at Jihoon. Appa. Or dad, or daddy, or whatever they come up with, or whatever their child-
Jihoon’s phone drings.
Mingyu glances down.
“Fuck.”
“Are we—”
“Fucking—”
“Mingyu, are we—”
“We’re—”
“Fuck—”
The first time was overwhelming. Mingyu wanted to sink into the bed. Wanted the starched hospital sheets to cover him, waves on waves. Why open his eyes again? Why wake up?
Distant, a nurse, a beta, Mingyu could smell it, he’d been able to smell every last thing, still could, even though-
“I’m so sorry, Lee Jihoon-ssi, this must be so- I can’t even- there are counsellors, therapists, the hospital can recommend—”
“Please can we have a minute?” Jihoon said.
The nurse left. Jihoon joined him in the bed. They lay next to each other. Jihoon held him. Jihoon cried. That was what hurt: Jihoon crying. Failing their baby, then failing his alpha. Mingyu lay there for what felt like forever, but they must have gone home. Jihoon must have pulled him to his feet and taken him home.
Because it happens again.
It happens three times.
There are things people say that hurt. You can just have another. Keep trying. Why don’t you just adopt, there are so many pups needing homes. Why don’t you use a surrogate. IVF. Donor sperm.
There are things people say that heal him. Seungkwan calls him the first time and says, I love you, I love you, I’m so sorry, I love you. Myungho at work holds his hand and says, let it be painful. Let it hurt.
But by the third time? It’s a joke that’s grown old. Even Myungho, even his omega Junhui, they don’t know what to say. In his darkest moments, Mingyu hates them. They aren’t trying yet- Junhui is still on the birth control that gives him fat ankles and mood swings, Myungho confesses- but Mingyu knows that when they do, it will happen for them first time, no complications. He hates them.
“C’mon, yeobo.”
Jihoon pulls him to his feet. As soon as he crosses the threshold of the office, it will be true, and he can’t, he can’t, not again-
“What about Sanghun?”
“Or Iseul?”
“I dunno how I feel about Korean names. What about Yeongcheol?”
“How about generational names? Little Seongho and Seongjin and Seongsu?”
Mingyu grins. He rolls over, brings the duvet with him. He kisses Jihoon on the nose.
“You’re jumping the gun, huh?”
“I’m excited,” Jihoon replies. “I can’t wait.” Mingyu kisses him, open-mouthed.
I can’t wait, Jihoon whispers. Alpha, Mingyu replies, please-
“Lee Jihoon-ssi, Kim Mingyu-ssi, I’m Doctor Park.”
Doctor Park, Doctor Geun, Doctor Ban- it’s all the same. Some beta holding a chart, holding the wand of an ultrasound scanner, holding a pen. Mingyu can see Jihoon holding back on snapping. Beta, his tight-set jaw says, you don’t understand.
“I’m so sorry, but—”
Mingyu doesn’t listen to the rest of the sentence. He sinks into the bed with a low moan, animal, wild. Jihoon grabs his hand. There is the immediate stench of him in the room, surely even the beta can smell it.
“Go,” Jihoon says. Not, please can we have a minute, not, please leave. The beta goes, and they are alone again. Mingyu holds his alpha’s hand tight. His only anchor. He knows what will come next. More days of morning sickness while his body makes hormones to keep an already-dead pup alive. And then the cramps, and then sitting on the toilet while. While. Mingyu feels the bile rise in him already and vomits off the side of the examination bed.
“Yeobo,” Jihoon says softly, rubbing his back.
“Why?” he howls. “Why? How many times, Jihoon? How many times will I- kill our pup?”
“Please don’t,” Jihoon sobs. He has clambered onto the bed again. By now he is adept. “You didn’t- you haven’t- please, please don’t say you killed—”
“Why won’t my body work?”
Jihoon laps at the mating mark on his shoulder.
“I don’t know,” he says. Mingyu shuts his eyes. He is grateful that Jihoon didn’t try to contradict him. He asked Seungkwan, sobbing, after the first time: is it something wrong with me? Seungkwan had sent him an article about how fertility and miscarriages can be as much down to the alpha’s seed as the omega’s womb. It was meant well, but it killed another part of Mingyu’s soul, because what if it was both of them, what if there was no hope, not ever, what if-
Mingyu has to hold onto his instinct, that it’s his body that is killing his pups, because then it’s his body to fix. He loves Jihoon a thousand times more for letting him.
“I don’t know,” Jihoon says. “But we’ll find out. We’ll make them do every test until we know what’s wrong.” He presses himself in closer, so Mingyu can almost taste his scent and his heartbeat slows, steady war drums. “You’ll have my baby, omega. I promise.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”