#Lee Minho angst

[linoxpudding]

Prioritizing His Girl Best Friend Over You (Hyung Line)

summary: when his girl bsf hates you and tries to break you both apart - he still chooses to believe her over you

pairing: skz hyung line x reader

genre: angst

a/n: based on this request

PART TWO

maknae line

Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan

Lee Know

Seo Changbin

Hwang Hyunjin

[lieslab]

Do not go gentle into that good night

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X afab reader

Summary: You've been waiting months to meet your baby, but giving birth doesn't go the way you and your husband expected it to.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 6.8k

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood, nausea, giving birth, bodily fluids, and near death experiences.

A/N: I combined two pregnancy requests for this and all I have to say is good luck. This took me three hours to write. This is one of my favorite things I've ever written. Yes, it does have references to Interstellar. It felt right and I feel like I'm going to think about this for the rest of my life. Enjoy <3

_ _ _

Having a baby is one of the most difficult things a person can do in their life. Expected or not, no matter the conscious decision, it’s bound to be life-changing. When you go from you to we. From me to us. One to two, possibly three or more. 

For you and Minho, it’d been a conversation held in passing before. Jokes about someone created with each of your DNA and quirks. Maybe your eyes and his lips. His eyebrows and the length of your lashes. You always laughed and joked, never knowing when the time was right, and then it was there. 

A heavy decision between the two of you, but you both agreed to it. Nine months and a few weeks ago, you didn’t know what caused it. Perhaps, it was the conversations from his parents when they jokingly asked when their grandchildren would no longer be cats. 

Maybe it happened because Minho caught you staring at a baby while the two of you were grocery shopping one day. The way your eyes lit up and a smile naturally came to your face. When the child’s mother stepped around the cart to grab something and for a brief moment, the stranger’s child held eye contact with you. The way it didn’t feel like a coincidence, but rather a silent promise from the universe. When the time was right, you’d have your baby, too. 

Two months and six days into your pregnancy, you bombarded Minho with baby name books from the library. You forced him into a chair in the kitchen and pointed out all the names you liked. He couldn’t be mad at you. Exhausted from dance practice? Absolutely, but the way you were so happy, there’s no way he could ruin that for you. 

The taunting and teasing never stopped throughout your pregnancy and for that, you were grateful for. You didn’t know what you’d do without it. After the shock melted away and you realized you were pregnant, you grew fearful that things would change. 

Perhaps, he’d have second thoughts and regret it. Maybe he’d decide to leave, despite the vows you took and the way the golden bands wrapped around each of your fingers day-after-day. Your own self-doubt wrapped around you like an oversized sweater, but when Minho took that oath at the altar, he vowed to keep it forever. 

In sickness and in health. Every time he could be, he was there. He took extra days off work when your morning sickness appeared. When your feet swelled up and tears flooded your eyes, he was right there to soothe you and gently work his fingers into the bottom of your foot. 

When your body changed against your will and to your disappointment, he was right there consoling you. You laid in his lap, feelings scattered from the hormonal changes, but he didn’t taunt you for what you couldn’t control. You hated the new puffiness in your face. The way your stomach poked out with a baby bump. 

Other days, you were glowing. He’d wake up to you in the kitchen with multiple ingredients spread out. Humming beneath your breath, you manned the stove like a seasoned fry cook. He constantly worried, he always did. When he tried to gently work the spatula from your hand, you swatted him and told him to leave you alone. Despite your growing belly, you could manage this, for now. 

Tying your shoes was another issue. At first, you tried to slip into them while they were still tied. The first time you realized that you could no longer reach your feet, you chucked your shoe in a random direction. Minho appeared, just barely dodging it in time. 

It slammed into the wall with a heavy thud, but he didn’t lecture you. Instead, he grabbed it and slid onto the ground beside you. When he grabbed your ankles and gently slipped your shoes around them, you burst into sobs. It was only then that he teased you about crying because he had to touch your reeking shoes. That only caused you to send the other in his direction. 

The days and weeks ticked by. Month-after-month marched on. One week until your due date. Two days until your due date. You circled it bright red on the calendar. The day came and then it went. You waited for a sign of your water breaking, but it never came. 

On day three, you grew antsy. Your doctor promised she’d induce your pregnancy if you hadn’t popped by the end of the week. Minho offered hot sauce, but you declined. Myths didn’t work on you. You weren’t convinced that it’d break your water. If it did, you’d be trapped in the hospital with heartburn. 

Day four, Minho hesitated to go into work, but you insisted. Vowing promises that you’d call if anything changed or happened, he spent the entire day with his phone on. Not once did it ring or ping with a text message. 

On that fateful day, the stars aligned. Deep down, you could feel it in your gut. It wasn’t just the baby pressing up against your bladder again, but rather a maternal instinct. The baby was coming, regardless if you were ready or not. You had to be. In a matter of hours or a few days, your family of two would turn into a trio. 

The nursery was a conversation that you and Minho spent a lot of time on. Back and forth, your opinions swayed and changed. You didn’t know the gender of the baby, you opted to be surprised. You weren’t really worried, not really. In your head, colors are colors and no matter boy or girl, you’d love them all the same. 

The nursery didn’t have to be blue or pink. For nearly two hours one night, you and Minho went back and forth discussing different ideas. At first, it was animals. Painted giraffes that’d stare over your baby with inanimate protection and admiration in their dark eyes. 

A small bookshelf full of baby books about a variety of different creatures. Some with creepy crawly bugs and others with the larger than life creatures hanging beneath the ocean currents. The woodland creatures hiding behind trees and tangled in the forest’s underbelly. 

Maybe a few of those larger plush animals to settle around the room. When they grew older, your baby could pretend they were real. Everything feels larger when you’re that young. A knee high stuffed elephant to you, but a real life sized one to them. 

The wheels shifted and turned in another direction. Minho mentioned a brief obsession he had as a young boy. Space and the aligning planets. The silent vacuum and unraveling darkness. 

Maybe you could plant a spaceship inspired bookcase. Painted bright colors and lined with knowledge, you’d coo your kid into becoming the best explorer. Even if the world is scary and dangerous, you’d send them out there into the great beyond. No matter where life took them, you’d try to be the best parents that you could possibly be. 

And then it all changed again. Something simple and easily changeable. After all, this would be the room where your baby would grow up. They’d age and flicker through the phases of life, just as you and Minho had. It had to be rational, expandable, able to be switched around to house whatever beauty that growing mind dreamt up. 

And so you decided on a gentle night. Originally, you wanted to decorate with Minho and Minho alone, but when he announced the guys wanted to help, your heart swelled. A heart-stopping and warm reminder that you weren’t just raising this baby alone, you had a village. 

You remembered the day like it was yesterday. Felix with denim overalls and Chan and Changbin waltzing in behind him with two gallons of paint in each hand. Jeongin handed everyone brushes and everyone got busy. Too much paint, but the guys didn’t care. 

Minho’s arm wrapped around you. He kissed your cheek and all you could do was stare. The laughter and imagination ran wild. Hyunjin’s large bright strokes of color across the white room. On the opposite side, paint from Han’s paintbrush leaked onto Seungmin. He quickly apologized, but Seungmin retaliated by painting his elbow. 

What should have taken hours, it only took two. When they finished, Minho led the guys downstairs to help build the crib. You walked around to take photos. You’d never remember this day perfectly as it unwound, but you wanted to try. 

The guys often stopped by unexpectedly. It took time before the two of you began to expect it. Chan coming over to make you a hearty and fulfilling meal. Felix randomly appearing with Jeongin and a plateful of his brownies. 

When Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, and Seungmin appeared all together one day and offered to take you out to get your mind off your worries about the baby, you collapsed in Seungmin’s arms sobbing. Gripping onto him tightly, you thanked him over and over again. All he could do was weakly console you and look to the guys for help, but he was on his own. He wasn’t used to your high-strung emotions, nobody was. 

The days all kept going and going and going. You waited and waited and waited. In the nursery, you and Minho finished it alone. Using puffy brushes, you dabbed white amongst the blue to replicate puffy white clouds. You tried to help Minho put glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, but he refused. Having you stand on a ladder and reach up, it was far too much stress and a disaster waiting to happen. 

In the end, sitting in your rocking chair and gently rocking, it felt like being in the clouds. A white soft rug sat in the middle of the floor. You planned to use it for tummy time when the timing was right. 

Shades of lighter blue and white filtered around the room. From plushies, curtains, and to a variety of other things, the only thing missing was your kid. You knew they’d be here soon, you just didn’t know when the time would be right. 

You rocked in your rocking chair and waited. Minho’s vocals bounced off the recording studio’s walls. Anxiety pulsed in his stomach and he rocked on his feet, waiting for Chan’s approval to continue singing or not. 

Your hands wrapped around your stomach. “You’ve been in there such a long time, but I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. I think you’re really going to love it here. Your father and I have spent so long waiting for you. He’s just as excited as I am.” 

A faint kick hit the palm of your hand, causing you to smile. “I bet you’re tired of being in there, aren’t you? Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be waiting for you.” You laughed to yourself, amused with the idea of your baby rationalizing your words and understanding your thoughts. 

You pushed against the arms to get up, but that’s when you felt it. Something shifted internally. Your eyebrows pinched together in pain and your hand went back to your stomach. “Easy there, you’re hurting me. Try not to get too squirmy or I’ll have to call the doctor.” 

You couldn’t understand it, not fully. Something was happening, but you weren’t sure what. The sun continued to wind down from afternoon into evening. Minho reappeared at the end of the day and kicked off his shoes. 

You sat with your cheek slung over the edge of the couch. Anxiety brewed, but you didn’t know what to say to Minho, or your doctor. Your water didn’t burst. You weren’t bleeding vaginally. Besides an occasional pain in your stomach, nothing happened. 

“How’s my baby?” 

“I’m good,” you mumbled from the couch.

“I meant our child.” 

You glanced over with an unamused scowl. Minho grinned and slowly approached you. “I’m just kidding. Did anything change while I was away?” 

Your mouth opened and you considered telling him, but you decided against it. Worrying him was pointless, he was already anxious enough. After your due date, you knew he worried as much as you. You could tell by the way that he kept glancing over and looking at you when he thought you were distracted. 

“Not really. A lot of bumps to my bladder, unfortunately, but I’ve made it to the bathroom every time. It’s probably a good thing I took time off work for maternity leave, right?” You forced yourself to smile. 

He eyed you and nodded. You didn’t pull away, allowing him to lean down and press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Only a few more days until we officially become parents. I can’t wait to be a parent beside you.” 

“Do you think we’ll be good parents?” 

“I know we’ll be good parents. If we don’t know the answers, we have your parents and my parents. I’m sure if we needed to, the guys’ parents would help out, too. Some of my staff members are also parents. They’re all taking bets on the gender of the baby.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” He reached down and pressed a gentle hand to your stomach. “I hope you’re a boy. If you’re a girl, I owe my manager fifty bucks.” 

“Lee Minho!” 

“Hey, let’s be serious, do you think I’d really pay up if our baby is a girl? I’m going to use the excuse that I’m a first time father. You know how my manager feels about me, right?” 

“You’re being manipulative and cruel.” 

“I’m winning fifty bucks for this family and when I win it, we’re going out for a nice dinner.” 

“With the baby?” Your eyebrow raised. 

“Oh, no. At some point, we’re going to use a break. I think my mom misses me being a baby sometimes. She’ll get to experience it all over again with our little one.” He patted your stomach a few times and pulled away. “I’ve gotta go shower, but if you need something, call me. I’ll make us dinner when I’m finished.” 

You watched him disappear back into the bathroom. The pain in your stomach grew and you waited for your water to burst. You expected warmth between your legs. A gush that felt like you urinated everywhere, but it never came. Instead, nothing happened and the evening continued to unravel like usual.

 ~ ~ ~ 

The neon red letters of your clock read 2:11 AM. You blinked, groggily coming around. Behind you, Minho slept facing the opposite wall. Every night, he tossed and turned between the blankets and the mattress. Tonight, it wasn’t any different. 

However, something caused you to jerk upright. You blinked blearily, trying to get a good grasp on your surroundings. Your hand blindly fumbled over towards your husband. “Minho?” You whispered softly. 

He shifted and his nose scrunched. In the darkness of the bedroom, night swallowed both of you whole. You forced your arm to shake his shoulder harder. Your voice came out a little louder this time. “Minho?” 

He groaned and spun around. “No, I don’t wanna get up. I have the day off. Leave me alone and let me sleep.” 

“Minho, there’s something wrong with the baby.” 

His eyes cracked open and the words echoed in his head. One time. Twice. Three times and then he jerked himself up so fast, you feared you gave him whiplash. “What? What’s wrong? Did your water break? Are you bleeding?” 

His hands pawed around as he pushed himself up from the bed. He fumbled, attempting to find the switch to click on the lamp. “What’s going on? Do I need to call an ambulance?” 

“I’ve been having what I think are contractions since yesterday afternoon and I-” 

The faint click caused both of your eyes to shut. Bright yellow light blinded both of you immediately. You groaned and tucked your hands around your stomach. It took a few seconds before he opened his eyes. “What are you talking about?” 

“I felt weird yesterday.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Panic laced his voice. A hand ran through his hair and he looked for the bags the two of you previously packed. Two bags, one for each of you. Both were filled with items to last you throughout your hospital stay. 

“I didn’t want to worry you. My water didn’t break and for so long, I thought it might be in my head.” 

“We have to get you to the hospital right now.” 

“Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is, but it’s wrong. I don’t understand it. My water hasn’t broken. I’m not bleeding. I can feel the baby moving, but I-” 

“Let’s go!” 

He wasted no time slinging the bags over his shoulders and gently helping you to your feet. In your pajama shorts and oversized t-shirt, sleep still clung to you. Instead of walking, you waddled down the hall. Not something you liked doing, but something you learned how to do as your stomach kept expanding in front of you. 

You tried to remember the way your house looked. Two lovers with vows gifted to the gods. Golden rings around your fingers and a baby kept comfortable in your stomach. You remembered the excitement in your eyes when the two of you agreed to have a baby. The giddiness in your skips to the bedroom. Minho’s laughter filled the crevice of every fault in your heart. 

When you came back home, you’d be a new family of three. 

~ ~ ~ 

“You did the right thing by coming in. How long did you say you’ve been having these pains?” The doctor glanced up from between your legs. 

“Since yesterday afternoon.” 

“Well, I have good news and bad news.” 

Beside you, Minho’s hand slipped into yours and he gently squeezed your hand. The doctor smiled at the two of you, a silent reassurance that despite the bad, you’d be in good hands. “The good news is this is completely fixable.” 

“And the bad?” 

“Well, childbirth is never easy, is it?” 

“So you’re saying that things are okay?” You squeezed Minho’s hand tighter, hoping for reassurance. He grimaced, but didn’t tell you to let go. 

“What you’re experiencing right now is labor arrest. Technically, you’re in labor, but your contractions aren’t strong enough to help open your cervix. We want your cervix open, so we can get the baby out vaginally.” The doctor pushed back on her stool and began to remove her gloves. 

“So this is fixable?” 

“I’m going to have a nurse administer a certain medicine via IV drip. It’ll help push you further into labor. Your contractions will increase and although it might not feel great, it’ll help you dilate more. The cervix expands ten centimeters.” 

“How big is that exactly?” 

“Roughly? About the size of the lid of a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream pint.” 

Minho’s face began to grow pale. “Not to sound insensitive here, but I’m so glad I’m not pregnant. You’re so strong and you can definitely do this.” 

You glanced up, not thrilled at his words. He gave you a faint smile and gently patted the top of your hand. “Don’t worry, there’s ways to help with pain, right?” He glanced up at the doctor for reassurance. 

“Of course. If the contractions become too bad and too painful, we can always administer an epidural to numb you from the waist down. I know it’s scary, but don’t worry, you’re in good hands” The doctor patted your shoulder and disappeared from the room. 

Beside you, Minho let out a soft sigh. “I guess for now, it’s just another waiting game, huh?” 

“At least our baby is okay.” Your hands kept steady around your stomach. Ever since you arrived, you didn’t let go. It was the closest thing you could get to holding your baby for now. “Let’s just hope and pray it goes smoothly from this point on.” 

~ ~ ~ 

Sometime in the early morning, you weren’t sure what went wrong. You tried to do everything right for this pregnancy. No alcohol or caffeine. You limited yourself to the exposure of germs. Hand washing became more and more frequent. 

It all went so smoothly after the nurse administered an IV and ran medication into it. Your contractions picked up and when the option for an epidural came around, you took it. You waited and waited and waited some more. 

Minho tried to keep you entertained. He texted everyone to let them know you were in labor. You texted your own family to give them the exciting news. You were bound to the bed after your epidural, it’s not like you could go anywhere with the lower half of your body numbed, but you were still excited.

Your hands patted your numbed thighs. Every so often, the doctor came back to check your dilation. You were progressing so well throughout the morning and she was sure you could begin pushing by noon. 

Your kid was almost here. Nine months and a handful of days of waiting. You waited for this moment for so long. You thought about the satisfaction of giving birth in your worst moments. 

Leaning over the toilet and projectile vomiting as your stomach twisted and turned, you held onto the thought of staring into your child’s eyes one day. When you cried over not being able to tie your shoes without help, you reminded yourself that your own kid would take their very first steps. You’d be right there with Minho to experience it all. 

You pouted when Minho ate something you couldn’t have. He tried not to eat what you couldn’t have, but he was only human. Sometimes he caved and had sushi or the occasional alcoholic drink. You couldn’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, you’d indulge, too. It still hurt your heart and your sensitive hormones when it happened. 

“Push!” The doctor instructed you. “Come on, I know it hurts, but you’ve gotta keep going. I can see the head. Just a little more.” 

Minho couldn’t feel his hand. He couldn’t feel his hand ten minutes ago. If he would have known you would have destroyed it while giving birth, he would have worked out his hands with those hand cranks. 

“I can’t!” You cried out with tears in your eyes. “I can’t push anymore.” 

“You don’t have a choice, you have to. Come on, you can do this!” 

Tears dripped down your cheeks. Your body had been through absolute hell for hours. The epidural began to wear off and they refused to give you another. Sweat dripped down the side of your flushed face. 

“Come on,” Minho whispered gently. “A few more pushes and you never have to do this again.” 

“This is all your fault!” You snapped angrily. “You got me pregnant!” 

“I know, I know.” 

“Push!” The doctor instructed again.

Behind her, a handful of nurses awaited the arrival of your little one. They were already prepped with the towels and the warmer. Brightly colored scrubs and the white nasal aspirator to clear out their nose and mouth from amniotic fluid. 

You gritted your teeth and with a cry of frustration, you began to push again. The head and shoulders were always the worst part. Your cervix sat wide open and you still thought it’d stretch and tear. If you were lucky, you’d manage to escape this without ripping down to your ass. 

“How fucking big is this goddamn baby?” Your eyes squeezed shut and you pushed again. 

“I think that’s a little offensive.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Minho!” 

Between your legs, the doctor tried to stop her laughter. Kind green eyes, hair pulled back, and gloves soaked with amniotic fluid, she coached you to push again. Minho’s hand turned white from the force of your fingers clenching around it. 

He forced himself to take his own deep breaths. He breathed how the doctor instructed you to breathe. It was the only thing stopping him from jerking his hand away and screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I can see the head! Keep pushing! You’re almost there! A few more and you’ve got it! Come on!” 

“Minho?” You croaked, wrenching his hand a final time. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

“No, no, no. You can. You can do this. I didn’t stand here and get the bones broken in my hand for nothing. Push!” 

Your scream bounced off the walls. It hit everyone’s ears. The pain, the determination, and the grit that only a mother can carry. The doctor’s hands swooped in and for a brief second, the pain stopped. Your cries weren’t the only one. 

“You did it,” Minho whispered. He leaned down, wrapped a hand around your head, and gently tucked you to his stomach. “Did you hear me? You did it.” 

Tears steadily streamed down your cheeks. You didn’t take your eyes off your baby. Passed from doctor to nurse, the nurse rushed in to take care of the wailing and choking baby. The doctor beamed and turned back to you. 

“It’s a boy! You’re having a boy! Congratulations, you did an amazing job.” 

Minho blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. Nurses worked frantically through the cries. A tiny suction in the back of the throat and pulled out. In one nasal and then the other. He reached up and wiped his eyes before the tears could fall. 

You, on the other hand, dread grew in your gut. A dizziness overtook you and your grip on Minho’s hand weakened. “Minho?” You whispered. 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t feel very good.” 

The doctor caught your words and glanced up. The moment she realized the color of your face was fading, her eyes widened. “Hey! I need some help over here!” 

Unoccupied nurses glanced back at you. 

“Sutures stat! We’ve got hemorrhaging!” She jerked her surgical mask back over her face and rushed back between your legs. 

You didn’t know what was happening, but you could feel it. Warmth flooded between your legs. It soaked the bed sheet beneath you and spread out in every direction. The doctor cursed beneath her breath and grabbed a cloth to place pressure on the bleeding. 

“What’s going on?” 

“The baby was larger than expected. When that happens, sometimes there’s tearing. Stitches are going to be needed.” The doctor called your name and glanced back up at your face. “Can you hear me?” 

“Baby?” Minho reached up and gently tapped your cheek. “Stay awake. Do you hear me? Don’t close your eyes. You’re going to be okay. They’re going to fix you and-” 

“I love you.” 

His heart dropped. Three little words that held so much weight. He dropped to his knees, tucking your face between his hands. “Don’t you dare leave me here. Fight! Don’t fall asleep!” 

In the distance, the baby cried louder. A nurse cooed, trying to console up as chaos broke loose in the background. Minho tapped your cheek rapidly, but your eyes drooped further and further shut. 

“No, no, no. Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP! Don’t leave us here!” 

“Get him out of here, now!” 

“No!” 

A nurse rushed to his side. “Sir, please.” 

“I’m not leaving!” 

“You need to let the doctor work. Please, you’re only making this worse for everyone involved.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” 

He didn’t get a choice in the end. Not willingly. Another nurse appeared, a male with biceps protruding beneath his light pink scrubs. “Sir, we’re not asking you, we’re telling you.” 

Your eyes drooped until your head slumped back against the hospital bed. A suture kit found the doctor’s hand and she began to instruct a nurse what she needed from her. Her hands worked methodically. This wasn’t the first time she raced death to save a patient after giving birth. 

He fought against the man-handling, but it was no use. All he could do was call out your name through the cries of your newborn son. Stepping outside felt like losing both of you. 

A family of three and now possibly, back to a family of one. 

~ ~ ~ 

Minho didn’t pray. Not regularly. Not religiously. Not as much as he probably should. Life was always hectic and believing in a higher power, it never took up too much time in his life. 

In the hospital chapel, at first, he prayed; then he called his mom. 

She picked up on the third ring. A soft spoken voice that he’d found comfort in ever since he was a child. “Mom?” 

“Hi, honey! How is everything? Is it going well?” 

It broke him. Between the barren wooden pews, the stained glass windows, and the image of Jesus in the front of the altar, he burst into tears. He called out to his mother and his voice may have changed from childhood to puberty, but the need for his mother did not. 

On the opposite end of the phone, his mother frowned. She clutched the phone tighter and tried to get through her son’s grief. “Honey, what happened? What’s wrong? You’ve got to talk to me, sweetheart.” 

“S-she-” 

“Did something happen to your wife?” 

“Hemorrhaging.” 

“Oh, Minho.” 

Her words sent him into another sob that he couldn’t hold back. How many times had he tried to hold back his sobs as a kid? Back when he fell off the bike for the first time and hit the pavement. When he toddled along on stubby legs and unexpectedly hit the ground with a faint thud. 

Being a parent never ends, never fully. At least, it’s not supposed to. At the end of the day, that book always shut. Who disappears first? The parent or the child? No matter what, it always hurts. 

A sting that zaps your heart and buries into every part of your life. It strikes you at the wrong time. The mourning for your kid. The loss of a parent. It never goes away, not really. The years travel by and the hurt lessens, but it doesn’t mean it never aches. 

At that moment, his mother wished she could climb through the phone and hug him. It didn’t matter that he’d turned into a man. In her heart, he’d always be her baby. His cats were the closest thing she’d get to being around him all the time. 

You cannot keep your kid in a cage. You have to let them explore the world around them. Nurture them right and send them on their way. If your kid doesn’t learn how to navigate the outside world, they’ll never strengthen the wings to gain flight. If you do it right, they’ll come back. 

Like a pigeon, they’ll find their way back home. Chirping and hopping. Cooing with a new shiny thing. Stories about their career and new friends. A final love, a new family, something more that fills their heart, just the way that they’ve always filled yours. 

“I-I’m trying to stay positive, Mom. I’m so scared. What if-” 

“I know it’s scary, but I have to believe that she’ll overcome this.” 

“How do you know for sure?” 

“I believe it, the exact same way that I believed when your father and I had you.” 

~ ~ ~ 

Do not go gentle into that goodnight. 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

The memories flickered like the lash of a sudden spark. Flipping through clouded currents and forming in between static filled channels. You remember what life was like as a kid. You remember it all. 

The bright green grass and the way the butterfly wings flapped. The melodic sound of the ice cream truck and the way a late family member laughed at the sight of your sticky face. It dripped down your chin and coated your collar. 

The bees came by, betting on which one of them could taste the sweetness first. They never had a chance. Not when your mother whisked you away to wipe off the sticky remnants of another early summer. 

People filled the beach at the first lake you went to. They speckled up and down the sandy shore. Umbrellas stuck out to shield the harsh sunlight. It blinded your sensitive eyes as you rushed with arms up to meet the water. 

Your father called after you, warning you to be careful. You were still young. This much water all at once, it was still so new to you. Some unkept secret that some higher power stashed away. You remember the way the cool water hit your toes. Love grew in your bones and then you dived in. 

A conversation in passing that you had with your mother nearly a decade ago. Sitting beside her while she folded her laundry. You didn’t know where the words came from, but you blurted them out anyway. “I don’t know if I want kids.” 

“Oh, but you will. Having kids, it’s the most rewarding and best thing ever. When you have them, treat them right and they’ll always come back to you.” 

A familiar smile, the same eyes as you, and two decades older. I am all that you can be. You are what I could have been. Two separate generations can dream and conquer the same exact thing. 

In the winter snow, you flopped face down. Bundled in too many layers, brought to you proudly by your mother. Because if too much skin was exposed, you’d surely freeze to death. 

Minho’s eyes held you captive the first time you saw him. You always romanticized the idea of dating a singer. A singer. A song-writer. A dancer. 

Someone who jerks and throws their limbs out, creating a story in their own way. Words on a page, hidden inklings of their soul. The words unveil and pulse out into the world. A happy jingle. A devastating ballad. Whatever they sang, they always breathed life into the story behind the words. 

You never believed in love at first sight. Not really. Not until that moment. You tipped over and free fell into a vat of sticky syrup, but you didn’t fight against it. Minho’s wit sucked you in. Every talent unlocked, you began to think he was superhuman. 

Touching created sparks. No matter how minor, your heart banged like a drum. A never-ending current danced through your body with him. Your cheeks flushed red and even if he laughed at you, it never really mattered. 

The two of you had something special. Special enough to make that leap of faith to the altar. Two families became one. He forced his cats to make a brief appearance in cat sized tuxedos. You didn’t know why, but he did. 

Your laughter set his soul ablaze. With you, every mountain felt like a molehill. Your joy was his. He’d collect the stars and bottle them to help you find your way through the dark. He wasn’t a collector, but he wrote down every moment with you. 

Write the memories and trudge through the passage of time. Hand-in-hand, life felt better with you. Not just a partner, but a lover. Someone he could hold and mend. Whenever he didn’t feel good enough, he just looked over at you. 

From day one, your face never changed when you looked at him. A softness bloomed. Something sweeter, kinder, and simpler. You were his to keep forever, just as he was yours. 

The first cry of your baby before you blacked out, the sound of your husband telling you to fight, it powered something indescribable. Humans are capable of anything if they believe hard enough. Some call it pure delusion and some call it God. 

If there is a constant push of will, humans will always, always find a way. You found your way in that hospital room. Despite the blood oozing down the doctor’s gloves and staining the sheets, your heart kept beating. It weakened briefly, but it never stopped. 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

~ ~ ~ 

When your eyes reopened, Minho was the first to grab your hand. Two tears slipped down his cheeks and rolled against the warmth of his neck. It was so unlike him, you had to look again to see if you were seeing it right. 

“Minho?” Your voice cracked. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got you. You’re okay. The doctor stabilized you and it’s okay now. Don’t worry, I’m right here.” 

“The baby?” 

“He’s okay, too. He’s on the other side of you sleeping. The doctor let him stay in the incubator right here. All his vitals are good. The only problem is that he lacks a name.” 

He slipped his hand into yours and gently squeezed it. He didn’t care about the bruising around his dominant hand. All he cared about was your safety and health. He reached the back of your palm to his lips and planted the warmth of a kiss. 

“You’re both okay?” 

He weakly chuckled and nodded. “Now that you’re okay, yes. We’re both okay. We’ve been waiting for you to come back to us. It’s time for us to be parents now.” 

“Minho?” You whispered as your eyes drooped. 

“Hm?” 

“I’m so scared.” 

“I’m scared too, but that’s okay. My mom said that it’s completely normal to be scared. If you’re scared and still trying your best, you’re probably doing it right, apparently.” 

“I love your mom.” 

“I love her, too.” 

A silence broke out in the space between you. Still exhausted from your brush against death, Minho couldn’t blame you for wanting to go back to sleep. He reached up and pushed a strand of hair from your forehead. 

“Have you held him?” 

His head shook. “I considered it, but you carried him in your stomach for nine months. I figured that you should be the first parent to hold him.” 

“Can you bring him to me?” 

“Doesn’t that mean I get to be the one to hold him first?” 

“I don’t care, I want to see our son.” 

He sighed and gently released your hand. “I have to warn you before I hand him over. He’s very, very cute. He has my eyes and your eyebrows.” 

“Does he have your prominent cupid's bow?” 

“If I said yes?” 

“I’d be the happiest person alive.” 

“You’ll be happy to hear that he does. He’s also completely bald and looks a little like an old man, but the nurses said that’s temporary.” 

Your eyes cracked open. You watched Minho gently scoop the newborn up from the incubator. The baby curled against his chest and he carefully brought him towards you. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that thought out loud.” 

“Look at the cute little hat. If I ask the guys, maybe they can purchase some cute beanies for his bald head. I can’t have him looking like Hyunjin. This little guy is the perfect size to put in the air fryer.” 

“If you air fry our son, I’m putting you in the oven.” 

“Fair enough.” He lowered himself down and carefully shimmied the baby into your awaiting arms. “There you go.” 

The moment he settled into your arms, a wave of peace hit you. A baby in your arms and Minho by your side. Your eyes shut before you began to speak. “Hi, we’re your parents.” 

“He needs an introduction to us?” 

“We can’t wait to raise you and have adventures.” 

“You came back from the dead and turned into a sap.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him and he gave you a smile. “I’m glad you came back. I love you, you know? I love both of you. Look at that, there’s two of you to love now.” 

“I love both of you, too.” 

“And a personality like Seungmin, the ungrateful kid can’t even say he loves us back.” 

“Lee Minho, if I wasn’t in a hospital bed recovering from giving birth, I’d kick your ass.” 

“I��d like to see you try.” 

While the two of them bickered, what they didn’t know was just merely a few feet away. In the doorway, Minho’s mother arrived with a bundle of brightly colored flowers in one hand and a thermos of warm seaweed soup in the other. She rushed here as fast as she could after Minho’s distressing phone call. 

She didn’t break the bond between the two of you. Instead, she blinked back tears. Years ago, a similar situation played out between her and Minho’s father. A new bundle of joy in her arms and a lifetime of the unexpected paved out before them. 

Just as they made it through the currents of life, so will Minho and you. Just as your son will. The next generation will follow and although it’ll always be difficult at times, time will march on. All the good meant to happen will find you. Always. 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

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Ko-fi

[bangchangbinnie]

A love not recalled l.mh

Lee Know x reader

After an argument that should have never happened, Lee know is left regretful, not realizing he’d need a lot more than apologies to fix the pain

Genre: Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Car accident, memory loss, emotional distress, breakdown

The morning was slow, quiet, a gentle hum of normalcy before the storm. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the apartment you shared with Lee Know, casting soft golden hues over the wooden floors. You had woken up before him, padding into the kitchen with bare feet, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you prepared coffee. The soft bubbling of the pot filled the silence, and you allowed yourself a small smile.

Lee Know had been distant for weeks, his temper short, his patience nearly nonexistent. He came home late, barely spoke to you, and when he did, it was as if he was forcing himself to engage. You told yourself it was the stress of work, the exhaustion that came with constant rehearsals and performances. But deep down, a small voice whispered doubts—doubts that had been growing, festering beneath the surface like an untreated wound.

Still, you had hope. Maybe today would be better.

When Lee Know finally emerged from the bedroom, hair messy from sleep, he barely spared you a glance before reaching for his phone. His movements were robotic as he poured himself a cup of coffee, standing at the counter, scrolling.

“Good morning,” you greeted softly. He grunted in response.

You sighed but didn’t push. Instead, you leaned against the counter, watching him. “Are you working late today?”

“Probably,” he muttered.

“Want me to bring you dinner later?”

He finally looked up, and for a moment, there was something in his eyes—something weary. But it was gone just as quickly. “I don’t know, Y/N. I might not even have time to eat.”

The dismissiveness in his tone stung more than it should have. Lately, every attempt to reach him felt like knocking on a locked door.

You nodded, swallowing down the disappointment. “Okay.”

-

By the time the late afternoon rolled in, the sky had turned a sullen shade of gray, and rain drummed steadily against the apartment windows. The air inside felt thick, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension, mirroring the storm outside. The occasional roll of thunder rumbled in the distance, a low, warning growl that seemed to echo the unease between you and Lee Know.

You sat on the couch, absently watching the raindrops streak down the glass, your fingers tightening around the blanket draped over your lap. The warmth of the coffee in your hands did little to thaw the cold weight settling in your chest. Lee Know had been on edge all day, his responses clipped, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. You had tried to be understanding, reminding yourself that he was stressed, that this distance wasn’t intentional—but after weeks of this, of feeling like you were talking to a stranger, the patience you had been clinging to was wearing thin.

The steady patter of rain filled the silence as he moved around the apartment, gathering his things with rigid movements. The sound of his duffel bag being zipped up made your stomach twist. You knew he was leaving for practice, but it felt like he was walking away from something much bigger than just an evening out.

The tension was thick as you watched him from the kitchen, his movements mechanical as he tied his shoes by the door, getting ready to leave.

“Do you want breakfast?” you asked softly, hoping to break the silence.

“No,” he answered flatly, not even looking up.

Your grip on the coffee mug tightened. “You barely ate anything last night.”

Lee Know sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “I’ll eat later.”

The dismissal stung, but you swallowed it down, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Are you mad at me?” Lee Know finally looked up from his phone, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “What?”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, voice softer than you intended. “Barely talking to me. If I did something wrong, just tell me, Minho.”

His expression darkened, frustration flickering across his face like a gathering storm. His fingers clenched slightly, his shoulders stiff. “Not everything is about you, Y/N.”

Your stomach twisted. “I never said it was.”

“Then stop acting like I owe you an explanation for every little thing,” he snapped, his tone edged with impatience as he stood abruptly, shoving his phone into his pocket.

Your breath hitched. “I just want to understand. I don’t get why you’re shutting me out—why you act like you don’t even want to be here anymore.”

A bitter scoff left his lips, his head shaking as he ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe because I don’t.”

The air was sucked from your lungs. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, the weight of his words crashing into you like an unforgiving wave. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, your vision blurring as you searched his face for any sign of regret. But there was none. Only indifference.

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered, barely able to force the words out.

His eyes were cold when they met yours. “I do.”

The finality in his voice was worse than if he had screamed it. Your throat closed, your entire body going rigid. Every single moment you had spent by his side, every night you had waited up for him, every sacrifice you had made—was all of it meaningless to him?

Something inside you splintered. The exhaustion, the loneliness, the feeling of constantly fighting for a place in his life—it all boiled over into something raw, something sharp.

“You’re such an asshole, Minho,” you said, voice trembling. “I have done nothing but try to love you, try to be there for you, and all you do is treat me like I’m some burden.”

His gaze flashed, something unreadable flickering in his expression before it hardened again. “Maybe you are.” The words struck like a knife, cutting so deep you felt it in your bones. The silence that followed was deafening.

Your hands clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you struggled to keep your voice steady. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, his voice void of warmth. “You’re always clinging. Always wanting more from me. Always needing reassurance. It’s exhausting, Y/N.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Your chest ached, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a crushing force.

“I’m exhausting?” you repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “You know what’s exhausting, Minho? Loving someone who makes you feel like you’re never enough. Giving and giving until you have nothing left, only to be told that you were too much all along.”

His bitter laugh was sharp, almost cruel. “If you were enough, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The final blow.

A strangled breath escaped your lips, your vision swimming with tears. The room felt too small, suffocating. You took a shaky step back, your heart pounding so violently it hurt.

You had loved him. Completely, recklessly. You had stayed when things got hard, had given him everything you had to give. But in the end, it still wasn’t enough for him.

And maybe it never would be.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed your coat from the hook by the door, your vision blurred by the tears you refused to shed in front of him. He stood there, unmoving, watching you with that same cold, detached expression.

“I hate you,” you choked out, your voice raw, stripped of all its strength. “I hate you so fucking much.”

And then you turned, storming out of the apartment, leaving behind the shattered remains of everything you had once believed in.

-

By the time you got behind the wheel, your entire body trembled with the force of your emotions. Your hands shook violently as they tightened around the steering wheel, your knuckles whitening from the pressure. The air in the car felt suffocating, thick with the remnants of your sobs, but no matter how much you tried to steady your breathing, it remained ragged—uneven, like the broken pieces of your heart.

You’re always clinging.

You’re exhausting.

Maybe you’re not enough.

His words echoed relentlessly in your head, searing through your chest like an open wound, each syllable sinking deeper, cutting sharper. No matter how many times you tried to shake them away, they lingered, poisoning your thoughts, feeding the storm inside you.

Rain pounded against the windshield in relentless sheets, distorting the glow of streetlights and headlights into a blurry, surreal mess. The rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers barely kept up, struggling to clear the cascading water from your line of sight. But you didn’t care. You barely registered anything beyond the suffocating weight in your chest, the sting behind your eyes, the erratic rise and fall of your breath.

You forced yourself to focus on the road ahead, but it was impossible to think straight when every nerve in your body was screaming, raw from the argument that had just unraveled the very fabric of your relationship.

Tears streaked down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, mixing with the cold sweat that clung to your skin. A sob built in your throat, but you swallowed it back, your jaw clenching painfully. You had cried enough. You had begged enough. And for what? For him to tell you that you were a burden?

Your heart clenched painfully at the memory, at the way he had stood there, unmoved, unbothered, as if he hadn’t just shattered everything between you.

Your vision wavered. You tried to blink the tears away, but they only seemed to come faster, burning as they fell. Your chest felt tight, constricted, as though you were gasping for air that refused to come.

And then—

Blinding light.

A pair of headlights surged into view from the corner of your eye, piercing through the rain and darkness like an unforgiving force of fate.

Your breath caught in your throat.

A horn blared through the storm, long and sharp, the sound slicing through your muddled thoughts, forcing a split second of clarity.

Too close. Too fast.

Your hands yanked the wheel instinctively, but the tires skidded against the slick pavement, sending your car spinning out of control. The world tilted violently, your stomach lurching as your body was flung forward against the seatbelt. The sheer force knocked the air from your lungs, your head snapping sideways as the sound of screeching brakes, twisting metal, and shattering glass filled the air.

For a moment, everything felt suspended in time. A cruel, agonizing pause where pain had yet to register, where your mind barely had the chance to process what was happening.

Then—impact. A violent jolt. A deafening crash.

Your body slammed against the restraints, the seatbelt digging into your chest with bruising force. Your skull struck something hard—the window, the dashboard, you couldn’t tell. Stars exploded in your vision, blinding white-hot pain searing through your head as glass rained down like fractured ice.

A strangled gasp tore from your throat.

Pain. Sharp, unbearable, overwhelming.

Your fingers twitched, trying to reach for something—anything—to ground yourself, but the world was slipping through your grasp. The chaos of sound began to fade, muffled as though you were sinking underwater. The storm outside raged on, but it was distant now, a world away from where you were.

Your eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Your limbs refused to move, weighed down by something you couldn’t fight against.

Cold crept in, numbing, swallowing everything.

And then—

Nothing.

-

The vibration of his phone against the wooden table barely registered in Lee Know’s mind. He had been staring at the screen for the past few hours, waiting for a message—any message—from you. But there was nothing.

Not a single call. Not a single text.

Just silence.

His jaw clenched as he threw his phone onto the couch beside him, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. You were being dramatic. That’s what he told himself, over and over again. You were punishing him by ignoring him, waiting for him to be the one to reach out first.

But even as he tried to convince himself, a nagging unease settled deep in his gut.

Two days.

It had been two days since you walked out of the apartment. Two days since he had let his anger get the best of him, let cruel words spill from his lips—words he never should have said.

He had expected you to call. To yell at him, to cry, to make him feel guilty the way you always did when you fought. But you hadn’t.

And the longer the silence stretched, the more restless he became.

His pride kept him from dialing your number, but it didn’t stop his mind from racing with possibilities. Were you staying at a friend’s place? Had you gone back to your family’s house? Had you—

His phone buzzed against the couch.

Lee Know exhaled sharply, snatching it up without thinking. His chest tightened as he saw the caller ID. Chan.

Not you.

Disappointment flickered in his chest, but he pressed the answer button anyway. “What?” he muttered, his voice rougher than intended.

There was silence on the other end. Too long, too heavy. A bad feeling settled deep in his bones.

Then, Chan’s voice came through the line, quiet and grim.

“She got into an accident.”

The words didn’t make sense at first. They hung in the air between them, sharp and disorienting, like a slap to the face. Lee Know sat up straighter, his grip tightening around his phone. “What?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Chan exhaled slowly, as if preparing himself to repeat it.

“It happened two days ago,” he said, each word falling like a stone in the pit of Lee Know’s stomach. “She’s in the hospital.”

The entire room blurred.

His ears started ringing, his vision tunneling as his mind tried—and failed—to process the information.

Two days ago. The same night she left.

The same night he let her leave. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, erratic and painful, like it was trying to escape his chest.

He had sat here for the past forty-eight hours convincing himself that you were ignoring him, that you were fine, while you had been lying in a hospital bed.

Hurt. Alone.

His breath came in short, shallow bursts. “Where—” His voice cracked. He swallowed, forcing his throat to work. “Where is she?”

“Seoul General,” Chan said immediately, his voice careful, like he was waiting for the moment Lee Know completely unraveled. “Minho, listen, there’s something you should know before—”

But Lee Know was already grabbing his keys, shoving his feet into his shoes. “I’m on my way.”

“Minho—”

He hung up.

The drive to the hospital was a blur, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly they ached. His mind replayed every second of the argument, every harsh word he had thrown at you.

You’re exhausting.

Maybe you’re not enough.

His own words rang in his head, cruel and venomous. His stomach churned violently. Had those been the last things he ever said to you? What if—

No.

No, he couldn’t think like that.

His foot pressed harder on the gas, ignoring the honking cars and blaring traffic lights as he raced through the city. He didn’t care if he got pulled over. He didn’t care if he wrecked his car.

The only thing that mattered was getting to you.

Because he should have been there. He should have been the one to call you, to go after you, to make sure you were okay. Instead, he had let you walk out into the rain—into this.

And now, he didn’t know if he would ever forgive himself.

-

When he stormed into the hospital, his mind was a blur of panic and dread. He barely heard the receptionist’s words as she directed him to your room. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nose, sharp and overwhelming, making his stomach churn.

His hands were clammy as he reached for the door handle, but nothing could have prepared him for what was on the other side.

And then he saw you.

The sight of you nearly stole the breath from his lungs.

You were lying against the stark white pillows, the hospital bed swallowing your small, fragile frame. An IV was attached to your arm, the machine beside you beeping steadily. A bandage was wrapped around your forehead, and deep bruises bloomed all across your body, a cruel contrast against your fragile, pale skin. You had a nasty black eye and a cast on your arm.

His chest tightened painfully, his heart hammering so hard that he thought it might break through his ribs.

But it wasn’t the injuries that destroyed him. It was the way you looked at him. Not with anger. Not with resentment. Not even with sadness.

Just blank, unfamiliar confusion. You frowned slightly, tilting your head. “Who… are you?”

Lee Know’s stomach dropped.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His body felt frozen, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and throat. You didn’t know him. You didn’t recognize him.

The weight of it crashed into him all at once, a cold, suffocating wave that stole every ounce of strength he had left. His entire world tilted off its axis, leaving him grasping for something—anything—to keep himself from breaking.

His worst nightmare had come true.

He forced himself to take a step forward, even though every part of him wanted to collapse.

“I’m Minho,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “I… I’m your boyfriend.”

Your brow furrowed, something like sympathy flickering in your expression. But it wasn’t recognition.

It wasn’t love.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty. “I don’t… I don’t remember you.”

The words sliced through him like a blade.

A sharp, broken sound escaped him—something between a gasp and a sob. His hands trembled at his sides, his fingers curling into tight fists as his entire body shook.

This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

He was supposed to come here and apologize. He was supposed to tell you how wrong he had been, how much he regretted everything he had said. He was supposed to beg for your forgiveness, to make you see that he never meant a single word of the venom he had thrown at you.

But now—

Now, you didn’t even know who he was.

His throat tightened as his vision blurred, hot tears spilling down his cheeks before he could stop them. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling erratically as the crushing weight of his mistakes pressed down on him.

You were right in front of him, but you were gone.

Lee Know sucked in a trembling breath, lifting a hand to his mouth as if it would somehow hold in the emotions threatening to tear him apart. His legs felt weak, barely able to hold him up.

His voice cracked when he finally spoke.

“You don’t remember me at all?”

You hesitated, looking down at your lap, fingers twisting in the thin hospital blanket. “No… I’m really sorry.”

He let out a quiet, shaky breath, a humorless laugh slipping past his lips. “Don’t be,” he murmured, wiping at his wet cheeks. “I think… I think that’s my punishment.”

Because he had been cruel. He had let his anger and pride destroy everything you had built together. He had told himself you’d come back.

But now, the universe had punished him in the worst way possible. You couldn’t come back.

You didn’t even remember what you were coming back to.

[4linos]

across the street pt. 1

bang chan x fem!reader, lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis/request: life is finally falling into place for you and your daughter, but a new neighbor could turn your world upside down, bringing unexpected challenges along the way.

wc: 2178

[across the street pt. 2, across the street pt. 3]

(a/n: skz as a group don’t exist in this universe but 3racha does & some of the members will make special appearances!)

- flashback -

You had tried so hard to make it work. For so long, you were patient. You understood that Chan’s career was demanding. Being in a group like 3racha meant that there would be long hours, late nights, and endless commitments. But when it started affecting everything else the quiet, repeated disappointments that kept stacking up, something shifted.

It wasn’t even about the big moments anymore; it was the small ones that mattered. The times you asked if he could come home for dinner, to share a moment together like you used to. He always said yes, but it was a lie. He rarely came. And when he did, it felt like he wasn’t really there his mind was elsewhere, his body distant, as if even when he was physically in front of you, he was still unreachable.

You understood him more than anyone. You knew that when he was on a tight schedule, he couldn’t help it. You tried to convince yourself that you just needed to be patient, that everything would come back to normal. You reminded yourself that it was only temporary, that things would settle after the next comeback or the next tour. But as time went on, it started to feel like the promises didn’t mean anything.

He’d tell you he’d spend more time with you, he’d tell you he missed you, but he never did. You began to wonder if it was something more than just bad timing. Maybe this was who he had become now someone who cared more about his schedule, about his work, than the person he promised to love.

And then the pregnancy test came back positive. You weren’t expecting it. You hadn’t been trying to get pregnant, but life had a way of throwing things at you, and this...this felt like a sign. You kept the news to yourself for a while, not sure how to handle it.

The excitement you should’ve felt was overshadowed by the dread of knowing you didn’t have the kind of relationship you wanted to have with him anymore. You couldn’t help but wonder if this pregnancy would change things, would make him change. You tried to believe that it could, that maybe it would bring you two closer. Maybe this new chapter would be the one where he realized how much you were slipping away from each other.

But despite the shock of the pregnancy, you held onto that hope. You gave him one last chance, thinking that this might be the catalyst. You texted him, telling him you had a surprise and asking if he could come home early. For once, you wanted him to choose you, to choose the life you two had started together.

And for a moment, his response seemed to make things feel hopeful again. He said he missed you. He promised he’d come home early. The words seemed like everything you'd been waiting to hear. You prepared the dinner, set up the table with candles and soft lighting, trying to recreate the intimacy you missed so much. You bought a small gift, a box with the ultrasound picture, a onesie, and some tiny booties. It wasn’t grand, but it was everything you felt you needed to say. You were ready to share this new chapter with him.

But he didn’t show up. Hours passed. You tried calling, but he didn’t answer. You texted, no reply. At first, you kept telling yourself that maybe something important came up. He was stuck in the studio, maybe there was a meeting he couldn’t get out of. You waited, and waited, and waited. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that it wasn’t about work.

When he finally came home at 3 a.m., his exhausted face was the last thing you wanted to see. You had stayed up, trying to prepare for a future that felt uncertain, and he came home with no recognition of what you had done. You felt invisible. Not just because of the lack of a proper response, but because even in this moment, when you were offering him something that would change your lives, he was too tired to care. Too tired to even ask about the dinner you’d prepared, too tired to notice the soft glow of the candles that symbolized the hope you’d been clinging to.

“Hey, baby,” he mumbled as he walked past you, barely sparing a glance at the table. His exhaustion was written all over him, and you felt a bitter pang of resentment. You tried to ask him, to make him see you, to make him realize how much this had hurt you. But his apology came without depth. "Sorry, I didn’t think much of it. Just... so tired."

He threw himself onto the bed, not even attempting to check if you were okay, not even considering that you might need him right now. His indifference hit you like a wave, and the weight of everything you’d been carrying started to crumble. It wasn’t just about the dinner or the surprise anymore, it was the realization that no matter how many chances you gave him, it was never going to be enough.

You didn’t even feel angry. Not anymore. You had spent so long being patient, so long hoping for something that never came, that now you just felt empty. You were done. Done with waiting for him to change, done with asking for his attention, done with hoping he’d finally see you as his priority.

“I’m done, Chan,” you whispered, your voice soft but laced with finality. It was the end of a long chapter that you’d been holding onto in the hope of something better, but now you knew. There was nothing left to fight for.

When he didn’t respond, when he didn’t reach for you or even acknowledge what you said, the silence between you became deafening. He was too tired, too caught up in his world to see what was crumbling in front of him, and you realized, in that quiet moment, that you had already been alone for so long. The table with the candles, the onesie and booties, the ultrasound, all of it was just a reflection of what you had been trying to salvage: a dream that was never going to be real.

And as you turned off the lights and curled up in the bed, away from him, you could almost hear the faint echo of your heart breaking.

-

The morning after you told him you were done, you woke up to the heaviness of reality. He had already left for work. The silence between you both felt suffocating, but you didn’t regret your decision. You had made up your mind. You couldn’t keep living in a relationship that had drained you for so long. Your heart ached, but there was a sense of finality. You were no longer willing to wait for someone who couldn’t meet you halfway, someone who had neglected not only your relationship but also the future you had been imagining together.

With shaky hands, you called your family. You didn’t want to do this alone. You needed support. Your mom’s voice on the other end of the line was full of concern, but you didn’t have to explain much. She knew. She’d seen the toll it had taken on you for months. She had been a quiet witness to your pain, the way you kept waiting for Chan to come home, for him to keep his promises, and how he always let you down. She didn’t hesitate. “We’ll come over. We’ll help you, honey.”

It felt like a blur, the way everything shifted in the span of hours. Your mom arrived with your dad, and they both wasted no time, helping you pack up your things. The house you had once shared with Chan now felt foreign to you, as if you were walking through someone else’s life. The space that had once been filled with laughter and hope was now just a shell of memories you couldn’t hold onto anymore.

You moved through the process mechanically, packing your clothes, your personal items, everything that was yours. Your mom’s hands were gentle on your back, a quiet comfort as she moved alongside you. It was hard to see through the blur of tears that welled up in your eyes, but you knew deep down that this was what you needed to do. There was no other choice. You were done.

As the afternoon sun began to set, the last box was packed, and you were ready to leave. You had spent the last few hours in a daze, but now, standing in the living room, you could feel the weight of the decision pressing on your chest. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead felt terrifying, but it was yours. It was your decision, and it was the only one that made sense.

You couldn’t bring yourself to talk to Chan. Not yet. Not after everything that had happened. So instead, you wrote him a letter. It wasn’t a letter that explained everything, nor did it mention the pregnancy. You didn’t owe him that, not anymore. The letter wasn’t about him, it was about you. About your broken heart and how you were finally putting yourself first.

You poured everything into the letter. Your pain, your frustration, your sadness. The tears that had stained the paper were a testament to how much you had tried to hold on, how much you had hoped for something different. You wrote that you were no longer happy, that you were done being pushed aside, that you could no longer live in the shadow of promises that would never be kept.

When you finished, you placed the letter on the kitchen counter. It felt like the final piece to closing that chapter. You didn’t need to confront him. The words you’d written were enough. The letter was the closure, even if Chan never got the chance to read it or understand it.

Your mom held you close as you cried, her voice soft and comforting. “You’re strong, honey. This is the right choice. You’ll be okay.”

And as you left the house, walking out of the door for the last time, you felt a strange mix of fear and relief. You didn’t know what the future would hold, but you knew you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t keep living in a relationship that wasn’t serving you, that wasn’t giving you what you needed.

Once you were settled into a new place with your family’s support, you took the final step. You blocked Chan’s number, along with anyone else who was still tied to him, friends, other members, managers. You had to completely sever the ties in order to heal. You were walking away from the life you had once shared with him.

The journey ahead wouldn’t be easy. The pregnancy was just beginning, and you would have to face it alone, but you weren’t truly alone. You had your family, your friends, and most importantly, you had yourself. And as a single mother, you would find your strength. Even if it was a struggle, even if it meant stepping into the unknown, you knew you could build something better for yourself. You could create a future that was filled with hope, not disappointment.

It was time to move on. And this time, you were doing it for you.

Five years had passed since you walked away from Chan, and those years had been full of growth, healing, and finding new happiness. You had Nari now, a beautiful 4-year-old daughter who brought so much light into your life. And then there was Minho, your boyfriend, your rock. The one who made you feel safe and supported in ways that Chan hadn’t. Life had been peaceful, stable, and full of love.

You'd found comfort in your new normal. Every morning you woke up next to Minho, helped Nari get ready for school, and lived a routine that felt comforting. There were no more unanswered texts, no more broken promises. Just a life you could finally enjoy.

That morning was like any other. The sun streamed in through the kitchen window as you prepared breakfast for Nari. You could hear Minho coming down the stairs, fresh from his early gym session, towel draped over his shoulder. He looked over at the window, his eyes scanning outside.

“Hey,” Minho said, his tone casual. “Looks like we’re getting new neighbors.”

You paused for a moment, looking up. “New neighbors? Did you see who they were?”

Minho shrugged, wiping sweat off his forehead. “No, just a moving truck. Didn’t catch a glimpse of them, but I’m guessing they’re settling in.”

Nari, hearing the mention of "new neighbors," perked up immediately. "New friends? Are they my age?" she asked eagerly, her eyes wide with excitement.

She loved the idea of new kids to play with, and after her busy day at school, she’d probably be ecstatic to meet anyone close to her age. You and Minho both joked about how she’d probably be the first to knock on their door.

“Maybe you’ll have new friends to play with, sweetheart,” you told Nari as you handed her a plate of breakfast.

Minho went to freshen up, while you made sure Nari had her things packed up for school, everything felt normal. There was a sense of peace in the small things your daughter laughing, Minho humming in the background as he brushed his teeth, the comfortable sounds of your family living in harmony.

After you made sure Nari ate her breakfast and finished packing her bag, you and Minho both got ready to take her to school. You put on a jacket and headed out the door, holding Nari's hand while Minho walked alongside you. It was a crisp morning, the sun rising slowly, and you felt at ease, the weight of your past completely gone.

As you drove to Nari’s school, the world outside seemed so familiar, yet a strange sensation stirred in your chest as you passed the house with the moving truck.

A tall figure was standing near the front of the house, talking to the movers and directing them. Your first instinct was to brush it off, as it was a simple sight you’d seen a hundred times. But something about that figure, the way they moved, felt eerily familiar.

You stared for a moment, trying to place it, but the thought was fleeting as you focused on getting Nari to school.

You quickly pushed the thought out of your mind. It couldn’t be. This was a new chapter in your life, a chapter you’d carefully built, and you couldn’t let anything, especially someone from the past, take that away from you.

"Okay, sweetheart, here we are. Have a great day!" You helped Nari out of the car, giving her a quick hug and sending her off with a kiss on her cheek.

Minho stood beside you, watching Nari wave as she ran toward the school entrance. When you both returned to the car and drove back home, a sinking feeling started to grow. Something about the morning seemed off, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

Minho parked the car in the driveway, but before you even got out, your eyes instinctively went back to the house across the street, the one with the moving truck. And that’s when you saw him.

Chan.

It was unmistakable. The familiar figure was no longer just a shadow in the distance, but a real, tangible presence right there in front of you. He was standing on the porch now, hands on his hips, directing movers as they carried boxes inside. It wasn’t a mistake. It was him. The same man who had once been your world, your heartbreak, your past.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. You had tried to move on, to leave that chapter behind, but here he was, right across the street, as if nothing had happened. As if the past hadn’t torn you apart. You stood still, unable to move, processing the shock that had just hit you like a wall. You had never expected this.

Minho saw your reaction immediately, his eyes following yours to the house across the street. He didn’t need to ask anything. He saw the change in you, the way you froze, the way your breath caught.

“Is that…?” Minho began, but didn’t finish the sentence. His voice was softer now, knowing the weight of the situation, knowing that something was stirring in you.

You nodded, your throat tight. "It’s Chan."

For a moment, you didn’t know what to feel. Anger? Shock? Fear? It was as if your past had just collided violently with your present, and you were trying to make sense of it all. You didn’t want him back in your life. You had built something better, something real, with Minho and Nari. But there he was, standing on the porch, like he had every right to be there, like he hadn’t shattered everything you had worked so hard to put back together.

Minho, sensing your tension, stepped closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. His touch was warm and reassuring, an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t let Chan ruin what you had.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Minho asked softly, his voice steady but filled with concern.

You shook your head, not sure where to even start. "I don’t know what to say," you whispered, still staring across the street at Chan.

Minho kissed the top of your head gently, grounding you. “You don’t have to talk about it right now. I’m here, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

You nodded, your eyes still locked on Chan as he walked into the house across the street, carrying a box. Everything you had worked for, all the peace you’d built for yourself, suddenly felt fragile, as if one glance at that house could unravel it all.

But then, something inside of you shifted. You weren’t the same person you had been back then. You had Nari. You had Minho. You had a life that was strong, filled with love and stability. Chan was a ghost of your past, someone who was no longer part of your present. He might be back in your neighborhood, but you weren’t going to let him back into your life.

“Let’s go inside,” you said, your voice steadier now. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Minho didn’t say anything else. He just nodded, understanding that you needed space to process the situation. You both went inside, and as you closed the door behind you, the weight of what had just happened hung in the air.

You didn’t know what Chan’s return meant or why he had moved across the street. You didn’t know if this would change everything, or if it was just another random coincidence. What you did know was that you had built something real, something lasting, and you weren’t going to let the past come crashing in and take it from you.

You and Minho had a future together, and that future would not be defined by someone who hadn’t cared enough to be there when you needed him the most. No, you were stronger than that. You had built this life from the ground up, and no amount of unexpected moving trucks or familiar faces would change that.

And so, you focused on the love you had now, the love that was real. That was enough.

//

❌ proofread

masterlist.

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕜🧸

Summary (Short series):

The story follows an omega, enslaved and owned by JYP, who encounters Felix, a kind-hearted member of the SKZ pack. Felix feels sympathy for her and decides to bring her back to his pack, only to discover she is the last remaining soulmate. While Minho shows a protective side toward her, Hyunjin and Seungmin are openly hostile, leading to tension within the pack. As the omega grows closer to Han and distanced from Felix due to the negativity, Felix becomes affected by the situation.

The plot thickens with Felix’s impending heat and a studio lock-in with Chan. After winning an award, Hyunjin’s rejection of the omega drives her to isolate herself, exacerbating her discomfort. A vacation to the cabins sees new threats as wolves attempt to kidnap Felix, the omega, and Han. The situation leads to intense heat cycles, and the pack dynamics become even more strained. I.N struggles with his feelings towards the omega, bound by pack rules that only Bangchan can mark her first.

Despite challenges, including social media backlash against Felix and overwhelming experiences in public, the omega finds solace in gardening and caring for animals. The story resolves with pack members addressing their conflicts, accepting one another, and finding a balance in their complex relationships.

𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕘𝕦𝕚𝕕𝕖🧸

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕟𝕖: Love at first site

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕨𝕠: Why is she here?

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖: Rules of the pack

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣: "who used my kitchen?"

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕚𝕧𝕖: Soft pillows

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕩: short skirts and pretty omegas

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟: Sleeping beauty

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥: Fresh start

Wattpad notice

[sunboki]

— HELLION INN. a Stray Kids fiction

🌖 : Lee Minho x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. dystopian! au, enemies to lovers, monster! au, apocalypse! au, “we have to get along to survive” au, angst, high stakes

WORD COUNT. 10k ⭑ 50min read

WARNINGS. gory descriptions, cursing, descriptive violence, implied intercourse, death, a dubcon kiss, talk of vomit/vomiting, lots of mentions of death, one mention of k*lling oneself, parasites, murder, inclusion of fire, injury, usage of guns, injury, knives, reader and minho are “hunted”, mature themes

AUG'S NOTES. it’s finished! i wanted to cry (out of happiness!!) closing the last part :) i truly love this piece, and, though it certainly isn’t all too lovey dovey compared to alternative fics of mine, i was so incredibly fortunate to be able to write for themes i adore! i hope my enthusiasm was able to be conveyed in the subject of monsters/apocalyptic au’s!! please enjoy<3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Receiving an ominous letter in the mail, a monster invades Seoul minutes later, carrying an uncanny sense of smell despite its blindness. Countless people have been slaughtered already, and with your letter as the only meager explanation to this madness, you find your feet leading towards the one place it said was safe: Hellion Inn.

or alternatively :

Minho won’t let you die. Not if it means letting this Monster get him or hell’s dawning itself. You’re going to survive. Together.

Run, something is coming. Go to Hellion Inn, you’ll be safe there.

Something? What is something? A terrorist attack? War?

Never had such a letter arrived at your doorstep other than this Tuesday, with the morning sunlight peeking through half-opened blinds casting your pajama-clad frame in its cascades.

And again, you reread and reread, questions raging in a distorted frenzy amidst your once just-wakening mind. 

Little were you aware what would come. What already roamed Seoul’s streets, approaching closer, closer. 

One objective resides in too many possibilities. 

Find Hellion Inn. 

.

.

.

Stuffing the letter in your pocket serves as the most sensible solution while you go over your options. If you didn’t have a clue about what dishes would be cooked, you’d check the ingredients first.

And yet, upon turning on the TV, you find your meal already served. 

On a platter, dripping with blood.

“This just in, an unidentifiable entity is making its way through Seoul in a rampage. The creature is highly dangerous. It appears to lack vision, and speculation has deemed it relies upon its smell to discern other beings. The creature has not been detained at this time. Under no circumstances should citizens leave their residences, and in the case you’re on the street, please evacuate to the nearest shelter immediately. Further information will be released.”

Your blood runs frigidly cold, enough you swear you could’ve turned to ice.

All of a sudden, war or a terrorist attack doesn’t sound nearly as daunting as before.

A monster. Ruthless, bloodthirsty. 

Monster. 

Instantaneously are news sites everywhere exploding, posting footage, pictures, and accounts of the creature each second. 

More and more and more until-

It all goes dark, your home plunged into a black abyss meagerly sustained by the sun’s rays, phone in hand ultimately powering off. 

Electricity down. Fully.

This isn’t like a usual predicament of a public threat, not something you’re prepared for, nor something anyone was prepared for. There’s no drill for a monster, no tsunami shelter or high rise building to reside upon. 

Was it obliviousness? Or were you all simply sheep to a ravaging wolf?

The latter seemed most convincing.

An exhale. No, a growl is what breaks your train of thought. Like the chuff of a tiger, curdling in its throat. 

Above. 

You can’t even bring yourself to move, can’t bear to breathe in fear you’d give yourself away as a shadow covers that once hopeful sunlight.

No shadow, but a thing. A monster. 

How did it get here so fast? How.. how the hell is this happening?

The sound of tiles shifting on your roof makes your fingers twitch, eyes stuck wide. 

The worlds apex predators turned into the prey. 

Each pound of your heart lies evident in ringing ears, listening to those low, horrendous gurgles, repeating that same chuff before it shifts again.

Again and again, and you’re unmoving.

Leave. Run. Anything. 

Yet, you can’t move a muscle, glued in place.

Until you do, and your legs act before you can process a thing. Grabbing for items, whatever it may be. Mind unable to process in its frantic state.

No. No.

A plea as your hand wraps around the doorknob, beginning down the apartment complex’s stairs in rapid descent, listening to the slow growls of the creature.

Don’t look behind, just go.

A mistake you find yourself making even when a life is on the line.

Your life is on the line.

And when you spare that single glimpse, murky lifeless eyes stare blindly back at you, bulging from its skull as if they never were intended to be there. Skin a hallowed, fleshy tone — ligaments hung awry. 

Disorderly, distasteful. If you look close enough, you swear you could’ve seen a beating heart, watched the oxygen cells rush through a pumping bloodstream. 

Gaping jaws hold copious teeth, ant-like incisors residing on either side of a ceaselessly smiling mouth, the corners of what appears to be lips ascending all the way up to nonexistent ears. 

Four legs, two antennae atop its head. At least two times the size of a human.

Horrific.

Never had such a thing appeared so terrifying.

With the letter clutched in one hand and your powerless phone in another do you run, praying that nonexistent vision truly is nonexistent.

Well, until a car alarm begins to ring, and you feel your stomach climb to your throat simultaneously.

Because it twitches. Not even a glance-sort of reaction. The entirety of whatever neck that monster hones twitches to look at you with a nausea-worthy crack! of its ligaments. Those jaws parted, a flattened nose breathing in.

And then it lurches, and you don’t think you’ve ever ran as fast as you did now.

Far, far. As far as you can go. 

It’s futile listening to gargled cries for help amongst rubble, the reaching of hands for your feet you can’t even spare a moment for as those scraping claws continue their perilous dance after you, scavenging on people as they go. 

So the second an intact person comes into view—a boy, looking about your age (and freakishly calm at that) with fluffy hair and rounded cheeks retaining such youth—you’re racing ahead before you can even think, ramming through those convenience store doors in a flurry of panic and fear.

“Monster— Monster- there’s a monster we have to go-“

“Do you like grilled cheese?” He mumbles, and you wonder if he’s talking to himself or you, no less asking such a question during this downright apocalypse.

“No, no there is—“ A shriek pierces the air in the distance, the clutter of debris alerting the monster’s proximity.

You, in a frantic attempt to redirect his attention, place either hand on his shoulders.

“A monster. There’s a monster out there and if we don’t hide, it’s going to kill us.” 

The boy licks his lips, cocking a contemplative brow before looking toward the freezer section. 

“Freezer?”

At this point the creature might as well be turning the corner, and you don’t need to respond for either of you to go running as fast as your legs will carry you, stuffing yourselves into the biting cold just as the bells above the entrance door ring.

Scariest part is this customer is intelligent enough to open doors.

This customer isn’t human. 

Like slow-motion you hear it. The pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, the lack of air in such a tight space, the monster’s rumbling.

Your hidden counterpart lodged himself into a freezer opposite to you, eyes squeezed shut the nearer clicking footsteps on tile sounded.

Click.

Click.

Click.

You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you open them, met with the monster’s face, hundreds of razor-sharp teeth lining its mouth, stretched into that same, chilling smile while it stares at you through the glass.

It can’t see you. It can’t see you. It can’t see you, You internally plead like a mantra, suffocating on the scream rising in your throat.

The loud clanging of a soup can the boy throws has the creature’s disfigured face whipping around, and you wordlessly communicate through mere terrified-eye-contact what either of you are thinking:

Run.

Without conscious you go flying, ramming past discarded groceries and tormented bodies into Seoul’s open roadway, void of any vehicle whatsoever.

Except for one.  

It’s a tow truck, key still lodged into the ignition, window broken with streaks of blood lining the door where a middle-aged man’s body had been dragged out. He rests lopsided below the front tire, abdomen severed in half.

Grotesque. 

“Car- Car!” You cry out, wildly gesturing for him to follow suit while you pry the driver’s door open, the monster’s frustrated growl enough motivation for the stranger to throw himself in as well.

In the nick of time you press down on the pedal, winding the wheel in a quick motion just as the hell-sent smashes itself from the shop, evidently angered.

“I’m Han!” The man occupying the passenger seat shouts, the hole through the windshield causing enormous amounts of wind to soar through the car and synonymously blur your senses.

“What?!” 

“My name is Han! Han Jisung!”

Squinting whilst looking through your mirror at the wickedly approaching Monster, you veer past as many obstacles as possible — most being corpses — as fast as the engine will let you.

“Oh! Uh, I’m Y/N!”

Han nods, grasp clutched onto his seat the more you speed increases, recklessly maneuvering left and right as if dodging a crocodile. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a crocodile, but a blood-thirsty beast wanting nothing more than to behead you. How sweet.

“Do you… Do you know how to drive?” He yells, and you raise your eyebrows, narrowly shifting past a shopping cart.

“If you count Mario-Kart as driving, I’m a pro!”

Han audibly squeaks his fear in response, eyes squeezing shut as if to not stare at the monster’s face nearing the mirror.

The speedometer cries out, vehicle shuddering as you near train tracks just at the edge of the city. 

Hopeful. 

Fleeting hope when the roar of a train’s whistle soars through the air, the look Han gives you doing little to sustain your already thinned sanity.

Perhaps you’ll die getting hit by a train than this monster.

Perhaps it’s better that way.

“We’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make i—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP—-“ You screech, foot slammed as far down on the gas pedal as possible, the rumbling of the train’s engine deafening. 

“HOLY SHITTTT—“ The man screams, mouth ajar as you soar over the tracks, preparing for impact only for a hair of the train’s front barely brushing over the car’s bumper. 

Currently realizing you’re still breathing and not dead, you floor the brake, either of you launching forward in your seats while the endless train keeps the monster at bay on the opposite side. 

Both panting hysterically, you place a hand on your chest, hoping to slow down the terrifyingly fast pace of your heart — close to bursting out of your chest. 

Your passenger, Han Jisung, turns to look at you, eyes wide as saucers, a gradual open-mouthed smile growing upon his flushed, sweat-stricken face.

“That was.. sick.”

The flashlight flickers here and there, found in the tow truck’s trunk along with a med kit currently carried along by Han.

By chance did you end up in what remained of the red-light district, rubble dotting roadways as evidence of the Monster’s previous siege.

Amidst the held supplies, your pocket seems to ache with the weight of the letter, sitting there in its futile warning of what was to come, now arrived.

You hadn’t brought it up to Han yet, a persistent fear of blame lingering in the back of your mind. Was it your fault you didn’t react in time? Disregarded the letter?

No. There’s no time to regret now. Whatever past existed has been annihilated. 

Night is approaching, and with that comes rising unease and a desperate need to find shelter.

Seoul’s red-light district had always been a taboo for Korea’s upper class. A hushed word, quenched beneath harsh scolding and wrinkled noses at the mere mention.

As if their own well-off sons don’t get driven there on a daily basis, ignorant to their own affiliation as if it’s a genetically determined trait.

Quite funny how none of that matters now. Not when it’s the end of the world, that is.

Every (once) building looks the same. Rubble. Litter lines the roads, cars strewn awry, wrecked into buildings, run over people. 

A pattern lies in everything. 

This pattern consists of fear. 

Struck on faces, painted carelessly along torn apart surfaces and walls, splattering the cities ruby red.

Incessantly, you can’t help but fear. A natural biological response when in the presence of actual or perceived danger, inflicting sharp wounds throughout your body, mind on an endless neurological high of adrenaline-fueled paranoia. 

How could someone not be paranoid when they were being hunted?

“In here.”

Han’s voice pulls you out of your head, turning where he points to a brick building, multicolored beach towel draped over a window torn to shreds, soil from plants staining the cracks of tiles, floor a mixture of blood and bacteria. 

“It’s abandoned,” He notes, prying the creaking door open. 

Abandoned isn’t the word for it. The inhabitants left as most people did upon hearing the news of invasion, although they didn’t get far, you’re plenty aware of that. 

What a shame. Thinking they could escape, in their wake, slaughtered ruthlessly. 

Instead of abandoned, call it evacuated, barren.  

Inside, a radio runs in a constant string of white noise, the addition of broken air conditioning the only source of apparent life. Haunting, flickering lights cast the few rooms in an eerie, ghoulish green like that of a basement.

“I’ve been here before. There should be a mart nearby.”  

Allowing his remark to sink in, you pause, a slight grin drawing upon your lips. 

“You’ve been here before, in the red-light district?” 

Phrase lingering amusedly, he stops as well, shifting on his heel to grace you with a similar smile.

“What? Not everyone can stand high and mighty in this society. Plus, there’s no need to pretend anymore when death is so close by.”

Your smile drops, and you suck on the skin of your cheek, a loud breath through your nose enough to continue the descent.

Perhaps you should change the abandoned description. 

Just then, from the corner of your eye do you see a figure emerge, the glinting edge of a kitchen knife barely brushing your shoulder blade before you dodge to your left, the attacker colliding with an ironing board.

Mere seconds later the figure rises to their feet, identified as female, adorning lanky limbs and skin as pale and zombified as the surrounding room. Her lips are cracked and purple, eyes nearly black, blanketed with equally raven hair reaching the floor in length.

The girl looks like a creature, barely alive with the lack of coordination in her loose stabs, alienated stare vividly murderous. 

Only by narrowly pummeling into the wall do you manage to immobilize her, Jisung’s efforts stalled.

Liquid obsidian blinks back up at you from where you’ve caged her to the floor, her nostrils flaring in hasty breaths, your own panting ringing in your ears.

“Look kid- I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? Now if you calm down and let me—“  

A third of the steak knife puncturing the side of your thigh veers your head back, choked scream jostling your nerves tenfold. Bubbling blood slips from the wound, trickling warmth dizzying you into a foggy spell.

It’s not until a low bang! sounds that her arm, raised for another strike, falls limp to the floor, looking behind you to find Jisung holding a pistol, silencer attached to the muzzle, aimed directly at the girl below you. 

Immediately, before you can release the unheralded screech compressing your lungs, Han hoists you up by your elbows, the jarring movement beckoning a squealed sob you bite your tongue containing.

Snatching clothing from a closet behind the door, the man rips the fabric using his teeth, returning to your slumped frame.

Reminding you to hold your breath, he aligns the makeshift bandage prior to tying it, your reaction becoming quieted as your eyes roll back.

And the world falls into a dark abyss. 

By the time your lashes flutter open again, searing light invades your vision, the urge to open your eyes aiding a roaring headache.

Although, it appears you’re still in the same room, alternatively relocated to a futon on the floor, leg propped up using folded pillowcases and books. 

“You’re up.”

Han enters the room, two metal cans of mashed spam and rice held in either hand, one of which he gives to you. 

“You were knocked out cold,” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, uncharacteristic to the fact he just shot someone.

“The shirt should staunch the bleeding. Eat.”

Staring down at your meal, you glance up, stomach churning in an unsightly manner merely considering food.

But you eat anyway, gulping the bites down despite the nausea.

“And the girl?” 

Han takes a bite, scraping every last grain from the noisy tin without so much as a shiver.

“I took care of it.”

It’s your turn to laugh, confusedly surveying the teenage-boy-looking friend of yours.

“What are you? A hitman?”

He clicks his tongue, eyes thoughtfully flickering to the ceiling. 

“I’m.. somebody who really wants to survive.”

All you do is return his tight-lipped expression.

Yet, truly accounting for your introduction, there’s a whole lot you don’t know about him. His past, his goals. What his life was like before. 

He comes off as cheery and good-natured, disposition claiming he wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

You’ve come to realize that isn’t the reality whatsoever. Because Han Jisung is exactly what Han Jisung said he was.

Somebody who really wants to survive. 

You can relate to that.

“So.. Random note, random warning, no location?” 

“Pretty much.” 

Seated beside you, Han surveys the letter, reading over the contents a few times before folding it back up and handing it to you. He’s redressed your wound, utilizing the medical kit’s antiseptic and gauze to wrap the skin.

“Hellion Inn,” Han repeats softly, brows knitted. “Never heard of it.”

You shrug once more from your place on the ground, leg still propped while he squats to your left.

“If anything, it’s likely it was destroyed if it’s an actual Inn,” He mumbles, tapping a puffy bottom lip with his index, earning your half nod before you pause.

“We can still try it though? We can find a stick or somethin’, I’ll use it as a crutch.” 

This time, it’s his turn to nod — rising up with a somewhat-assuring: “I’ll be right back” before leaving the room, returning after a few moments with a table leg, nearly comical in the proud manner he lifts the wood, jagged edges evidence of his severing with a knife. 

After copious laughter do you glance at him, brow cocked. “This is really all you’ve got?”

Asking from your place beside him, you brace more weight onto the makeshift crutch, granting Han a side-long glance.

“If I had more I’d use it,” He huffs, watching you hobble slightly but remaining upright with worried brows, hands poised to stabilize your steadying adjustment.

That’s most important, you deemed, no matter how puny. A drag to the team means death; you won’t be that drag.

Tomorrow morning you’ll head out. Find somewhere else to occupy whilst searching for Hellion Inn.

The one remaining routine amidst the apocalypse is time, and as the sun cracks above a horizon once able to be admired and not envied, you’re helped to your feet, gathering bags slung over each other's backs. Additional clothes, torn tablecloths. Anything of even insufficient use.

You don’t think these streets had been this quiet since your grandparent’s time, with bustling citizens and raging business overtaking wherever you look. Now, it might as well be a ghost-town. No more cries for help, no more groans and moans in agony.

And yet, it’s almost unsettling as it is reassuring. Suffering has ceased. Cries for help drawn to a close. 

Peace within death.

Trekking for only about a mile feels tumultuous, the ache already coiling in your bones like snakes seen slithering through rubble, waiting for rats to swarm decomposing carcasses in search of easy victims.

Seoul has become a jungle, eat or be eaten. It’s only a matter of time, a split-second ignorance, that can have you eaten. Perhaps by the true Monster, perhaps by your own kind.

The sight of broken columns and french doors parted in what looks to be a hotel in front of you redirects your focus, granting Han a hum of acknowledgment. His hand reaching for the pistol in a fashioned holster, yours coming to the kitchen knife held in your bag.

Wary, but slow steps paired with your hobbled ones make for the small bout of stairs, buzzing of flies caught in flurries littering goosebumps along your arms.

Something about this place is abnormal. That much is known. And if this is the so-called “Hellion Inn” (or what remains of it), your hope for sanctuary plummets in tandem with the temperature upon stepping in. 

Cold. That dead, stale kind of cold, warmth from the heart void, no longer beating.

Matchstick providing barely enough light, you carefully pry open the squeaking doors in the second doorway, blade wielded close to your being. The putrid odor of decay perplexes your gag reflexes, allowing Han to take the lead in his observing endeavor. 

Abruptly, your foot smushes against something below, and when you look down only to be met with a lifeless hand there, bulging, horror-stricken eyes staring back up at you, you hurriedly bite your lip to conceal the bubbling scream clawing from your throat, frothing like a brewing cauldron. 

Han can only grimace. 

It was here. You’re not sure when, but these wounds — these corpses mercilessly ripped apart — aren’t the doing of humans.

A bone chilling thought surfaces in your mind.

What if the monster is still here?

Your traveling companion spins around on his heel, hands placed on his hips. Honeyed irises momentarily flit between your paled frame to the obvious terror staining your features, his eyebrows raised.

“Hey, I know it’s scary, but the monster’s likely gone by now, and if we can find someone or a sign that’ll redirect us then maybe…”

His words trail off, suddenly all too familiar with the sound of chortled breathing ragged in his ears. Exhales stenching of rotted flesh, the scraping of sharpened claws on the floor.

And how you’re not staring at him, but above him. 

Your palms slowly reach up to cover your mouth, taking the tiniest step back manageable.

“..It’s right behind me, isn’t it?”

Yet, before the Monster can swipe a clawed hand and hack off a limb, deja vu strikes in the form of another gunshot, not silenced, booming,

It soars right past your shoulder with pinpoint precision to land within the Monster’s side, collecting a shriek in return. The beast flails wildly as Han races from its clutches towards the unknown savior of his.

Fluffy hair, a torn, mud-stained jean jacket over his shoulders, white undershirt equally unkempt. The four of you survey the monster’s descent deeper into the hotel, not appearing to execute anymore attack attempts.

For now.

No less, you’re helped outside in your wobbly state, the shot-gun boy leading, another seeming to take up the rear behind you and Han. His companion, maybe. Just as you and Han are.

Sharper features oppose the shotgun-carrying boy’s downturned eyes with inquisitive, apprehensive ones. Lighter hair, jeans bagging by his shoes, white tee’s once graphic design smudged, unrecognizable. His own weapon lies in spiked boxing gloves, nails seemingly ruptured through the cushioned layers.

And when his eyes meet yours, you feel fire in your veins. Blazing, warming you from your toes to your fingertips.

“You guys alright?”

Shot-gun boy, introduced as Kim Seungmin, speaks first, spinning on his heel to regard either of you. Though, it’s hard for your mind to stay attentive, the feeling of Seungmin’s companions’ eyes incessantly boring into your back causing a wary twitch of your fingers. 

“Lee Minho.”

His voice breaks you from that apprehensive spell, that watchful gaze of his surveying both you and Han with an unimpressed exhale.

“Don’t slow us down,” He scowls, shouldering past Han, lips drawn into a tight line. He heads for their own vehicle, a worn down truck narrowly resting in better condition than your earlier tow truck by the tracks.

Real friendly.

Seungmin, a tad bit more benign, gestures with a curt nod to the vehicle, ushering your injury-wielding self to sit in the passenger seat with Minho as driver, Seungmin and Han taking the truck’s bed.

Just then does the Monster make its return, bursting from the hotel in a seemingly rejuvenated spirit from before, gaping jaws aching to be filled.

You could only hope your flesh wouldn’t be the filler.

“This is why I hate introductions,” Minho, already slamming his foot onto the pedal, grumbles, not granting a response upon tires burning rubber over dusty roads as you speed off – a replay of your ride with Han on loop each time you see the Monster in your mirror.

Approaching closer, closer again.

It seems food becoming involved is a common theme, jarred when the truck swerves in front of a supermarket. Seungmin shouts from the back as he and Han race ahead, beckoning you two to follow them, your steps lightly hobbled with feeble help of the makeshift crutch.

“The hell do I have to be on babysitting duty for?” Minho, lifting your arm over his shoulder, grovels, and you fight the urge to whack him with your crutch, making through the desolate supermarket. 

Weapons in clutch, it grows taxing trying not to grimace hearing clattering glass, the mental picture of those bulging eyes doing little for your already queasy stomach.

“It’ll hear us!” 

With your horrible luck intact, this already dislikable stranger ends up being the same soul you're lodged into a bathroom stall with.

Minho hisses, furrow of his brows causing his face to scrunch with distaste, the loud clatter of soup cans and chip bags alike resounding from outside in the thick of the Monster’s carnage.

“No, it’ll hear you. More people means more death, and lucky for you, I’ll be off your hands in no time.” Now it’s your turn to retort, the man lacking of his usual boxing gloves, strap of Seungmin’s shotgun over a shoulder instead.

Wriggling yourself from his grasp, you hesitantly slide the notch to the door, movement only stopped by Minho’s lingering hand grabbing your sleeve. 

“And what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m repaying a favor.”

Weighing your ability to walk well, you snag the shotgun from his shoulder, granting the man a wink and a: “Thanks for the shotgun”, before slipping from the stall, leaving his starstruck figure in tow.

Ignoring the biting ache in your thigh thanks to a discarded crutch, you savor cool metal beneath your fingertips, watching the blur of the other two boys racing past the Monster’s attempts of attack. 

“Hey! Ugly fucker, over here!” You shout, chilled seeing blind eyes rip your way.

Cocking the gun, your eyes narrow, focusing the sight on its head and–

Bang!

Echoing around the supermarket does a copper bullet gnash into thin skin, puncturing straight through, shell casing crinkling onto the floor below in tandem with a low groan of the creature.

Minho bursts from the bathroom moments later, still sporting a starstruck visage. Han and Seungmin go thundering right past back to the truck, the wild goose chase persisting. 

What wasn't persistent was Minho’s arms wrapping around your back, hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of rice whilst chasing right after his counterparts.

As much as you’d like to thank him, your thigh still hurts like hell.

“Yah! That- hurts- asshole!” Shrieked between his hurried footsteps, you smack his shoulder blade defiantly.

Hopefully that serves as a thank you.

However, escaping is far from reach, and feeling presumably safe is equally residing far from grasp when, after finally being able to inhale without a stutter to your lung halfway down the road, the sharp snap of a tire blows.

And the truck flips over.

It was one thing maneuvering from the flipped car, shards of glass embedded in your skin beckoning pinpricks of blood, and another continuing on foot to wherever the two acquaintances planned to lead to.

The largest of things, however, was learning the name of this apparent destination.

Hellion Inn.

With Seungmin sustaining a minor head injury, Han luckily unharmed, and an also unharmed Minho reluctant to aid in being your temporary crutch, you’re given plenty of time for interrogation along the way — wondering just who the hell was responsible for the letter. 

As far as their replies go, not a soul knows.

And at this rate, you can’t bring yourself to care about pestering for answers anymore, not with Minho’s aggravating complaining and equally as irritating, stupidly good-looking side profile.

So, the torturous walk to this supposed ‘Inn’ prevails, which, turns out not to be an Inn at all. Instead, it’s this metal, bus looking contraption, like a trailer.

Silver of the exterior tarnished, it hides within a surrounding forest entryway, vines curling around door fixtures as if with time, what remained would be swallowed by the greenery.

From the bus two more men exit, and you can’t help but wonder if this so-called Hellion Inn has just as many residents as an actual Inn.

Christopher Bahng and Seo Changbin introduce themselves hastily, quick to rush back into the bus and retrieve a medical kit. After enduring both the painful removal of glass, your reopened wound stitched, and Chris’s heart wrenching smile of assurance (followed by a pat to your kneecap after, ensuring an imminent heart attack on your part), you’re finally invited inside, introduced to the others.

Three more. 

It’s a clown car. Definitely. 

Yang Jeongin, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix. Boys- no, men, with features you’d like to deem frustratingly attractive. 

Maybe photoshoot, not a clown car.

No less, the seven interact with ease, Han intermingling as if he’d been by their side for eternity. A bonfire, expertly lit behind the bus hidden amongst foliage to conceal smoke, provides warmth in the night.

Cold, just as it’s always been. Even more so with autumn’s presence.

Yet, you find your eyes falling right back to him.

Minho.

Man of fire, whose gaze on yours feels like your ribs cracking apart, as if his fingers bend your windpipe every which way, rendering no air into your lungs. He is fire, licking at your skin in the most deplorable of ways.

And you crave it.

If he were Hades, you’d eat the pomegranate seeds like a fool just to feel his eyes on you again and again.

Selfish.

When he looks at you, you feel selfish. Perhaps it’s the stakes, perhaps your heart has grown too weak, beat too fast it falls for any and all. Adrenaline-induced love.

You aren’t naive like Persephone, aren’t blindsided by curiosity.

That latter is a lie. Especially when you shift on the log, purposefully scooting closer to catch bits and pieces of his conversation with Jeongin, listen to the perfect pitch of his voice, aided by the crackling of flames before you.

You wonder if touching him would rival those white-hot flames. Scalding your fingers till you grew numb. 

You’d take that bet.

Fluffy fabric placed over your shoulders makes you flinch in place, sympathetic eyes of chocolate meeting yours.

Honeyed. Chris.

“It’s cold, stay warm,” He ushers, crouching to take a seat on your left.

Then do you register his actions. A blanket, the material a survivor of water’s toil and plenty of stains. But it’s warm, durable, and most importantly, sweet. Chris is sweet, you decide, a bit like this warm blanket.

Your nod of thanks doesn’t feel like it even slightly compensates for his kindness, though, for now, it’s enough.

Tomorrow, Chris, Changbin, Minho, and Jeongin will relocate the flipped truck. Haul it back, fix it up again. That’s what your sensible mind discerns, seemingly adopted into the group like any other as sleeping arrangements in the bus are modified for both you and Han.

Strays, huh.

A flickering gas lamp keeps your gaze glued to the ceiling where you lie, watching shadows twirl like a strange ballet along the walls. Near the front of the bus does Chris sleep, Changbin glued to his side, Felix tucked beneath his arm.

It brings a smile to your lips, watching them. Even Seungmin, with his more boundary-oriented persona, close to the others, his hand brushing against Hyunjin’s shoulder, Jeongin’s head. 

Human beings, after all. Even when it all falls apart. And maybe, maybe in monsters as well, there is human. The need to be close, to feel skin on skin. 

Counting heads, you find one missing.

“You should be sleeping.”

Minho flicks a lighter on and off, waiting to relight the gas lamp. He squats down in front of you, jeans stretched over muscular thighs.

Your brow furrows, wondering if he’d been here this whole time amidst your ignorance.

“Are you scared?”

His words dull your ability to reply, retort something smart. But, the tone keeps your mouth shut. Cool and calm, like when he spoke to Jeongin by the fire. Not taunting, nor instigating.

“No.”

The words are a lie, unveiled in the crease of a dirt-stricken face, chapped lips pulled taut.

His pinky finding yours verifies that fire theory. From the tips of your toes to the very top of your scalp you feel it. 

Scorching. Hot.

Your skin seems to melt from your bones, but only you can see it.

There are lots of questions to ask. Wondering, hope. Why?

But he beats you to it. It seems you’ll have to get used to that characteristic.

“Go to sleep. Nothing can get you here.”

A lie, you know it well. Any second that monster can stumble here. Smell you, turn the perfect corner to find the bus, sheen shimmering beneath a full moon. Ravage each and every one of you beneath claws and blood.

But the letter, no, Minho says you’ll be safe here. That Hellion Inn will be your safe haven. 

Tonight, you choose to believe that, falling asleep with his pinky twined with yours, his back to one of the side booths, focus trained on your features.

Safe.

“Hnn..” 

Insistent poking to your cheek abducts you from your dream, bleary eyes straining to open. Jeongin sits up, bracing himself with his hands, youthful smile stretched over his face watching you. Meanwhile, the hellspawn guilty, Hyunjin, can’t help but laugh cheerily.

“Wah— I wish I had a camera!” Ebony strands peek from beneath a white ball cap, his voice carries from the bus for Felix’s head to peek in, echoing Hyunjin’s laugh with his deeper baritone.

Similar to Chris are you met with Felix’s kindness, his lithe form slipping past the bus doors to gently smooth back your bed hair, utilizing a hair tie on his wrist to bind the unruly strands before patting your head.

It’s easy to ache for anyone’s touch, you discover.

In the early morning, the car was retrieved by Minho, Chris, Jeongin, and Changbin, the low chatter of voices outside evidence of their progress restoring the once flipped vehicle.

When you step out, Changbin hands you a tin of steaming soup as meager breakfast you’re quick to thank him for, bringing the spoon to your lips whilst lingering near the car, watching them flit about, handing each other tools and screws alike like busied ants.

“You just gonna stand there or help out? Last time I checked you weren’t worried about appearances.”

Instantaneously, Minho becomes his normal, annoying self with each snidely sarcastic remark, cocked brows urging you to retaliate.

Unfortunately, your barely conscious mind can’t formulate something smart back, so you resort to serving as the tool-supplier, handing different ones here and there from a stool near where the Man of Fire works on the popped wheel.

His new title, apparently.

Man of Fire.

“Wrench.”

“Did you just call me a wench?” You scoff, eyes wide with shock at the murmured comment. 

Perhaps you were blindsided after all by his nice face.

“Wrench.”

Or not.

Begrudgingly, you extend the wrench, scowl embedded in your expression he can’t help but crack a bemused grin at.

Attaching the wrench to a bolt to crank does his vein-littered forearms flex, and your throat feels unnaturally dry, forcing yourself to focus on something else in order to school an unaffected facade.

Nevertheless, by night, he��s.. different. Lacking cockiness, harshness.

Unspoken things, like when you’re stirred from sleep, dazed gaze settling on Minho across the bus, his fingers tenderly patting Changbin’s head when he stirs awake. They speak in hushed whispers alternative to Changbin’s boisterous presence. 

And sometimes, amidst the other seven, you’re the one beneath his comforting hand. Those times nightmares plague your sleep, his careful hands tracing your knuckles, slow circles over your skin urging you back into the solace of sleep.

To you he doesn’t talk, just hums a low melody, wipes unshed tears from your waterline. Seeing his face makes you want to cry more, so you can be scooped into his hug.

Though, you doubt you’d ever let go, so you never allow yourself more tears. Maybe that’s for the better.

Because while you’re so selfishly enamored as night falls and he becomes that doting figurine bathed in moonlight, Minho is endlessly selfless. Wordless, but selfless.

The guardian of the night, sustaining a semblance of care and safety that silently engulfs the bus each time a star twinkles within the sky.

Then again, risks are always present. Missions out for food, stashing of possessions in case of invasion.

Windows of the bus covered, the group convenes that evening, leant over a book on the floor, huddled with knees held close to chests. Sharing things of value, adding more.

An old journal, spine tattered and moth-eaten. Inside looks to hold the secrets of the world, hidden within yellowed pages, hurried writing of smudged ink.

All of it, from the Monster’s mannerisms, exterior, presumed weaknesses. Written, documented. How such information was gathered is beyond you. Intricate, detailed.

Study after study, page after page. 

In two days, you’re arranged to head out with Chris for a medical restock. The pharmacy isn’t too far from the Inn, and it’ll only be a few hours of collecting before returning back.

The morning of, Seungmin hands you his shotgun, and Chris takes Minho’s—the Man of Fires’—nail-wielding boxing gloves. Two backpacks, one goal.

Fortunately, the journey isn’t too grueling, filled with quiet conversation and query till barely divisible characters reading ‘PHARMACY’ come into view, slipping into the hollowed, whitened confines of a once thriving business.

Eerie, with medication strung awry, unknown blood splattered along a wall behind the register.

It’s almost funny how the money there goes untouched. What use is it now?

Captured within your peripheral does a door become of topic, shielded behind a hanging towel in the far corner of the pharmacy that you slowly pad over to inspect, fingers tentative in nudging to the side. 

Though, it’s the sudden flick of lights, electricity, that makes you gasp, flashlight of little necessity as you part double doors.

The sight makes your heart stop.

Because beneath the disguise of a pharmacy rests a drug-den, a laboratory, first and foremost.

“Uh.. Does Seungmin have this in his journal..?” 

Building long since redlined by the look of it, Chris is quick to join your side, muttering an awestruck: “Holy shit” you would’ve laughed at if it weren’t for your combined surprise. 

Though, he places an arm in front of you as your foot moves to step inside, instead advising the muzzle of your shotgun to lead you, clearing the area before feasting on this monstrosity.

Countless test tubes litter every surface in sight, but it isn’t mixtures, isn’t a combo of products.

It’s insects, piled with them.

Many deformed in gruesome ways, trapped inside the tubes. Chris, hastily pulling an old camera from his bag, snaps photos, the shutter’s sound echoing around the room.

Yet, you can’t help but notice a near uncanny resemblance.

Incisors, bulging eyes, like the Monster.

No, it wouldn’t be. A mega ant? No, that thing is far from solely ant with its hulking size.

“Don’t you think this is just.. odd? I mean, they’re already up to their noses in cash from the drugs, I’m sure, so why the.. ants?” 

Chris exhales slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

“My guess is as good as yours. And calling it a ‘guilty pleasure’ just makes me nauseous, I mean look at them, they’re.. infected.”

Fungal growth is clear as day, that’s agreed. The true question rests in reason.

Just what were they doing here?

The longer you linger, the more unsettling it becomes.

Because somehow, your gut can’t shake that resemblance to the Monster.

Your walk back to the bus is quiet, shrouded in nerves and a wanting for familiarity. Safe to say you both sigh in relief seeing that silvery, unmoving vehicle.

It’s almost comical how the uneasiness spreads, like whatever fungus altered the insects, contorting them in disfigured shapes, features. Overtaking the nine of you similarly.

Merely thinking about it gives you chills, Chris’s description, as you’re coddled into the bus with the others to explain, doing little for the vomit tempting your throat.

Effortlessly, your same silence washes over the others, paled as they acknowledge the identical resemblance you’d conjured before.

“You don’t think..” You’re feeble in attempting to disprove the suspicions, trembling of your fingers stilled only when Minho’s index traces your wrist. 

Though, it isn’t night, and the look he grants you makes you wish for his touch even more.

Assurance, worn within the grooves of his face, repetitive stroke of his fingertip over a hammering pulse.

“I do think, show me the picture again.” Seungmin beckons, hurriedly flipping through his own notebook as he narrows his eyes on the photo Chris shows. 

Seungmin, you learned, used to be an entomology major in Seoul’s most prestigious university. Studious, with a bright future nearing.

Interesting how easy those aspirations can crumble apart within a day, within seconds.

But there’s no purpose in reminiscing, is there?

Now resorting to gathered notes of the past, he finally stops at a page, finger glued to the scribbled notes. His other hand reaches to the photo, pointing to a tiny label taped to a test tube halfway outside the frame, writing messy and uneven, barely legible against the blur of the camera.

Ophiocordyceps unilateralism, or, in easier terms, zombie-ant fungus. 

Thanks to Seungmin’s insight, his knowledge dictates the occurrence as “a fungus capable of infecting the mind of its host while simultaneously altering its body.”

So, in a horror-movie-esque, freakish way, a parasite. 

Jeongin pipes up, and you swear at least four of you flinch at the sudden sound of a voice against leaden silence.

“But the Monster’s too big to be an ant, right? How could the—“ 

“What if it wasn’t an ant, but another animal? A bigger animal. Some scientific breakthrough where the host was able to be taken over, not by an ant, but by something bigger.” 

The entirety remains consumed in a stillness, taking in the revelation they’ve just come to. 

Fear is almost palpable. Nearly able to be tasted, smelt. 

Han’s leg bounces anxiously, dirty fingernails reaching to claw at his hair, tearing at his scalp with visible shuddering Chris’s warm palm hopes to ease, placed on his shoulder.

“We’re being hunted by a parasite.” He croaks hoarsely in disbelief, tone pathetically cracking in terror. 

A parasite, yes. This, however, is different. 

The monster lurking through Seoul was planned, arranged accordingly under the guise of law and human greed for motive unknown.

A lone pharmacy, meant to cater to human health, now manufacturerers of human destruction.

This parasite is man-made. 

Your spirit could’ve been staunched easily, dampened by the weight of discovery. Grown unwilling to fight anymore, unwilling to try surviving.

Who are we if not going for each other's throats? Why must someone’s greed become everyone else’s problem?

Something so selfish, so horrid it grew out of control, festering like a seed of hatred in one’s heart till spiky leaves and branches poured from their lungs and suffocated them.

For a moment do you entertain the doubts, the scornful attitude over the boiled egg in hand. An early breakfast the day after the realization, with the nine of you seated along the bus’s roof, legs swinging off the side while watching the sunrise. 

You feel like the only people in the world. 

And a bit longer seeing shades of orange and crisp blue bleed across the sky does it feel like it’s all worth living for once again.

So instead, you adapt.

Jotting down more details about the fungus, figuring out ways to combat it. Continual stocking of food, the usual.

Fixing things, keeping up with communication. Laughter and smiling, momentary glances to that Man-of-Fire making you clam up, just like before.

At least that was predictable. 

A continual gas lamp, those same quiet visits of his within the night. And, more often than not, you’d find Minho’s pinkie linking with yours while he slept, without a nightmare or sleepless night as explanation. 

In the mornings, you’d pretend like it never happened. Go back to cat and mouse, square one.

Hold my hand, but keep quiet. 

I don’t want you to leave.

Plenty of things echo through your mind as dawn arises, when your lids twitch and disoriented eyes flutter open to find him beside you, peacefully asleep.

Most days, he’s gone by dawn, somewhere across the bus sleeping, leaving your groggy mind to configure his touch as a mere dream.

No matter the awe, your body betrays such an occasion, and you fall right back to sleep again hoping he could read your mind, keep that contact beneath the blanket.

Unbeknownst to you, the moment your eyes close, his eyes open.

But you’re already asleep when a gentle index traces your cheek, his lips parting with a slow breath. 

“Pretty,” Is whispered, failing to echo around the bus in its hushed volume, a pinch of normality within the chirping of birds, the breach of an emerging day peering over sparse clouds.

“Hm?” 

He wasn’t anticipating your response, breath catching in his throat.

“Hi Minho,” You murmur gently, greeting his surprised disposition as your lips wind into a tiny smile. 

Involuntary. Lips quirking upwards the longer you hold eye-contact.

And surprisingly, Minho cracks a smile too.

It’s feeble, barely divisible apart from the twitch of his lips. Your thumb traces the crinkle, too sleepy to speak, too comfortable to act. 

“Hi there.”

His hand returns your touch, finding your cheek to rest on, savoring the feeling of your skin on his, his on yours.

Stay here, don’t go.

I don’t want to be left alone again.

His brisk glance at your lips has your nerves buzzing beneath such a gaze.

Knowing, obliging.

Obliging as his head tips, as yours complies. Capable of fitting like the perfect puzzle as—

Seungmin mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, and it’s all a dream once more how Minho slips from your hands as if he was never there in the first place.

Three and a half months at Hellion Inn passes in a flash. Research on combatants to the zombie-ant fungus prevalent, plenty of days spent crowded in the bus, throwing around possibilities and idyll conversation. 

Monster sightings have become sparse, with the vast majority of reports informing of its scavenging of the city’s copious bodies.

A sense of relief until it runs out of flesh and craves more, which is where your apocalypse began all over.

Starting with that same, chillingly bellowed chuff at least half a mile out from Hellion Inn.

You don’t think you’d ever seen the eight of them move so quickly. Gas lamp extinguished, weapons cocked and loaded with ammunition ready to fire. Minho’s studded boxing gloves, Seungmin’s shotgun, Chris’s dual pistols. Plentiful traps arranged about the bus, ones you never anticipated having to utilize up till tonight.

How foolish you were.

However, the bus’s roof isn’t caved in by a claw, the nine of you intact for the remainder of the restless night, void of any more sound from the Monster. 

Then again, the torment is far from yielding, with those same, restless nights becoming avidly frequent, Minho’s soothing capabilities tested as a nightmare per week triples in number.

In those times, you find comfort in each other, comfort in bodies snuggled together, in shared pain and happiness. In as much comfort support allows in the thick of a never-ending hailstorm. 

As for you, you find that longing has folded itself into squares of eighteen from a once meager eight. Folded over and over that, the greater the paper grows with each parted fold, the greater that longing burns. 

Burns, like the smoke billowing from a fire outside.

Location of the slow-to-set sun leads you to believe it’s around 3pm, your figure slumped to the floor of the bus.

Though, the missing factor rests in a lack of eight others who currently occupy the fire outside for dinner.

Yesterday, you and Jeongin took on a water restock, roaming about what seemed to be innumerable miles to repeat the walk with heavy packs of water all the way back, currently the cause of your exhaustion as you sleep into the evening the day after.

If only the sleep was peaceful, refreshing.

It’s not.

Well, it was. But not for long.

A shower, according to the flickering of your consciousness as you dream. Warm water droplets pattering on the tile floor underfoot, cleansing grime from your skin. Electricity.

And somehow, a peculiar name leaves your lips upon seeing a shadow behind the shower curtain.

“Minho.”

The sound of your voice is light in this dream. Awaiting, familiar. 

Yet, the pit in your stomach grows, unnaturally.

You find the cause when pulling back the shower curtain, that same, leering smile of the Monster staring back at you as it lunges.

Not Minho.

Your vision goes black, only able to hear the ringing screech of your scream, the heat of the shower now putrid metallic. Blood, replacing the water.

It fills your senses, suffocating you slowly but surely. Overflowing from your nose, your eyes, till you cry crimson.

A sharp twitch of your hand jars you awake.

You’re not bleeding, not in a shower, no Monster in sight. Although, you’d be lying to yourself to say you can just forget it all, act like nothing’s the matter.

More so when you see Minho—recalling his name uttered so sweetly in your dream—standing at the bus’s doorway, seemingly a witness to your horrors as he closes the door behind himself.

Ah. 

No, don’t look at me right now with that doting gaze, as if I’m something to be cared for, something delicate. 

For once I wish you away, so I don’t begin to cry, so my love for you doesn’t become my ruin.

“And it was- it was right in front of me and—“

He sees through you each time, through the toughened exterior, the shake of your head when he asks if you need anything, want to talk about it. 

He came in for an extra blanket, apparently. One long forgotten by now.

Spill your guts, but when it comes to him, you find your heart spilling with it. Words caught in a hyperventilating daze, your hands flail, eyes struck permanently bulging.

At some point, everyone starts to break. No time table to give you an estimate, forewarning.

It just bubbles until bursting.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do this anymore..” Voice a desperate plea, sobs wrack your body numb.  “Why can’t…” You begin, eyes flitting to Minho.

“Why can’t we all just die together?”

Heaved between sharp inhales is your face taken between calloused hands, his brows knitted.

“Cause who’s going to take our place? Who else is alive?” He whispers, kneeled upon the floor, staring at you nonsensically.

“This once, let me be selfish. I won’t let you die. You can’t die because I want you alive. Do you understand?” 

Slow to nod, bleary vision situates upon the man, cursing the dip to your usually strong tone — cracking, weakened.

“Can… Can I just.. forget?” 

His eyes flit to your lips if only for an instant, like that time a month ago, stolen. 

And for a moment, you think he may have just read your mind.

“Minho, please… I want to-“

Ah.

And he kisses you, and then, no, more. More and more, till you’re tangled up in sprawled blankets and sleeping bags. Smoke tainting the air from outside, calves dangling from his shoulders, toes curled. 

Minho makes you forget, forget and forget, leaving you to helplessly utter his name past chapped lips — till another round turns into what feels to be a lifetime. 

Your palms pressing to his jaw like a plea, head tossing back once more with a sound purely guttural. 

It’s sloppy, it’s clumsy. Sweat-stuck kisses to sweat-stuck skin. Nails digging into already moth-eaten clothing, his lips permanently pressed to your pulse, hammering and hammering in a wordless incantation of bliss. 

And yet, no amount of greedy, mindless sex, no amount of his doting kisses, his careful assurances, praises, can deter your mind from a reality unavoidable.

There’s no euphoria, no recovery your skin can even acknowledge as he flops to your side, both out of breath.

“.. Am I selfish for a pleasure I can’t even enjoy?” 

Silence breached, your eyes flutter closed, an involuntary tear slipping down your cheek where you lay upon the bunched sleeping bag.

This had been a dream, to be burned by the Man of Fire. Allowing his kiss to brand you, his touch searing every ounce of skin raw.

Little did you know you’d already scorched it all yourself.

Cruel. Irrevocably cruel.

Not even clarity grants your senses, emotion muddled between undergarments feeling too tight and grimy and the lack of fresh air rendering sticky bodies into a cold sweat.  

From beside you, his hand extends to your cheek, thumbing away the salty droplet with a weary smile.

“There is no selfishness, just… grasping onto what’s left. You’re not selfish for taking what you can get, not when everything is being taken from you.”

Hellion Inn was not your safety, it was the one gazing at you, the seven others outside. 

This is only a house, Minho is your home.

Fifth month arising, a conclusion is met. Amongst not-so-helpful input, bickering, and plenty of runs to libraries to gather more books on Ophiocordyceps unilateralism for a very studious Seungmin, he presents a possibility, an option.

Of its known enemies, the zombie-ant fungus doesn’t have many. There was the initial hypothesis on ways ants protect from the parasite, but with the Monster already infected, those methods were out of the question.

Then came the breakthrough.

Torrubiellomyces zombiae, or T.Z. An additional, fanciful word for a more powerful parasite. A Hyperparasitic fungi, zombie-ant fungus’ predator.

Create an ultimate beast without known opponents? Simply double the size, the power.

That’s where T.Z arrived, the species a core option for the Monster’s destruction. Get the spores on the Monster’s skin, and stay alive until it takes over and stabilizes the fungus’ infection.

Much easier said than done, which left room for the organized members of the group separating steps into phases.

Phase one focuses on collection of the spores. Extra photos Chris took that first encounter in the pharmacy unveiled the likely presence of the desired spores, which Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin have been elected to collect as Team C.

Phase two regards locating the Monster, introducing the presence of a harpoon gun (an idea Han loved (for the sole reason of fooling around with the harpoon gun)).

The point of the harpoon will be coated in collected spores, teams of three with three members each (A, B, and C) dispersed throughout the surrounding area the monster before Team A shoots.

And of course, courtesy of Han’s mention on what phase three should be: 

Run like hell. 

Phase two enacting in exactly a week, Hellion Inn spends its days in preparation, plaguing each breathing moment with gathering necessities and ensuring utilities are present.  

Between those lines comes the lividity.

Kisses in the night, his kisses. The shared cockiness, incessant teasing when the others are around as original as it comes despite such tenderness in private.

Your souls bared, secrets spoken into the air for only your ears to hear.

While the others sleep, you love till your heart hurts, watching him fall asleep against your palm where he’d kissed each of your fingertips minutes prior.

“I love you,” He whispers one night, his nose buried into your cheek with a heavy sigh. 

There’s not a single doubt within your mind, a hesitation, a hint of surprise.

Plenty of times it’s been said without words, repeated in the peck he presses to your skin.

“I love you too.”

And you repeat the words in a kiss to his lips. Slow, careful.

Savor. As if it were your last.

Dark clouds wrinkle your vision, spitting rain nothing short of irritating as you, Han, and Minho slip through cluttered underbrush.

Gathering of the spores had been successful by Team C according to the flare gun’s signal, and Team A—consisting of Changbin, Jeongin and Chris—tracked the location of the monster. 

Itaewon hasn't changed apart from the lack of bodies, assumed to be the Monster’s doing. Debris prominent, scavenging animals littering the streets without the usual congestion of people.

When the second flare blooms into shaded sky, that’ll be the indication the last stage: shooting the monster, is underway. For now, the three of you wait, listening in as hurried footsteps of Team C come thundering towards you.

Seungmin offers the vial, Minho lifting the harpoon gun to plunge into what appears to be an oddly shaped mushroom, your arm already lifted to the sky to fire Team B’s own flare gun.

Half way. Not done yet.

Now for Phase three, but, prior to the “run like hell” notion.

Jeongin is the retriever of the harpoon gun, angling through side streets past a lingering monster in the center to deliver the catalyst.

Almost there, almost–

His foot clashing against the metal of an alleyway trash-can disrupts that peace, and synonymously do you feel all breath held.

Chris was supposed to deliver the shot. Jeongin was supposed to make it to Team A unnoticed.

The world seems to grow mute, Han’s wrenching scream from beside you fallen upon deaf ears as the Monster’s gaping jaws beeline for Jeongin, claws extended, the boy kneeling to the ground.

Then, a ping! resounds, and your eyes are slow to open in fear his mutilated body would sit there, bright eyes lifeless.

It’s almost slow motion seeing it. Centimeters from Jeongin’s face does a palm outstretch, twice the size of his head, fingers twitching as if frozen in space.

Then you see it.

In the middle of that palm, the mere edge of the harpoon—only able to get halfway from its sheath—embeds.

Cavernous jaws of the creature part, incisors poised as if disbelieving of the matter itself. Disbelieving of the parasite taking over, altering its blood stream. 

Wilt.

White, almost decaying in the manner the alternate fungi destroys the weaker one, its muscles failing, body freezing.

You half anticipated the creature to at least try fighting in the meantime, land one last swipe. 

But the more time ticking past as you lean forward disproves any chance of movement, able to physically see the blood cells permeating the creature ashen, once curved claws diminishing simultaneously like that of crumbling embers.

Just then does Hyunjin’s voice breach your focus, curdled in urgency. It’s his cry that beckons Jeongin back to his feet, racing back after the others, tip of the harpoon still wedged within the Monster’s palm.

Oddly enough, as you watch the last of it dust into the wind as if melting, it doesn't feel real.

Too simple, uncanny. As if millions hadn’t extinguished in its horrid maw—a single parasite killing off the apocalypse bringer as easy as that.

Yet, it wasn’t easy at all.

Testing every last ounce of your wish for life, wish for a reality snatched from not just you, but eight others’ fingertips.

It was taxing. Surviving, experiencing the start of new love you didn’t think could sprout among a wintery wasteland included. 

But it did sprout, and the way you’re the first person Minho’s eyes drift to speaks that loud and clear.

Twin blossoms of the most brilliant colors, growing brighter the nearer they are. 

Closer than love, truly. 

We made it.

The Monster is gone.

There isn’t a word spoken as you make back for Hellion Inn, make back for home. The crunch of footsteps along gravel rings in your eardrums, breath exhaled from parted lips, matted, grease-ridden hair the least of your concern. No joyous shouting, no celebratory behavior in the slightest.

What is there to celebrate anyway? So many lives lost, too many to mourn.

Progression of your footsteps carries each soul with it, allowing them a final sleep in their eternal resting place.

Sleep well, Seoul. 

“It’s all over.” 

Whispered amidst roaring flames, you can only stare at the pharmacy as fiery flickers—vials, chemicals, ants included–swallow whatever has been left, torching hell’s origin once and for all.

One last stop. One last goodbye to all that was, the last chapter.

Without a word, Minho’s pinky links with your own.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @linocvp1d

[dazed--xx]

SKZ!Fake Texts: He Calls you Clingy (Hyung Line)

Part 2 Part 3 Maknae Line

Bang Chan:

Minho:

Changbin:

Hyunjin:

[jinnie-ret]

take a chance with me

lee know x reader

genre: mostly fluff, teeny angst

content warnings: one mention of a stroke (it's not an actual one just Minho malfunctioning lol)

word count: 1.8k

summary: lee know was too scared to express his feelings - lucky you were there to convince him his feelings were mutual

a/n: Umm... hi, lol. It's been a while since I've posted. Hopefully this is a nice surprise hehe

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

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Waking up early each morning and leaving your home at 06:30am would seem like a chore to most people. For you? It was incredibly rewarding to enter the workplace, opening up the front office for the day. Your friends had questioned you wondering how you did it, but helping your parents manage a cat rescue home soothed a part of your soul you didn't know you needed healing, particularly when dreaming of becoming an astronaut, a bus driver or a world famous actor as a child.

Though the biting winds sent a chill through your bones, the sun shone down upon you, rays reflecting off of the icy pavements on your route to work. The weather really couldn't make it's mind up recently. It reminded you of someone.

"Minho, hi! You're early!" you grinned, poking your head out of your scarf that you had wrapped securely around your neck. He seemed to brighten your day even further, as cheesy as it sounded. It was the way he bantered with you, back and forth, exciting you for what witty statement he'd come out with next.

"Visitor's Day, remember?" Minho simply commented, a cloud of air escaping his mouth as his teeth chattered, hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets.

"Oh, I nearly forgot!" your eyebrows furrowed in concern, your own hands digging around your pockets for the schedule of the day. It was a fortnightly occurrence in which you'd accept visitors looking around, hoping to re-home the cats that deserved a place to feel safe, loved and looked after. In fact, it was how you met Minho.

Two years ago was when he first set foot into the establishment, quiet, demure and unfazed. That was, until he was led to the small huts outside where the cats resided. Sneaking out some treats from his pocket, he fed a gorgeous boy he soon named Dori, feeling an instant attachment (the two of them). He tried to find his way back inside, ready to sign some adoption papers, when he stumbled into what he thought was merely a stack of boxes, not initially realising that you were behind them and trying to haul them inside on your own.

"I'm so sorry!" you had gasped apologetically, immediately grabbing a broom to the side and sweeping the rogue pieces of kibble that had escaped it's confines.

"Eh, don't worry," Minho shrugged, trying to play it cool although he couldn't stop himself from giving you a quick scan from head to toe in case he had hurt you, "at least they're not being starved, it's reassuring," he added on, laughing through his nose as he straightened up the boxes of cat food.

"You should see Gingy, he's a chonky boy," you jokes, brushing your hair out of your face and glancing up at him. All you could think was, and later you berated yourself for it, but the cat that got to go home with this one was certainly lucky.

"Oh? What if he heard that?" Minho teases, wondering if you'd feign the dramatics, or even get flustered at the idea.

"He knows," you shake your head and chuckle, making a smarter decision now in only grabbing one box.

"Oh, sorry did you need any-"

"Did you want some help with-"

Comically, you both fell silent simultaneously, feeling awkward that you had spoken over and cut off each other at the same time.

"I'll grab a box," Minho speaks up, moving to stand beside you.

"Oh thank you! That's a great help, truly. I was just going to ask if you wanted those adoption papers," you practically beamed.

"How could you tell?"

"You've got some blue fluff on you. That's from Lilo's hut."

"Actually, his name is Dori."

And when you found out Minho had two other cats and the reasoning behind the name 'Dori', you melted instantly. On the spot. Like, literally on the floor had it not been for the rational part of your brain telling you to stop falling for a man you had just met. Minho's sweet Dori completed his little cat family, the soft, gentle trio of boys.

To say you were Minho's biggest advocate when he admitted to wanting to help out and work alongside you at the Cat Rescue, would be completely right. You had brought him straight to your parents, informing them of how knowledgeable and tender he was in interacting with the cats and the rest was history.

Although, that wasn't where this story ended.

"Did you also forget the key?" Minho snapped you out of your reverie.

"Huh? What- no, here," you grasped the key and eagerly gave it to Minho, unsure if your fingers would have the strength to unlock the door, locking up from the inhumanely cold temperatures.

"Ah, she did remember," Minho smirked, soon having to catch his balance after you impulsively shoved his shoulder a bit too hard with your own.

"Unlock the door, pudding boy," you joked, Minho rolling his eyes in response. He could never let you have the upper hand for too long, however.

"I prefer jagi," he batted his eyelashes at you in an over the top way, making you groan and cover your eyes as a form of protection. You loved it really, you just weren't sure on if you should show it.

Minho had told you many times before that you wore your heart on your sleeve. Whether it was you recklessly running into the middle of the road to save a kitten from being hit, or spending your savings on allowing a family the chance to adopt a cat into their lives, you acted upon your love for others. On the other hand, he knew he was too scared to show you how he really felt. Banter, jokes, 'fake' flirting was the perfect cover up to distract him from his feelings, as well as the ones he hadn't yet recognised you shared.

Oddly, there was an awkwardness in the air between the two of you by the end of the day. Perhaps it was the elderly pair who commented on your selflessness as a couple, or seeing many young partners enter and adopt their first pet together. It triggered emotions within you both that had remained hidden for too long. You weren't just good friends, but you were made for each other. The love of cats; the gentleness you exuded and he let slip more often than he'd like to admit and the ease in which you both took in pushing the others' buttons.

Minho always thought you were bolder than him.

"Do you ever think we'll find love, Minho?" you yawned, sweeping up the remnants of dirt that had escaped the many pairs of shoes that entered the home today.

"We?" Minho paused, his grip on the mop slipping ever so slightly before he regained his composure, "I'm not really searching."

Of course he wasn't, not when-

"But is that because you’ve already found it? I don’t want to be bold but-" you nearly scolded yourself for daring to speak when your mind was all over the place.

"That would shock me if you weren’t," Minho snorted, easily falling back into his natural self.

"I'm being real, right now, Min," you squeezed your eyes shuts, back facing him and not wanting to face rejection.

"That's good, here's me thinking you were an illusion all along-"

"Just take a chance, Minho! With me. I-if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll still be friends, we’ll figure it out," you glanced over at him cautiously. Whilst your words were rushed and fumbly, your actions were timid.

Minho's brain malfunctioned. Is this what it felt like to have a stroke? Did you just confess your love for him? Wasn't it just another bit of banter?

"We're friends?" he teased, in that tone he always used. It now felt like a painful reminder, that you'd never truly get through to him. Really, he was testing the waters, and masking it as usual.

"I wish you would just be honest with me," you sighed quietly, your posture slightly hunched. Minho didn't like that. He liked when you stood tall, confident, proud.

"About what? I haven’t lied about anything," Minho busied himself with mopping the floor in order to distract himself from you. As long as he could see the shine in the wooden flooring panning across the entrance of the home, it was enough to put the aside the guilt he felt when the sparkle in your eye dimmed ever so slightly.

The days seemed to drag on endlessly after the unspoken rejection from the guy you had been crushing on for years, now. He hadn't opened up with you in a while - that's the shop we're talking about, not Minho and his thoughts and feelings. He hadn't ever really done that with you, minus a couple of short, rare occasions. Your parents had noticed the slight dullness that seemed to tie the two of you together, it taking a lot of convincing from them to you to lead another Visitor's Day with Minho. The only convincing factor for you in that moment had been when you drifted off into your own thoughts, fading away from the lecture you were receiving and instead finding comfort in the fact that it would be a busy day. There would be no time to think when you were working.

But when it came to the end of both of your shifts? Too much time to think, to dwell, to ponder.

"Well, umm, bye," you nodded politely at him and robotically waved with how stiff you felt in looking at him. Yet it seemed to give ample opportunity for Minho to grab your hand and pull you back towards him before you could rush away, just like he had regrettably done all those evenings ago.

"Oh, what's this about?" you questioned, praying that your hands didn't start getting clammy simply from being so close to him in this way.

"We're going on a date," Minho firmly stated, but his words didn't match his actions, his eyes shyly trailing off to the side and the tops of his ears turning red. How endearing.

"No."

"No?!"

"You can look me in the eyes and say it."

Oh, yes, he had definitely gotten lucky with you. Even though his heart pounded in worry that you would reject him too and he would have been too late, he was able to look you in the eyes and throw a one liner right back at you.

"Hmm, maybe I change my mind," Minho shrugged, feigning a carelessness and dropping his hand from yours.

"Hey! Come on!" you pulled him back towards you, chest to chest, an intense amount of love pouring from both of your souls as you gazed into each others' eyes.

"I'm taking you on a date," Minho affirmed, poking your nose to startle you before you realised he too had been on another planet.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @katzline @kiwihrt @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @lovingchan @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @theo4eve @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse

[justiceforvillains]

He Calls you a Gold Digger : BANGCHAN & MINHO VERSION

───────────♡̆̈─────────────

➽ Genre: Angst, Break Up

➽ Warnings: Some Swear words, accusation of being a gold digger

This was inspired by this amazing creator

Note: This is my First Fake Text thing so go easy on me lol

[Part 2]

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Chan

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Minho

[Part 2]

✦ Masterlist ✦

[becomingmina]

FUCKBOY MIN. little series w/ LEEKNOW

18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

pairing: lee minho x female reader genre + warnings: previous fkbuddy relationship, angst, smut mdni!, min is mean, oral (f recieving), semi-public (empty bathroom), hyunjin is a character wc: 3.4k mina's note: Minho is kinda mean. The way I would have done anything for him just so he can like me back. ❤️‍🩹

other works here ; any comments and thoughts you can drop them here ; ty for reading.

series chapter ➵ part two, part three ending one

"Isn't that Y/N?" Han asked looking over the older boy's shoulder.

Minho turns his head around and sees you amongst the crowd - of the very grand party he dreads. He feels himself tense up at the sight of you, he hasn’t seen you in a while and you looked as beautiful as ever. He can feel the corner of his lip turn up as he replays memories of him and you, and that’s when he realises he misses you.

But the feeling soon fades when he notices you’re with a guy. Only a month and you already found yourself a guy? Loud sweet giggles falls from your lips as you grip the man's biceps, laughing about nothings. He scoffs to himself as he recognises the man.

“Out of all the boys in this fucking city, she chose fucking Hwang Hyunjin?” Minho blurted, he was mad. “She’s got a type. Fuckboys,” he turns back around to Han and raises his brows, as if asking for him to agree with the statement.

“You’re not going to do anything right hyung?” Han nervously asked, knowing his hyung will definitely be doing something.

“She just looks too happy, Han. I gotta ruin it for her. Especially when it’s Hwang Hyunjin she’s fucking with,” Minho says before downing the rest of his drink and ditching the younger boy.

Minho met you a couple months ago at one of his mother’s grand get-together. He only came to these events in hopes to find a hook up or a quick fuck, he was never here to support his mom on what ever event-job-work-promotion she got herself into. He probably got with half of the girls who attended these parties with their rich parents.

“Imagine what your daddy would think of his sweet innocent daughter completely coming vulnerable underneath some guy she just met?” Minho would often whisper in their ears as he thrusts into them. He would say anything to get them to sleep with him then ghost them the next day, leaving them restless.

However you weren’t like any of these girls to him, well at first. Minho was addicted to you, he couldn’t put his finger on it but he kept coming back to you. After seeing you a few times, he proposed for you both to be fwb and you agreed, because to be very honest, Minho was hot and he was a great fuck, the best if you can say. Also, something about him felt very secure to you. Meaningless fucks turned into lingering kisses, then turned into secrets date nights. You both shared such gentle and heartfelt moments, like cooking dinner together to holding hands randomly. Minho became so romantic with you secretly, but he never sincerely voiced it. You fell for him. You wanted to do anything for him in hopes that he liked you back. You became obsessive, got restless, jealous that there was many other girls hovering around him. You wanted him to yourself, and it got to the point where you had pull him away one night, letting your tears run down your face as you admitted your feelings to him, intoxicated. And maybe because he never dealt with such heavy feelings and high emotions like this before that, he turned on you.

“Y/N, you're just like the other girls.. Maybe worse. Easy. Clingy. I would never like you back.. Are you crazy?" You couldn't believe it, he abandoned you. Minho ended up treating you just like all the other girls.

Now the other half of the girls that Minho didn’t hooked up with were probably sorted by Hwang Hyunjin. The city’s heartbreaker. Classic story of two best friends that now hates each other. Minho and Hyunjin grew up together, basically brothers due to their mother’s close friendship. But when the boys got older they grew apart. Times that was supposed be spent together catching up on a tv show or playing basketball turned into time spent with a girl trying to get her to undress underneath them. It was now a competition to see who played the most girls. Oh how toxic.

So when Minho saw you in the ballroom with Hyunjin, he assumed you two were sleeping together. Minho needed to get you alone before the end of the night.

He needed to ruin you, in order to ruin it for Hyunjin aswell.

“Should I get you another drink?” The long haired boy asked realising the glass in your hand was almost empty.

“I was actually eyeing the orange slices over there-” you pointed out, gesturing to the massive grazing table.

“-Mimosa?” He was quick to respond, tone so sweet and cheeky.

“You know me too well Hyunjin,” you smiled admiringly up at the boy.

“I’ll get the champagne, you get the oranges and we meet back here then,” he says, hints of his dorky smile showing.

You were finally alone.

"Hey baby," Minho speaks from behind you, his voice so deep, hands find their way to your hips sending chills down your spine. He used to call you that all the time, and your heart never fails to beat out of your chest from it.

Lee Minho. Why the hell was he behind you? Shouldn’t he breaking some poor innocent girl’s heart?

“I missed you.” You stood still at his words, unable to move.

No not this again.

"Minho, go away," you finally spoke, building up a wall that you know isn’t going to stay up.

"No. I need to talk to you baby. I missed you," he made sure you heard him, his hands now made its way higher to your waist. "You look so pretty tonight..” one hand rests on your waist as the other one slowly travels to your thigh. “I missed your pretty little body so much, baby,” his lips were so close to your face, the proximity is so familiar, so safe that you wanted to turn and press your lips on his. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Minho had you under his spell, his presence was all it took for you to consider him again. You lean back, head taking its place on his shoulder as your back pressed on his chest. You tilt your head up slowly, finally looking at him. Oh, he was so beautiful as ever. His cute little bunny teeth showing from his agape mouth, his pretty sparkly eyes looking down at you, and his sharp nose, which you remember you use to peck so much. You missed him so much, you couldn’t resist it anymore.

“Min.” You say in the most vulnerable tone ever, gripping his forearm, giving in to him. He smiles at the nickname, the nickname only you were allowed to call him by.

"Come with me," and with that he yanked your arm dragging you through the crowd, for sure going to leave Hyunjin confused when he comes back.

Minho pulled you into an empty bathroom and pressed you against the door after locking it, instantly smashing his lips on to yours. His lips feels so soft against yours and your body hasn’t felt this rush of adrenaline in a while that you were going insane. Already feeling yourself start to go wet, you were so bothered, you needed more. Your teeth clashes as he practically devours you, his hand hoists one of your leg over his hip.

“Need you on the counter, bunny,” he murmured in between the kisses, there goes the nicknames again. He carries you to the counter, helping you up, your legs immediately spreading for him to slot himself in between. His hand slips underneath your dress, brushing against your clothed core.

“Already so wet for me,” he smirks, feeling the patch on your panties. “Can I?” He asked tapping his finger twice on your core. You nodded throwing your head back and he accepts the invitation to suck on your neck, leaving marks. Minho’s fingers pulls your panties to the side, his pointer finger finally runs through your folds. You were so warm, so sticky already that Minho let out a moan into your neck, unable to control the pleasure he was also having. You jolted forward when his fingers finally entered you pumping you slowly, causing him to let out an airy scoff. “Need to taste, let me taste?” You nod again knowing every time Minho ate you out, he would reward you with his dick for being such a good girl. You wanted that again.

“Need to hear you say it, Y/N,” he stops his movements, to brush your hair out of your face adoring your features.

Verbal consent has always been a big thing to Minho. He has so much control when the other person expresses what they want. It feeds into his already massive ego seeing the other person submit to him, makes him feel like he was in winning. And right there and then when he asked that question he wanted you to submit, so he can feel bigger than Hyunjin.

“Yes, please Min. I want it,” you gave him exactly what he wanted. You missed this. You missed his body and how he fucked you, how he made love to you. You miss Minho. You miss how sweet and gentle he was. How he would text you if you got home okay after spending the entire day with him. How innocent and lovely he can be talking about his cats, his hobbies. You wanted him to like you back, to want you back that you were willing to let him do anything to you, to use you.

“You’re still so good baby,” he buttered you up pressing a kiss your lips once more, letting it linger on a bit before dropping to his knees. He bundles your thin long dress around your waist, pulling down your soaked panties and burying them deep in his pocket. He is met with your pretty pussy, glistening with arousal. Your scent takes him by surprise and he goes numb. Oh, how he remembers it all so well, he would spend forever in between your legs on a Sunday afternoon. He parts your thighs and moves his face closer to your cunt, finally sliding his tongue in your slit. You still taste as sweet as ever too and that was all it took for Minho to devour you, to eat you out like a starved man. You lean back on one hand and the other one finds its place in Minho’s hair keeping it there. He was so good with his tongue, alternating between giving fat stripes, kitten licks and harsh sucks on your clit. Minho was getting you closer to your orgasm. Moans and whimpers falls from your lips as you allow him to hear how good he is making you feel.

“Feels good baby? You still taste so sweet, I just know you’re still going to be so tight." he removes himself from you just so he can glance up at your fucked out state nodding to every word he was saying.

“Want to- to cum,” you needed to cum, you were on the verge of tears feeling the tension in your stomach start to fade..

“Hm?”

“Please, I want to cum Min,” you restates and he dives back down. He grips your thighs as he makes out with your pussy, his nose hitting your clit every now and then to get you going again. Minho picks up his pace, moving his kisses to your clit where he then sucks harshly earning a sharp moan from you. You jolt forward, thighs closing around him, throwing your head back as you spray Minho with your sweet release. You feel him smirk against your pussy, his mouth and chin coated in your arousal. That wasn’t enough for you, you wanted more. Your hand pushes his head further into your cunt as you grind down in his nose, riding out your high. Minho lets you use him, his tongue still overstimulating you until you were satisfied. Frankly, he found it hot how after just one taste you go feral for him.

He licks his lips cleaning himself off as he gets up from your legs, helping you pull down your dress. He cages you between his hands that are now resting on the counter, you don’t move. Just staring up at him, he examines your features again, taking all everything that he used to adore. Something about this moment just feels so innocent to both of you, that Minho can help but give you small giggles, his lips turning into a smile. You mirror it in return, sitting in silence as you both recalls the old times.

A sudden buzz of your phone causes you both to snap out of the sweet moment, heads turning to the device next to you on the counter. And Minho grows hot, his reputation overshadowed his feelings for you the second he saw Hyunjin’s name pop up. He lets out a scoff, remembering why he got you in this bathroom in the first place.

Minho's leans in slowly, one hand still gripping on the counter but the other comes up close to your face. Your phone forgotten now. You think he's about to kiss you but he dodges your lips, making his way by your ears as he lets out an airy chuckle, he sounded so cocky you were taken by surprise at his sudden change in demeanour.

"God, Y/N. You're still so easy," His tone deep aiming an attack on you as he reaches for the paper towel dispenser behind your head. He pulls out a towel throwing it to you, to clean yourself up. "Still so desperate for me". It broke you. He has never done this to you before, usually he'll be on after care and cleaning up. Your head snaps to his face, taking in his smirk and dark eyes. You swallow hard, a salty taste coat your tongue and you realise you're trying you best to not cry.

“Are you this desperate for Hyunjin too?” you furrowed your brows together in response. What?

“Hmm?” You asked confused.

“You got a type Y/N, you’re so pathetic.” He continues, the vibrating of your phone doesn't help but fuels his anger.

"Min, what do you mean?" It was clear to you that Minho and Hyunjin weren’t the best of friends when you meet with Minho. But that night when Minho abandoned you, Hyunjin witnessed the whole thing. He help you get up, covering you with his his coat, wiping away your tears and took you home.

"What are you doing here with Hwang Hyunjin?" he finally asked. But you don't respond, instead you hop off the counter, unable to control how hurt you are from his previous act. Your eyes sparkle, cheeks pink, lips trembling. He takes in your reaction, making him feel a bit guilty as he has seen this all before. The night you admitted your feelings.

"You guys fucking?" this time his tone and eyes soften, it was like he needed to confirm it first before continuing to take out his anger and tension on you. You reach for your phone but he snatches before you could, declining the call sliding it across the counter where you can’t reach.

"Does he fuck you as good as I do?" He moves in closer, your noses barely touching. "He treats you better than I do?" You stay quiet.

You didn't know what to answer. Do you lie? Do you teel the truth? Regardless at the end of this Minho isn't coming back to you right? You realised the moment he called you pathetic.

He moves in to kiss your cheek, a gentle peck. Your heart starts to race even more, unable to look him in the eyes. One hand comes up to hold your face, thumb rubbing against your cheeks. "Come on baby, tell me and I'll give you what you want," his lips comes in contact with yours. You melt into the kiss, your hands grasping the waist band of his trousers. Snap out of it, Y/N. "Hmm, you going to be good and tell me? He kisses you better than I do?" He kisses you harder, helping you back up the counter. He takes back his initial position, in-between your legs. Minho moves his kisses down your neck as his hands advances to your shoulders, pulling the thin straps down exposing your chest. He gulps at the sight and latching his lips onto your boob, his hand groping the other one. You tired your hardest not to give in but you cant, the feeling is too strong. You whimper at the contact, your hand palming his hard on through his pants. It was the first time you touched him that night and Minho throws his head back, unable to control the sexual frustration.

"Fuck- see what you do to me, baby?" He coos. You undo his belt, pulling his trousers along with his boxer down, meeting with his big cock. He was already so red, a bead of pre cum already spilling frim his tip. You grab the base of his cock, holding it firmly giving him a gentle pump. Just like the way you always did. Fuck Y/N I missed this so much. Minho finds himself addicted again as he shuts his eyes, a little moan slipping from his lip. You continue to pump him and he tries his best not to give into you but your hands felt so good, he could cum like this. You lean forward attaching your lips to his neck, leaving marks just like he did to you before. “Want you Min,” you whimper on his skin. You needed to feel him inside you.

"Answer me first, Y/N." He was getting irritated at your lack of answer. God, why are you so caught up on this Minho! Your phone rings again, the buzzing noises incites his thought, and that was the breaking point for him. Hwang Hyunjin. Only Y/N would want such a pathetic man like him. "I'm not fucking you if you’re dirty Y/N," he says and you halt your movements, completely removed yourself from him.

"What?" You replied. Minho is now faced with your confused face.

"You're so desperate Y/N. I can’t believe you’re with Hyunjin right after I left you? You're so dirty for that,” Minho repeat himself moving closer to you to provoke you, he was sure you had given yourself to the other bloke. Your lack of answer confirmed it for him too. “Did you fuck Hyunjin?" But he was determined to hear it.

You took a deep sigh, and all the names and remarks he had made to you tonight flooded your head. You’re hurt. God, Y/N you are pathetic. You wanted to turn this on him but you couldn’t. Regardless of what you answer, you couldn’t win and Minho won’t be yours.

"No I didn't because I love you, Min," you confessed, pushing him off you. You proceed to pull up your dress and jump off the counter. You needed to leave him.

You brushed past him retrieving your phone and bag, unlocking the door and walking out.

Leaving him the way he left you, abandoned. Although it was your feelings that he disregarded, leaving him while he was hard and sexually unsatisfied like this would have hurt the same for a fuck boy like him.

But Minho wasn’t hurt by that. Your words was the thing that stung him. Shes loves me? No one had ever done this to Minho, he didn't know what to do. Such a similar feeling to how you felt - when he ghosted you and just now.

His words still played in your mind, they're still lingering around you. You wanted to sob, cry your heart out but you couldn't just yet, only allowing the tears to build in your eyes. Did you really just let him treat you like that? You chose pleasure again instead of protecting your already broken heart. Minho was right, you are fucking easy. You see the exit through your blurry vision and you rushed to it, pushing into the many people that was just crowding around. Just as you're about to leave a hand pulls you back.

"Y/n, you okay?" You turned around to meet with Hyunjin, and you couldn't help but burry your face in his chest as you let your tears fall.

"I hate him," you cried loudly, your whole body shaking and your legs go numb. Hyunjin hugs you, both arms wrapped around you tightly as he lets you become completely vulnerable. You were safe with him.

"I know.. Let's go home."

[linoxpudding]

Written In The Stars- Lee Know

summary: he's your soulmate, but he's already in love with someone else

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, soulmate au, unrequited love

word count: 1828 words

a/n: this was requested, really loved this concept— should I do part 2? 👀

PART 2

Masterlist

~°~

You had always dreamed of meeting your soulmate. As a hopeless romantic, you had imagined it all—the instant connection, the rush of emotions, the realization that this was the person meant for you.

From the time you were little, you'd trace the blank space on your wrist, imagining the mark that would one day bloom there—the sign of your destined person. Stories of soulmates finding each other had filled your heart with longing, whispering promises of a love so deep, so undeniable, that nothing could stand in its way.

And then on a fateful morning, three months after you turned thirteen, it happened.

A delicate star-shaped pattern shimmered on your wrist, fading from golden light into solid ink.

This was it.

Your breath had caught in your throat, your heart pounding as you traced over the pattern with shaking fingers. It was real.

Your soulmate was out there.

And you were going to find them.

************

You had spent years searching—watching, waiting, hoping. But soulmarks were unpredictable. Some people found their destined person right away. Others searched for years, only to meet their soulmate at the most unexpected moment.

For you, it happened through Bang Chan.

************

You had known Chan for a while now, having met through mutual friends, and occasionally you hung out with his group that consisted of your mutual friends from college. One evening, he invited you over for a casual get-together at his place. You had no idea how much your life was about to change.

When you arrived, laughter and conversation filled the apartment. People greeted you warmly, but your attention was drawn to him.

Lee Minho. 

There was something about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, confident yet not overbearing. Maybe it was his sharp eyes that held mischief and mystery. He was handsome, almost unfairly so, with an aura that pulled attention effortlessly.

The moment you met, there was some sort of instant spark. 

As the night went on, he was leaning back in his chair, eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched you argue with Jisung, another close friend of Chan that he introduced you to, over some ridiculous topic. And then he joined in.

The two of you had gone back and forth for at least ten minutes, teasing and taunting each other like you had known each other for years.

“Wow,” Minho had finally said, crossing his arms with a smirk, “Chan, where have you been hiding this one?”

Chan had laughed, “Right? I knew you two would get along.”

And from that moment on, you did.

The banter was easy, natural, like a rhythm you had both unknowingly fallen into. He would throw a jab, and you would return it without missing a beat. It became something of a game— one that neither of you acknowledged but played anyway. 

After that night at Chan’s place, you and Minho exchanged numbers, a silent agreement to keep in touch. But life was busy— too busy for long conversations or one-on-one meetings. Your interactions were limited to occasional group hangouts, fleeting moments where you’d exchange teasing remarks and match each other’s humor effortlessly.

For a while that was enough, until you saw the mark.

************

It happened weeks later, on a movie night at Changbin and Hyunjin’s place. It was a casual kind of movie night where everyone showed up in sweats, curled into couches with blankets draped over their laps, trading playful jabs between mouthfuls of popcorn. The air smelled like butter and cinnamon-scented candles, and the TV flickered with a half-watched movie as conversations overlapped.

Minho sat across from you, comfortably leaning into the cushions, his usual smirk in place as he fired off another joke. The room erupted into laughter, but yours was the loudest— it always was when it came to him. It was effortless, the way the two of you fell into banter, the way he made you laugh like no one else could.

And then, in the midst of it all, he reached for his coffee.

It was such a small thing, so inconsequential, yet it changed everything.

His sleeve rode up slightly, exposing the inside of his wrist for the briefest moment. But that moment was enough.

Your laughter faded. Your pulse stilled.

Because there, etched into his skin, was your mark.

The very same pattern you had spent your whole life tracing absentmindedly, the one you had dreamed of seeing on someone else one day. On your soulmate.

Lee Minho was your soulmate.

The world should have stopped. This should have been the moment where everything clicked into place, where the universe finally made sense. But before the thought could fully form, a voice cut through the haze.

“Sorry, babe. I’m late.”

A woman appeared beside him, her tone light, affectionate. She leaned in without hesitation, pressing a kiss to his lips as her hand came to rest on his shoulder like she had done it a hundred times before.

Minho turned to her, his smirk softening into something warmer, something real. It was love.

You thought you knew him well enough. Well enough to anticipate his dry jokes, to recognize the mischievous glint in his eye before he spoke. But clearly not well enough to know he had a girlfriend.

And that was when you knew. Minho wasn’t waiting for a soulmate. Because he was already in love with someone else.

You barely remembered the rest of that night. You smiled, you laughed when appropriate, you responded to conversations, but your mind was elsewhere. On him. On her. On the way he looked at her, touched her, stood beside her like she was his world.

And that realization destroyed you.

************

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

The mark wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a guarantee of love, just a promise that this was the person who was meant to understand you like no one else could.

So you stayed.

Not because you were waiting. Not because you were hoping. But because leaving felt impossible.

Chan’s group became your own, and Minho was always there—laughing, teasing, existing so effortlessly in your world. 

At first, it was unbearable.

Every time he absentmindedly rubbed the mark on his wrist, a quiet frown flickering across his face, your stomach twisted. Did he feel it too? Did he ever wonder?

But then his girlfriend would call, and he would answer with a voice so gentle it made you want to scream.

She was perfect. Kind, beautiful, talented, and Minho loved her. He was happy.

And you? You were just his friend with the same mark.

************

The months that followed felt like moving through water—slow, heavy, suffocating.

You tried convincing yourself that nothing had changed. That Minho was still just a friend, a fleeting presence in your life, someone you saw in passing at group hangouts and laughed with over inside jokes. But knowing the truth made every interaction feel heavier, every lingering glance, every easy banter laced with something you couldn’t ignore.

And yet, he remained blissfully unaware. He didn’t know. He didn’t see.

Not until that night.

The party at your friend’s penthouse was loud, the music thrumming through the walls, laughter and conversation bleeding together into a dull hum. But you weren’t part of it. Instead, you stood in the dimly lit kitchen, gripping the counter so tightly your knuckles turned white, trying to steady yourself against the weight in your chest.

You weren’t sure why you had come. Maybe some part of you still craved the normalcy of being around him, of pretending nothing had changed. Maybe you were just tired of avoiding him.

“Hey,” he greeted you, entering the kitchen. His voice was soft, but it made your stomach drop, “You're still here?”

You didn’t turn right away. You couldn’t. You replied weakly, “Yeah, needed a breather.”

He hummed, reaching for a glass of water. His movements were effortless, casual—until he caught sight of your wrist.

His body went rigid beside you. His eyes flickered from your mark to his own. You felt it before you saw it— the way the air shifted, the sharp intake of his breath, the stillness that settled between you like a physical thing. 

You felt your chest tighten.

“…It’s you,” he whispered.

Slowly, hesitantly, you followed his gaze down to your wrist.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

You watched as realization hit him like a crashing wave, his expression flickering through shock, confusion, and something deeper—something you didn’t want to name.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, finally, he did.

“But…” His voice was quiet, almost fragile. He swallowed, staring at you like he wished he could unsee it. “But I love her.”

Three words.

Three words that carved into you deeper than you thought possible.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, to absorb the quiet devastation in his eyes— the same devastation mirrored in your own.

“I know,” you said, offering him a small, trembling smile. “I know, it's okay.”

His head snapped up, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “No, it’s not.”

And that was the difference between you.

You had spent weeks coming to terms with the inevitable, had learned to swallow down the ache every time you saw him with her. But for him, this was the first time. This was his moment of realization, and it was breaking him apart in real time.

His voice was rough when he spoke again, like he was fighting against something he didn’t understand. “How long have you known?”

Your lips parted, the answer lingering on the tip of your tongue. But what would that change?

“Does it matter?” you asked softly, finally meeting his gaze.

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with frustration— at you, at himself, at the cruel twist of fate that had led you here.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered, shaking his head, his voice filled with something raw and painful. “I should have—”

“Minho.”

Your voice was steadier than you felt. He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could see it—the weight of it, the way his heart and mind waged a silent war.

He didn’t want to hurt you. But he loved her.

You reached for him before you could stop yourself, your fingers just barely brushing against his wrist before pulling away. A silent offering. A silent goodbye.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, softer this time. “You love her.”

And that was the end of it.

Minho exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came.

There was nothing left to say.

So you smiled, even as your heart cracked, even as you felt the finality of it settle into your bones. And then you turned, slipping out of the kitchen and back into the party, leaving Minho alone with the mark that had changed everything.

Minho was never meant to be yours.

-----------------

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @vietjeb @my-neurodivergent-world

[lieslab]

Soon you'll get better

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend tries to help you with your headaches, but when a doctor diagnoses you with something far worse than you ever expected, your world shatters.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2.6K

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood, nausea, a seizure, doctors, surgery, and hospitals.

_ _ _

How do you tell the love of your life that you’re sick? What do you say when it all falls apart? When someone rips out the happy ending and throws the pages, leaving them scattered, and thrown across the floor? Minho is your entire life. He’s supposed to be and yet, you’re not sure how to break the news. 

It started with headaches. The dull ache annoyed you endlessly, but they were manageable. Life took a stumble when they morphed into mind-bending migraines. The sharp pain behind your eyes, the nausea, and the sensitivity to every bright light and loud sound. 

Dull aches turned into piercing needles. It felt like being jabbed over and over again, the needles pressed against the back of your eyes. No matter what you tried, they grew impossible to manage. The painkillers stopped working. 

It grew normal to come home from work, bury yourself in the darkness of your bedroom, and sleep for hours. When you could catch sleep, it became the only thing to relieve the pain in your head. Exhaustion clung to you, but you thought it would be temporary. 

Perhaps it was too much caffeine or maybe you were pulling away from it with your caffeine withdrawals. If not that, you were certainly struggling with not drinking enough water. Maybe that was the reason why your brain screamed against you and tormented you in the worst way possible. 

Minho called your name when he came home from the doctor. He searched the house and froze in the doorway of your shared bedroom. Curled into a ball on your side, you didn’t respond. Even talking caused the pain in your head to drill harder against your skull. 

The nausea and dizziness wiped you out entirely. Soft footsteps padded over to you. He clicked on the lamp behind you, trying not to make your head feel worse. He called your name in a whisper, wondering if you were awake or not. 

The bags under your eyes grew from brown to purple. You blinked rapidly as his eyes met yours. He frowned at your paleness. All he wanted to do was make you feel better, but he didn’t know how. 

The warm baths didn’t help. He tried to massage the side of your head, but it led to you pushing him away. He picked up one of those compression bands that vowed to help, but the packaging lied. The immediate relief never came. 

“How is it today?” He whispered. 

“Worse. It’s so much worse.” 

He reached over, pushed a piece of hair from your face, and gently cupped your cheek. “I know you don’t want to, but you should consider going to the doctor. You can’t keep dealing with this. I know how exhausting it is, I feel like you’re withering away from me.” 

“I have an appointment tomorrow. Until then, I’ll be here suffering.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it didn’t meet your eyes. 

He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the middle of your forehead. No matter what happened, he just wanted you to be back to normal. This destroyed your normal personality. You didn’t have the energy to talk back to him anymore. Your usual go-getter attitude disappeared entirely. You were becoming the ghost of who you once were.

He just wanted to see you smile again. 

_ _ _ 

When you came back from the doctor the next day, you left your bag and keys on the small table, beside the door. You didn’t have the energy to put everything where it needed to go. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes and drag yourself to the living room. 

Test after test after test. 

A bruise bloomed where a nurse drew blood with gentle hands. You described the experiences you’d been having. Everything from the headaches, the migraines, to the lack of energy. You assumed you fell victim to chronic migraines, but your reality was so much worse. 

When the doctor diagnosed you with a brain tumor, you didn’t understand. How could you? Nobody in your genetic mapping had anything like this. Sure, you’ve heard of cancer before, but you? No way. 

You did what you could to avoid it. You drank your water, ate a balanced diet, and you were active. Still young, you lived with the silent assumption that something like this wouldn’t happen to you. If you had cancer, it wouldn’t grip onto you until you were older. Maybe your sixties or seventies, but this young? 

Silence engulfed you on the couch. The scent of hospital disinfectant made you feel sick. You were no longer there, but you still felt sick to your stomach. Your doctor pulled out the scan they took of your head. 

The small white anomaly stuck out in the usual contours of your brain folds. Alone on the hospital bed, you tried to swallow the heavy reality alone. Staring at the image, you felt disconnected from your body. How could this be your brain? Wasn’t your body supposed to protect you? 

You laid with your head pressed against the floral arm of the couch. This couch that you begged Minho to get, despite him not being a fan of the pattern. Because two years ago, you thought the two of you would be a forever thing. Now you were navigating the heart shattering realization that your version of forever might not be as long as you wanted it to be. 

“Babe?” Minho’s voice called out from the hallway. He headed towards you with outstretched arms. How long had he been here? “Are you crying? What’d you find out?” 

You wouldn’t do that to him. Minho with his slightly messy hair and the personality you joked that he adopted from his cats. Minho that screwed around and made you smile, no matter how hard of a day he had. The Minho that surprised you with seaweed soup in bed on your birthday. 

“They’re not sure,” you finally uttered after a few conflicting moments. “They think it might be chronic migraines, but they still want to run some tests.” 

“Really?” He frowned. “I thought they were going to do a ton of tests and-” 

“They did some, but I wasn’t feeling too great. I’ll go back when I feel better. The last thing they want to do is have to admit me, you know?” 

“Their job is to help you get better.” 

“And they will, when I’m better, I promise.” 

You should never make a promise that you can’t keep. 

_ _ _ 

Two weeks later, Minho screamed your name with tears in his eyes. You appeared at the JYP building to have lunch. The two of you just entered the canteen area to find food. 

Circular tables scattered around the area. Other idols took breaks here and there. Laughter filled the air. You tried to keep it together, but you didn't feel great. Your head ached and your stomach was queasy. You tried to act like you were normal, but things continued to spiral out of control. 

The doctor left you voicemails, but you ignored them. Ignoring them was easier. You tried to find the courage to tell Minho the truth, but every time you stared at those bright brown eyes, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t find the courage to destroy his life, so you kept quiet. 

“What are you thinking? They have really good fresh sushi. On a day like today, nothing sounds better.” 

“Sushi?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Sounds great.” You dropped your head and blinked rapidly. Over the past few days, you had episodes where your vision acted up. Black spots took over and you could usually blink it away. Today’s episode felt different. 

When they finally stopped, you hurried after him. A black tray sat in his hands. Unaware that anything was wrong, he headed in the direction of the cold sushi. You grabbed your own tray and rushed to catch up. 

He grabbed a small white plate, the tongs, and began to pile up the sushi. “This morning, I spent so long dancing with the guys. I think I could eat an entire horse if they offered it.” 

You hummed, set your tray down on the metal railing, and rubbed your eyes again. You blinked harder. The spots resisted your futile attempts and you sighed. He glanced over your shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

“Just tired.” 

“When are you going back to the doctor?” 

“Probably sometime this week.” 

He pulled away from the sushi and moved his tray further down the line. A variety of sides sat everywhere. He began to load up his tray with another small plate. You grabbed your own porcelain plate to grab sushi and that’s when your vision cut out and your body went tense. 

He whipped around at the sound of a plate shattering. Worried for you, he dropped beside your limp form on the floor. He didn’t expect your limbs to curl inward. Your legs pushed your torso up and your back contorted. Your wrists curled inward and that’s when the seizing began. 

He called your name in a panic, trying to get you to respond, but you couldn’t. Your muscles tensed, your body bucked, and you shifted in such a way, you nearly hit the sharp shards of porcelain. 

“Help! Someone help!” 

A few idols and trainees rushed over. He grabbed your arms desperately, but your body didn’t stop moving. Someone pulled him away and a younger trainee stepped in. He pushed your body away from the glass and held you on your side, so you didn’t choke on your tongue. 

No sign of fear in his eyes, he glanced up at the nearest person. “Call for an ambulance, send them to the JYP building, and tell them someone is seizing.” 

Things turned to chaos. Someone pulled out a phone. You didn’t stop bucking beneath the man’s hands. Minho’s eyes watered. The familiar hue of your eyes disappeared. In its place, the milky white of your eyes stared back at him.

He never cried in public, but when it came to your pain, he was a fountain that couldn’t stop leaking.  _ _ _ 

“There’s fluid building up around the brain.” 

“The tumor is pressing against-” 

“There’s no time to waste. It’s either surgery or they die! Clear an operating room! Give me a surgical team and tell them to scrub in now!” 

Time turned to jelly in the waiting room. Minho waited with his arms crossed over his chest. His leg bounced and he chewed on his lower lip. News of the incident reached the rest of his idol group. 

Beside him, Han and Chan sat nearly just as worried. They showed up after figuring out where the ambulance took you. When Minho came rushing into the emergency room beside the gurney, your doctor from two weeks ago had been passing through the emergency room. 

He couldn’t believe it. You never told him about your brain tumor. He never knew and this entire time, you’d been acting like everything was fine on the outside. Upset with himself, he grew frustrated at not knowing the mental torment you were internally dealing with. He wished he would have picked up on it sooner. 

And now he sat in the crowded waiting room with two of his brothers. He couldn’t speak to them, even if he wanted to. If he spoke, he was sure he’d fall apart and burst into sobs that’d never stop. 

Chan texted updates to the rest of the guys. Han held Minho’s hand, but it wasn’t enough this time. Rapping was easy when he held Han’s hand. Holding his hand and realizing the love of his life sat on the verge of death, it became much harder to accept. 

When the doctor showed up in scrubs hours later, Minho was the first one on his feet. The doctor sucked in a deep breath and he assumed the worst. His stomach twisted in knots. He couldn’t breathe. 

“The tumor is entirely out. We won’t know if it’s cancerous until we do a biopsy on it. Recovery is going to be hard no matter what, but they’re recovering and out of surgery.” 

“If it’s cancer?” Minho whispered, trying to keep himself held together. 

“Then we’ll do whatever we can to prevent it from coming back. The fluid build-up caused migraines and the seizure. Taking it weighed other risks, but those are risks I was willing to take.” 

“Can I see them?” 

“Of course.” 

Minho gave a final look to Han and Chan. Han squeezed his hand a final time and Chan nodded. He wiped his eyes and followed the doctor to your room. Seeing you in your state, it broke his heart. 

Your hair had to be shaved for the surgery. A line of stitches sat along your scalp. The doctor led him closer and gestured to a chair beside your bed. “If you need anything at all, press the call button and a nurse will be here immediately.” 

“Thank you.” 

The doctor reached out, gave his shoulder a light squeeze, and disappeared from the room. Hooked to a variety of medical equipment, you turned into a stranger. Beneath IVs of medicine and the tangled cords of a heart rate monitor, he felt like a stranger in your room. 

Flashes of your seizure shot through his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut and placed his hands in his face. He just wished you would have told him about everything. Maybe, he would have felt less guilty about the state you were in. 

“Minho?” You croaked five minutes later. 

He sniffled and jerked upright. “Hey,” he forced himself to smile. “I see you’re still kicking.” 

“I’m invincible.” 

“You think so?” 

“I’m trying to be.” 

Even in the middle of everything, you were still trying to be upbeat. Swaddled in the warmth of sedation, your head didn’t hurt anymore. Your eyes met his and then you shut them. “They’ve got me on the good shit.”

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Rude.” 

“But you’re my idiot.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the center of your forehead. “Don’t scare me like that ever again. I thought you were dying.” His own eyes shut and he kept his forehead pressed against yours. 

“Not dying, just keeping you on your toes. Reminding you of what you’ve got. Don’t take me for granted ever again.” 

“You’re such a pain in my ass when you’re sedated.” 

“I always am.” 

He pulled away with a sigh. “You should get some rest.” 

“Did the doctor fix everything?” 

“For now. They’re going to biopsy your tumor to see if it was cancerous or not.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“Because I feel good.”

“You’re still drugged up.” 

“I feel like myself again. I know me and I know my body. I think if it was cancer, I’d still feel like shit.” 

He stared at you, trying not to cry again. He blinked rapidly and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You should get some sleep again. You’re foolish when you’re on drugs.” 

“Your worst nightmare.” 

“Good night.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, dork.”  _ _ _ 

And you were right. You knew your body pretty well. A week later, your tumor was diagnosed as a benign tumor. Not cancerous, you were issued a few follow up scans and blood tests. You’d probably have scans every year, just to keep an eye on things, but that was manageable.  

You’d do whatever it took to keep your forever with Minho for a long, long time.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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[bangchangbinnie]

A Love Not Recalled 2 l.mh

After an argument that should have never happened, Minho is left regretful, not realizing he’d need a lot more than apologies to fix the pain

Genre: Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Since this was heavily requested (thank you all for enjoying the original part) I have decided to make a part 2!! Thank you all for reading! ❤️

-

The door shut behind him with a quiet click, but the sound felt deafening in the sterile silence of the hospital.

Lee Know’s hands trembled at his sides, his legs heavy as if they were filled with lead. His heartbeat was erratic, his breath shallow, chest rising and falling as though he had run miles just to get here.

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the way you looked at him, or for the way you didn’t look at him.

Your eyes—once so full of warmth, of recognition, of love—held none of it. Just distant confusion, like he was a stranger, someone who didn’t belong there.

The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating, unbearable, and now, as he stepped out of the hospital room, it felt like the walls were closing in, the air in the hallway thick and stifling. He could still hear your voice, that soft, uncertain apology.

“I don’t remember you.”

The words echoed, over and over, clawing at his insides, hollowing him out.

He barely noticed Chan and a few of the others sitting in the waiting room down the hall, their hushed voices coming to a stop the moment they saw him.

Minho stopped in his tracks. His entire body felt numb, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Chan was the first to stand. “Minho…” said man didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond.

His throat was tight, his mind spiraling into places he didn’t want it to go. His nails dug into his palms as he swallowed back the lump forming in his throat.

Hyunjin and Seungmin exchanged a glance from where they sat, both looking unsure of what to say. The room was too quiet, too heavy, the tension suffocating.

Chan took a step closer. “Minho, talk to me.”

Minho opened his mouth, but no words came out. He stared at Chan, at the way concern etched into his features, at the way their friends sat with quiet unease, waiting for him to say something.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t form a single sentence.

What was he supposed to say? That he had walked into that hospital room expecting to make things right? He had spent the past two days convincing himself that you were just being stubborn—only to find out that you didn’t even know who he was anymore?

That the woman he loved, the woman he had pushed away, had forgotten him completely?

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched at his sides. Chan’s gaze softened. “Minho…”

That was all it took.

Minho’s body gave out, his knees buckling as he staggered back against the wall. He barely registered Chan stepping forward, catching his arm, steadying him. His head fell forward, his shoulders shaking as a ragged breath tore from his lips.

His chest ached, raw and open, as he sucked in another breath—only for it to come out in a harsh, broken sob.

“She doesn’t remember me,” he choked out, barely recognizing his own voice. “She doesn’t… she doesn’t know who I am.”

Chan’s grip on him tightened. “Minho—”

“I let her leave.” His voice was barely above a whisper, his vision blurring as he looked down at his trembling hands. “I let her walk out. I didn’t call. I didn’t—” His breath caught again, a wave of nausea washing over him. “I thought she was just mad, I thought she’d come back, I—”

Another sob wracked through his chest.

Hyunjin stood from his seat, his expression unreadable. “Minho—”

“I did this,” he whispered, his voice strangled. “She was upset. She left because of me. If I hadn’t—”

His knees threatened to buckle again. The guilt was crushing, unbearable, suffocating.

‘Maybe you’re not enough.’

The words he had thrown at you that night, so carelessly, so cruelly, came rushing back.

And now? Now, he wasn’t enough. Even if he stood right in front of you, you would never look at him the same way again.

A sharp, broken sound escaped him, his hands gripping his hair as his chest caved in. Chan exhaled slowly before wrapping a firm arm around Lee Know’s shoulders, steadying him as he finally, completely shattered.

And in that cold, sterile hallway, for the first time in years—

He cried.

-

The hallway was quiet again.

Almost an hour had passed and the storm inside him hadn’t fully calmed—but it had dulled, settled into a low, aching throb in his chest that never quite stopped. He sat alone now in the hospital’s waiting area, staring blankly at the floor, his hands clasped together tightly, as if holding himself together was the only thing keeping him from falling apart again.

Chan had stepped away, giving him space. The others had quietly left one by one, their concerned glances lingering as they faded down the corridor. No one said it, but they all knew—

He had broken something that couldn’t be fixed. Yet, here he was. Still hoping. Still hurting.

He came back with trembling hands and a small paper bag crinkling softly at his side. Inside was your favorite drink from the café near your apartment—a stupidly sweet latte with whipped cream and cinnamon. You always made fun of him for remembering how specific your order was, and he used to pretend to be annoyed by it.

Now he clung to that memory like it was the last thread tethering him to you.

-

A day later, Minho stood outside your hospital room door for a moment, silently composing himself, repeating in his head: Don’t cry. Not again. Don’t scare her.

When he walked in, you were sitting upright, flipping idly through a magazine someone had left on your bedside table. Your eyes met his. And for a moment—just a fraction of a second—his heart dared to hope.

But then came the same look of confusion. Kind. Polite, but distant.

“Hi,” you said with a small, uncertain smile. “You’re Minho, right?” He swallowed hard, the knot in his throat thick and unrelenting, and nodded slowly, every step he took into the room feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. His hands shook slightly as he held out a paper cup, fingers tightening instinctively around it like it was the only thing grounding him.

His voice came out softer than he intended—tender, raw, like something fragile wrapped in layers of guilt. “Yeah… Um… I thought you might want this.”

He placed the cup carefully on the tray beside your bed, not trusting himself to hand it to you directly. He couldn’t look at you as he said it. Not when you were gazing up at him like he was just another visitor. A stranger.

“It’s from that café on the corner near your apartment. You used to go there every Thursday morning before work. You’d always get this, even though you complained every time about how overpriced it was.”

A faint smile touched his lips—bittersweet and barely there. “But you liked how they did the whipped cream. Said it made the whole day better.” He finally looked up, his eyes searching yours. For a flicker of recognition. A spark. A twitch of memory.

But there was nothing. Just polite surprise. You blinked, accepting the cup with a small, hesitant smile. “That’s… really specific.”

He laughed under his breath, hollow and aching, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess I just remember the little things. You used to say it was the only thing keeping you alive during early mornings.”

A pause stretched between you, delicate and uncertain, filled only by the quiet beep of the heart monitor and the distant murmur of hospital staff beyond the door.

You looked down at the drink in your hands, fingers curling softly around the cup like it was something too delicate to hold too tightly. The whipped cream had begun to melt into the cinnamon, forming that messy swirl you always loved, but now you stared at it like it was someone else’s comfort.

Then you glanced up at him with a gentle, almost embarrassed smile. “That sounds like something I’d say.”

But there was no warmth behind your eyes. No flicker of memory, no spark of shared history. Only polite curiosity. Only the echo of what once was.

Minho’s chest tightened, the breath catching in his throat. He swallowed it down, forcing the grief to stay buried—for now—and eased into the chair beside your bed. The legs of the chair scraped softly against the floor, grounding him in the sterile silence of the room.

He sat with his hands clenched between his knees, knuckles white. He tried not to stare too long. Tried not to look at you like he was still in love with you. Like he still knew every inch of who you used to be.

His voice was quiet, steady, but it trembled just beneath the surface. “You, um… you liked to walk through the park near your building when it rained.” You tilted your head slightly, intrigued, listening.

“Said it helped clear your head. You liked how everything smelled different after the rain—the trees, the dirt, even the air. You’d always say it felt like the world got washed clean.” He paused, eyes misting. “You used to joke that rainy days were your reset button.”

You said nothing, but your gaze remained on him. Still no recognition. N warmth. Just a faint crease between your brows, like you were trying to imagine that version of yourself.

He pressed on, even though his voice was cracking at the edges. “And you always took your shoes off after. Said you hated the feeling of wet socks, but never remembered to bring an umbrella. I’d meet you at the edge of the park with a dry pair of shoes in a plastic bag. You’d act all surprised, even though I did it every time.”

He laughed, but it was hollow, fragile. “You thought I was sweet for it. I thought you were reckless.” Another pause. This one heavier.

You looked down at the cup again. You gave him a soft smile—a grateful smile—but it was the kind you gave someone kind on the bus. Someone thoughtful at a coffee shop. Not him.

Not your Minho. Not the boy you used to fall asleep beside. Not the one who memorized your routines, who kissed the top of your head when you were too tired to speak, who argued with you like the world was ending—and then held you like it never would.

Not anymore, but he didn’t say that. He just sat there. Quietly breaking, piece by piece.

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that was meant to ease tension, but it only tightened something deep in his chest. “That’s weirdly specific too.”

Minho smiled automatically, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It never did anymore. His face held the expression of someone trying to pretend the ground wasn’t crumbling beneath his feet.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. Trying to read him like a book written in a language you no longer spoke. “So… were we close?”

He inhaled sharply. Just a breath—but it cut like a blade down his spine. His smile faltered. A beat passed. Then another. His gaze dropped to the floor, then slowly lifted to meet yours again, eyes glassy with everything he couldn’t say.

His voice came out low, cracked, barely more than a whisper. “We were everything.”

And there it was. The truth, bare and bleeding in his voice. You blinked, caught off guard by the weight of it.

Your eyes dropped to the blanket resting over your lap, your fingers beginning to pick at the seam. You shifted slightly, like the words had made you uncomfortable. Like their meaning was too heavy for your unfamiliar heart to carry.

You didn’t know what to say, because how could you? How could you answer something that didn’t exist for you anymore?

He watched your expression shift—kind, distant, confused—and it shattered him all over again, and still, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

What was there left to say… when you didn’t even remember how much you loved him?

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside you. “I want to remember. I do.” And you meant it. He could hear it in the way your voice trembled—soft, unsure, but sincere. The way your eyes searched his, as if there was something inside him you should know. Something you should feel, but there was nothing. No spark of recognition. No flicker of the love that used to live there.

Just empty space.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of every unspoken word. “It’s not your fault.”

And it wasn’t. God, it wasn’t.

It was his.

For every harsh word, every shut door, every night he chose silence over softness. Every time he let pride win instead of love.

A thick silence settled between you like fog—dense, cold, and impossible to ignore. The kind of silence that says more than either of you could bear to put into words.

Then, slowly, you looked back up at him, your fingers curling around the edges of the blanket. Your expression was fragile—carefully constructed calm sitting atop a sea of questions you didn’t know how to ask.

“My mom told me what happened,” you said, the words deliberate, hesitant. “That I got into an accident after… after a fight. She said you were upset too.”

Minho closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, his jaw tightening as guilt washed over him like a wave. He nodded slowly, staring at the floor. “I was.” His voice was barely above a breath. “I didn’t mean to be. But I was.”

What he wanted to say was—‘I wasn’t just upset. I was cruel. I told you things I didn’t mean, just to make you hurt. And now… now you don’t even remember the sound of my voice when I wasn’t breaking you.’

He stayed quiet instead.

You hesitated then, visibly piecing things together in your mind like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your hospital blanket, your knuckles pale.

“She also said…” You looked at him again, but there was hesitation in your voice now, and something unreadable in your eyes. “She said you were my boyfriend.”

His heart stopped. The word—boyfriend—felt foreign on your lips. As if it belonged to someone else. You said it like you were talking about a stranger. Like you were being told a story that didn’t belong to you, and he—he couldn’t speak. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. His throat burned, and his vision blurred at the edges.

He was. He is.

He wanted to scream yes, to beg you to remember how it felt to love him. To wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest when the world felt too loud. To laugh until you cried over stupid inside jokes. To whisper his name in the dark like it was your favorite secret.

Now? You only knew him as the man who brought your coffee and looked at you like you were made of glass.

So he just sat there. Silent.

You reached for the cup again, fingers curling around it like it gave you something to hold onto—something more solid than the weight of his gaze. You kept your eyes on the drink, unable to meet the way he was looking at you.

“I think…” You hesitated, your voice soft, as though you were afraid the truth would hurt him more than the accident ever could. “It might be best if you don’t come so often.”

The words struck him like a knife to the chest. Clean. Quiet. Devastating.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Just stared at you as your words settled like ash in the air.

You looked up at him gently, your expression full of kindness—too much kindness. It made it worse somehow. You were trying to protect him, but you were only burying the blade deeper.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” you added quickly, carefully. “I swear I’m not. It’s just… right now, I don’t feel… safe.” The word twisted in his chest. Safe.

Not in a bad way, you were quick to explain, your tone softening. “Not like I’m scared of you or anything. You’ve been kind, and patient. I can feel that. But I don’t… know you.”

Minho blinked hard, trying to hold himself together. But each word, though gentle, chipped away at him, until the cracks were visible even in the way he sat—stiff, hollow, quiet.

“And if I keep trying to force something… something I don’t remember…” Your eyes flicked back down to the cup. “I think I might only push the memories further away.” He felt his lungs collapsing, his chest hollowing out with every syllable. You were right.

Every time he looked at you, he did so with the weight of everything you’d shared. Every laugh, every fight, every whispered ‘I love you’ in the middle of the night, bt to you, he was just a name someone gave you. Just a presence you couldn’t place, and it was hurting you.

“I understand,” he said finally, though the words scraped his throat on the way out, raw and torn. They tasted like ash. Like goodbye.

You looked up at him again and offered a small, sad smile—the kind people gave to mourners at funerals. The kind that said I’m sorry you lost something, even though you were the one holding the pieces.

“Maybe one day I’ll remember,” you said softly, and that hope—no matter how faint—should’ve comforted him.

It didn’t, because you didn’t say you will. You said maybe, and you meant it.

“But for now…” you whispered, voice trailing off like a breeze slipping under a door, “I need time to find myself first. Not the version people say I was. Just… me.” Minho realized, in that moment, that he wasn’t part of that version anymore. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

He stood slowly, quietly, afraid to make any sudden movements—like if he moved too fast, he’d wake up and find that none of this had ever been real, but it was.

It was.

And as he looked at you one last time—still sitting in that bed, bruised, blank, smiling like a stranger—he realized something that shattered what little was left of him. He had spent so long trying to get you to stay.

And now, the only thing he could do for you was… leave.

-

He made it to the hallway before the tears came again.

The door shut behind him with a soft click, but it echoed like a gunshot in his ears. Every step he took away from your room felt like betrayal—like he was abandoning you, when all he wanted was to stay. But your words were still ringing in his ears, delicate but firm, kind but absolute.

‘I think it might be best if you don’t come so often.’

So he walked. Slowly. Hollowly. The second his back hit the wall, all the air rushed from his lungs.

He slid down the cold surface like his body couldn’t carry the weight of his own grief anymore, limbs folding beneath him as he curled into himself right there on the hospital floor. He didn’t care who saw. Didn’t care who passed. Didn’t care if the nurses glanced at him with pity or confusion.

Nothing—absolutely nothing—could compare to the ache consuming him from the inside out.

Tears slipped silently down his face at first, hot and unrelenting. Then came the sharp, broken breaths, the ones that made his chest convulse, made his throat raw, made his heart scream.

‘She doesn’t remember me.’ The words played on repeat in his mind, circling like a cruel melody he couldn’t silence.

She doesn’t remember me.

Not the way he held you like you were fragile when you were sick. Not the late-night walks, the stolen kisses, the way he whispered your name like a prayer when you were asleep beside him. Not the fights, or the apologies or the love.

All of it—gone. Erased. Like it had never existed. His fingers curled into his sleeves, nails digging into the fabric, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

And somewhere deep inside, through the overwhelming sorrow and guilt, a quiet voice emerged. A voice he tried to ignore. A voice he didn’t want to believe.

‘Maybe she shouldn’t remember.’

Because what would she even be remembering? The yelling? The silence? The way he pushed her away when she reached for him? The cold in his voice when all she wanted was his warmth?

Maybe it was better she didn’t remember the boy who broke her heart the night she crashed her car. Maybe it was better she didn’t remember the man who let his pride speak louder than his love.

‘Maybe she shouldn’t.’

That gut-wrenching, soul-destroying thought hurt more than anything he had ever felt. It meant that this wasn’t just the end of a relationship. It was the erasure of something sacred. Something he would remember every day for the rest of his life. While you, the love of his life, had already forgotten.

-

‘Maybe she shouldn’t’

That sentence carved itself into Lee Know’s mind like a wound that refused to close. It followed him home. It echoed in his apartment—your apartment—where your toothbrush still sat beside his, where your favorite hoodie still hung over the back of the couch, untouched since the day you left.

The silence was louder there than anywhere else, yet he still showed up. Not every day. Not like before. He came quietly. Carefully. On days when he knew you had therapy. On mornings when he figured you might want someone to sit with, even if you didn’t ask.

He didn’t always go in. Sometimes, he stood outside your hospital room, peering through the narrow glass window just to catch a glimpse of you reading, or napping, or laughing with a nurse. On the days he did walk through the door, he didn’t bring flowers or coffee anymore. Just himself. Just stories.

He told stories about you. About him. About the way you used to be—woven delicately into quiet, early morning visits where the air felt still and heavy, like the universe was holding its breath for something to click.

He never forced them. Never said, ‘Do you remember?’ because the answer had always been no. Instead, he spoke with a kind of reverence, as if recounting tales from another lifetime, a dream only he still remembered.

He told you about the time you made pancakes at midnight, and they turned out terrible—burnt on the outside, raw in the middle—but you still made him eat three. How he pretended they were good just to see you laugh.

He told you about the movie you used to rewatch every month, how you cried at the same part each time, even though you knew it was coming. How he used to tease you for it, only to tear up beside you when you weren’t looking.

He told you about your favorite spot in the city—the little bench near the river, tucked behind a bookshop—where you’d sit with him for hours, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing. No noise, no expectations. Just breath and warmth and the comfort of someone who understood you down to your bones.

Sometimes you listened, your head tilted slightly, lips parted like you were waiting for something to awaken inside you.

Sometimes you asked questions.

“Did I really say that?”

“Was I always like that?”

“What did I love most?”

And each time, he answered with a smile, eyes flickering with the ghosts of the past. “Yes,” he’d say. Or, “Only you would say something like that.” And sometimes, “Me. I think… you loved me most.”

You wouldn’t respond to that one. Not with words, but sometimes—in those rare, fleeting moments—you would stare at him a little too long, like you were searching for something in his face. Something buried under the pain and patience.

And in those moments, his breath would catch. In those moments, you didn’t look at him like a stranger. You looked at him like something inside you almost remembered.

Like your soul was leaning toward his, out of instinct and some echo of you still lived inside your chest, banging on the walls, trying to remind you: him. it’s him though you never said it. Never once claimed to know him—

There were seconds, just seconds, where your eyes softened like they used to. Where the world bent in the way it had when it was just the two of you, tangled in quiet understanding.

For Minho, those moments—however fleeting—were enough to keep coming back.

Maybe your mind had forgotten him, but your heart hadn’t. Not completely. Nothing ever came, though. Not a spark, nor a memory, and still—he showed up.

⸻

It had been nearly a month when the nurse finally told him.

“She’s being discharged tomorrow,” she said softly, her voice laced with something gentle—pity, maybe. Understanding. She didn’t look him in the eye as she handed over the clipboard with your updated discharge papers. “She’ll be going home with her mom.”

His fingers curled slowly around the edges of the clipboard, and for a moment, he didn’t move. The world didn’t either.

His heart stuttered in his chest, missing a beat like it forgot how to function. “Home,” he echoed, but the word tasted wrong in his mouth.

Not your home.Not the place where two mugs sat permanently on the kitchen counter. Where your favorite blanket was still tossed on the couch. Where your toothbrush still waited beside his like nothing had changed.

No—this was something else entirely.

This was a reset. A rewind. A return to a version of you that existed before him. A version that didn’t know what it meant to love him.

Didn’t know how he smiled when he was tired. Know the sound of his laugh in the middle of the night when you’d whisper something stupid into the dark just to make him grin. The boy who held your hand through anxiety attacks or danced with you in the living room when the power went out.

This version of you didn’t know Minho at all, and tomorrow, she would walk out of this hospital into a life that no longer had room for him in it.

He blinked down at the clipboard, the words blurring slightly as the weight of it all settled like a stone in his chest. He tried to breathe around it, but the air felt thick, sharp.

“Thanks,” he said at last, the word brittle in his throat. His voice came out tight, almost too low to hear, but the nurse gave him a soft smile anyway before stepping away.

He stood there for a long moment, the hallway around him quiet and still, as if the entire world was giving him a second to come to terms with it.

But no second would ever be enough. This wasn’t just a discharge. It was goodbye to the life they built. To the person you were when you still remembered him. The quiet, sacred space between you that had been filled with years of love and laughter and pain.

He had known this day would come, but knowing it and living it were two different things entirely, and now that it was here, all he could do was stand in the middle of this sterile, cold hallway—still loving you more than anything—while the version of you that loved him was already gone.

He bought you flowers anyway. A soft bouquet—nothing extravagant, just the kind he knew you liked. Pale pinks and creamy whites, delicate petals that reminded him of Sunday mornings spent tangled in sheets and sleepy laughter.

He showed up just before your discharge, stepping through the doorway like someone who didn’t know where he stood anymore.

You were already dressed, a bag at your feet, your mom at your side. You looked up at the sound of his voice, and for a moment—just a flicker—your face softened.

“Hey,” you said, offering him a small smile. He held out the flowers with both hands, almost awkwardly. “For you. Thought you might want something nice to bring home.”

You accepted them with a quiet “thank you,” eyes lingering on the bouquet as if trying to decide what it meant.

Your mom gave them space, stepping out into the hallway with a knowing look. She hadn’t said much to Minho in the past weeks, but the sympathy in her eyes was undeniable.

“I guess this is… goodbye for now,” you said after a pause, shifting the flowers gently in your hands.

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I guess it is.” There were a thousand things he wanted to say.

I miss you.

I love you.

Please don’t forget again. Or please, remember me now.

But he didn’t say any of them.

Instead, he just looked at you—really looked—and tried to memorize the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, even if that smile wasn’t for the same reasons anymore.

“If you ever… remember anything,” he said quietly, “or even if you don’t, but you want to talk, or just… hear more stories—I’ll be around.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Then gave a soft nod. “I think I’d like that. Maybe… someday.”

And just like that, you left with your mother, and Lee Know stood in the hallway, holding the memory of a love you didn’t carry anymore.

-

The first thing Minho noticed was how different everything felt without you.

It wasn’t loud, the absence of you—it wasn’t a crashing kind of loss. It was a quiet, creeping thing. A ghost that lingered in the corners of his apartment, in the spaces you used to fill.

Your shoes were still by the door. Your favorite mug sat in the sink. Your blanket was still draped over the couch, untouched.

He thought about putting it all away—boxing up the remnants of you that still existed in this place. But he couldn’t. Not yet. So instead, he lived in the aftershocks. You were gone, but he still saw you everywhere.

At the café where you used to order that ridiculous, overpriced latte. He caught himself glancing at the menu, almost asking for your usual before remembering you weren’t beside him anymore.

At the park where you used to take your shoes off after it rained. He stood there one evening, hands in his pockets, staring at the empty bench where you used to sit.

At home, where your presence was stitched into every little detail—the playlist you made still queued up in his phone, the way he automatically set aside extra food before remembering you wouldn’t be there to eat it.

Some nights, he dreamed of you. Of the way you used to say his name. Of the feeling of your hand in his. Of laughter that felt like warmth pressed against his skin.

Then he’d wake up to a world where you didn’t know him anymore. It hurt. Every single time.

Still, he held onto the words you left him with.

“Maybe… someday.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t certainty, but it was enough to keep him waiting.

-

Meanwhile, you were trying to piece together a life you no longer recognized.

The days blurred together in a strange haze of familiarity and foreignness. Nothing felt quite right, yet nothing felt entirely wrong either. It was like stepping into a house you’d once lived in as a child—walls that should’ve held memories, rooms that should’ve felt safe. And yet, every corner felt untouched, as if it had belonged to someone else.

Living with your mom wasn’t bad.

She was patient, kind, careful with her words when she spoke about before. She didn’t push you, didn’t flood you with too much information at once. Instead, she let you rediscover things at your own pace, watching you with soft eyes whenever you hesitated before picking up something you used to love.

She made your favorite foods—not because you asked, but because she knew. Because even if you didn’t remember, she did. And maybe, in some small way, she hoped the taste of something warm, something familiar, would bring back the pieces of yourself that felt so far away.

But even in the quiet safety of her home, there was something inside you that felt… off, like something was missing. Like there was an empty space in your chest that you didn’t know how to fill.

You went through the motions—woke up, ate, walked through your old routines as best as you could. Your mother told you bits and pieces. About your job, your friends, the things you used to love. She never overwhelmed you, never bombarded you with too much at once, but no matter how many stories she told, no matter how many childhood memories she shared, there was a disconnect. It was like hearing about someone else’s life, not your own.

Some things made sense—your favorite childhood toy, the way you hated the sound of balloons popping, how you’d always been a night owl. Those little details felt like facts rather than memories, familiar but distant.

Then there were the gaps. The moments where she hesitated, where she seemed to be choosing her words carefully. Almost as if she was stepping around something fragile, or someone.

She never spoke his name unless you asked. She handed you old photographs, smiling softly as you flipped through them, waiting—hoping—for recognition to spark. Some faces felt familiar. Others didn’t.

Then there were the pictures of him.

A man with dark eyes and a sharp smile, standing just slightly too close to you in every frame. His arm around your waist, your head on his shoulder, your fingers interlocked like a habit neither of you had to think about. The man who brought you flowers the day you left the hospital.The man who looked at you with a sadness so deep it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. The man you had once called your boyfriend.

Minho

You should’ve recognized him. You should’ve felt something when you saw the way he looked at you in those photos—like you were the only person in the world, but instead, you just stared.

The longer you looked, the heavier the silence grew. Your mother didn’t push, didn’t say his name, just let you turn the page when you were ready.

You could feel it.

Even if you didn’t remember him, even if your mind refused to recall a single moment with him. Something deep inside you ached when you saw his face, and you didn’t know why.

No matter how hard you tried to remember, your mind refused to give him back to you. The memories remained out of reach, locked away behind a door that wouldn’t budge no matter how many times you knocked. Yet, he lingered in ways you couldn’t understand.

A song would play on the radio, and a strange tightness would settle in your chest, like an echo of something that had once meant everything. At a restaurant, your fingers would hover over a particular dish on the menu, drawn to it by instinct alone, though you had no idea why.

On rainy afternoons, you’d catch yourself standing by your bedroom window, staring at the wet pavement below, toes curling against the hardwood floor. The pull to step outside, to feel the rain against your skin, to abandon your shoes entirely—it was there, an impulse with no explanation.

Then there was your name. The way it sounded when he said it. There was something in the way his voice wrapped around the syllables, something that made your stomach flip and your heart hesitate. It felt different coming from him—softer, heavier, as if it belonged to him as much as it did to you.

You couldn’t place it, couldn’t grasp it. But whatever it was, it refused to fade.

One evening, nearly two months after the accident, you found his number in your phone.

It had been there all along—tucked between names you barely recognized, untouched and waiting. You had scrolled past it dozens of times, always lingering for a second too long before looking away. You hadn’t touched it. Hadn’t dared, but tonight, something was different.

The house was quiet, the hum of the television muffled from the other room where your mother sat, half-watching some drama you didn’t have the heart to follow. Rain pattered softly against the windowpane, a steady rhythm that should have been soothing. But it wasn’t.

You stared at the screen, your name in his contacts staring back at you, unspoken history woven into a few simple digits.

Your fingers hovered just above the glass, unmoving.

You thought about the way he looked at you when you said goodbye—how his expression had been unreadable, but his eyes, dark and aching, had spoken volumes.

You thought about the hesitation in his voice when he said, “If you ever want to talk… I’ll be around.”

There had been something final in the way he stood there, yet not quite. As if he had accepted the distance between you but refused to completely let go.

Your heart beat a little faster.

It had been weeks since you last saw him. Weeks of trying to fit yourself into a life that no longer felt like yours, of filling the empty spaces with distractions that never quite worked.

Yet, he still lingered.

Not in memories—you had none of those—but in the way your body sometimes reacted to things before your mind could process why. In the way your fingers twitched toward certain choices, certain places, as if remembering something you couldn’t see. Now, in this moment, in the quiet weight of the evening, his name felt heavier than it ever had before.

You swallowed hard, fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the call button. It would be so easy to close the app. To pretend you never saw it, but for the first time in two months, the urge to reach out was stronger than the fear of what you might—or might not—find.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pressed call. As the line began to ring, you held your breath—because for reasons you couldn’t explain, it felt like something was about to change.

-

On the other side of the city, Minho’s phone rang.

It was late, the kind of quiet hour where the world slowed down, where exhaustion sat heavy in his bones. He had been half-asleep on the couch, a forgotten show playing in the background, his mind drifting somewhere between consciousness and dreams.

the second his phone lit up, the moment he sees your name flash across the screen—he was awake. His breath caught, heart slamming against his ribs as time seemed to freeze.

For a split second, he thought he was imagining it. That his sleep-deprived mind had conjured up something cruel, something hopeful, something impossible.

But no. It was real. You were calling him. His fingers trembled as he reached for the phone, hesitant in a way that terrified him.

This was what he had been waiting for. Hoping for. Even when he told himself not to. Even when he forced himself to move through life as if he wasn’t still waiting for a version of you that might never return.

He had prepared himself for silence. For never hearing your voice directed at him again.

Now, you were right here.

Maybe someday had come sooner than he thought. With one deep, steadying breath, he pressed answer.

“…Hello?”

His voice came out quieter than he intended, barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might scare you away.

After what felt like an eternity—

“…Minho?”

Just his name. Just one word. It unraveled something deep inside him, something he hadn’t realized he was still holding onto, because for the first time in months, you had reached for him.

-

🏷️ : @slutformyloveleeminho @kochothehoe @piscesrising01 @mbioooo0000 @justagoofylittleclown @havenwithleeknow @yeast-ken23 @zelianlop @hungryhobbit815 @vive-la-v-i-d-a @delulumel @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @mysterysold @jiniretsleftear @lycxee

[lueurjun]

. ˚◞☁️ ✧˖🤍࿐

▍ synopsis╰┈➤ minho had always been clear about his aversion to marriage, and initially, you accepted it. But when your feelings changed, the once-accepted truth shattered, leaving you to confront the fallout head-on.

🖇·˚ ༘┊ lee know x reader — angst. angst. just angst.

˚ ༘💭 ·˚ message from lueurjun . . . my very first skz post on this account ! this was meant to just be a enha and txt acc but i’ve decided to add skz to the list too because i couldn’t resist. anyways i’m sorry for this, i was in a sad mood.

. ˚◞☁️ ✧˖🤍࿐ྂ

Minho is a captivating read, his life an open narrative. Every page reveals a tapestry of his passions and despairs, vividly illustrated with meticulous detail. It's this transparency that drew you to him, each chapter unfolding with refreshing honesty. You find comfort in knowing what to anticipate, yet he never fails to astonish you with unexpected gestures.

One of the chapters in his book is the declaration of his distaste for marriage, and conveniently enough, it’s the only chapter without a carefully crafted explanation. He told you before things progressed that he would never be able to offer you marriage, and he told you it with full intention of letting you walk away unscathed, with your heart intact. But you were fine with it, a young adult starting their twenties with no intention to marry. It didn’t bother you; it wasn’t a significant issue.

Until it was.

Wedding season was approaching in stride with the warm weather. Three beautifully designed invitations adorned the fireplace, unopened. There was a fourth, the first and only one you pried open and then hid away from your sight with a sick feeling lining in your stomach and an ache in your heart — one of longing. You couldn’t open the others.

Guilt laid across the longing, meshing together and in turn forming one complex emotion; resentment. Not even towards Minho, but your past self for being careless enough to not consider the feelings of your future self. The now you, who envisioned a beautiful summer wedding and all its trimmings. The guilt picked at you, because Minho had warned you about this before you got too deep in. He reminded you before he told you that he loved you, that if you wanted to run, if you wanted to marry then he had to let you go, before he got too attached. Before you got too attached.

Minho wasn't oblivious to the turmoil raging within you, nor to the contradictions within your heart. He found the invitation, concealed from sight bearing a telltale water stain. He observed the wistful gazes whenever your friends conversed about walking down the aisle, and married life. They often left you out of those conversations, already knowing Minho’s views. And it killed him—because he knew you wanted the one thing he vowed to never offer.

And he knew there was only one alternative to you getting what you want.

The sun’s shift was over for the day, night just clocking in when he returns home, exhausted with a heavy heart in anticipation for what he was about to do. You’re on the sofa when he walks through the door, three cats surrounding you looking interested in whatever it’s flickering on the tv. His heart clenched at the scene, aching in his chest, nearly breaking when you greeted him with a radiant smile.

He’s not one to beat around the bush. Never has been, but as he walks toward you, he feels the words stalling in his throat. His heart pleads with him, but he sits down across from you and he swallows thickly.

“Let’s break up.”

The once-warm home now feels frigid, as if drained of its vitality—like the scented candles you loved had extinguished, and the tv shut off. A profound stillness settles over everything in an instant. Your expression collapses into sheer devastation, and Minho's eyes squeeze shut.

“Did I do something?” You manage, only just. Your heart feels like it’s ready to give way. Confusion clogs your mind with a million inquiries.

Minho shakes his head. Of course you’d blame yourself. It sickens him to the core. “No. No, you didn’t.”

"Then why?" Your tone sharpens with anger, impatience seeping through. Why was he breaking up with you? Why was he doing this to you? Why now?

Minho tilts his head, eyeing the ceiling in a pathetic attempt to keep his eyes from watering. “I can’t give you what you want. It isn’t fair.”

You’re bewildered. “I don’t understand—”

“Marriage. I can’t offer that to you, and it’s not fair. I don’t want you to cry looking at invitations knowing you’ll never ship ones out of your own. I can’t watch you be left out of conversations because I’m holding you back. It isn’t fair on you.”

“I told you—”

“And you changed your mind. It’s selfish of me to string you along, knowing nothing more will come from this. I can’t let you waste your dream, not on me. So let’s break up, because that way you can find someone who will give you what you want.”

“Do you not love me?”

Minho almost laughs at that, because how is that even a question in your mind? It’s funny because he’s doing this because of how much he loves you.

“I love you enough to know that I have to let you go.”

And just like that, your heart meets your stomach as the barrier collapses. Doongie meows from your lap, reaching up a paw to your cheek as though caressing the skin. Tears chase each other down your cheeks in a rapid game of tag, the trail ending at your neck where Soonie sits, eyeing you in confusion. Dori is behind Minho, a paw coming down to strike him but he doesn’t flinch.

“I don’t have to have marriage—I just want you!” The words rush out of you like a torrential waterfall. “I can be happy without that as long as I have you.”

Minho shakes his head. “I don’t want that for you. I can’t offer you marriage, I can’t do it. That’s not me. But there’s someone else who can, and as much as the thought of you with someone else kills me, it’s what you deserve.”

Minho's longing to comfort you is palpable, yet he remains rooted to his seat, enduring each gentle prod from Dori. With his gaze fixed on the floor, he quietly utters, "I'll stay at Chan's until I figure out where to go."

You shake your head, sobs cutting through your throat as you plead, beg and cry. You don't want him to leave for Chan's, you don't want him to pack his bags; you want him right here, with you. Marriage or not, you just want him by your side.

Though deep down, want isn’t enough. Resentment has begun to accumulate like an impending avalanche, threatening to engulf everything in its path. Perhaps Minho is correct; maybe it's best to end things now. An argument would have inevitably ensued—such clashes do when both parties want different things.

Minho doesn’t cry as he packs his bag, he doesn’t cry as he kisses your forehead and leaves a scratch on Doongie’s forehead, nor when he gets into his car and drives away.

Minho's stoicism holds until two months later, when he finds himself seated in the back of Hyunjin's wedding venue, watching the happy couple share a kiss sealing the deal of forever. It's only then, as his eyes drift to where you sit, that tears finally gloss over his eyes, haunted by visions of himself slipping a ring onto your finger.

Alone in his car, Minho finally allows himself to release the pent-up emotions. Tears stream down his face as he grapples with a mind overwhelmed by countless scenarios and a heart weighed down by regret.

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕜🧸

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕩: short skirts and pretty omegas

Word count: 6301

Summary: In this chapter, Y/N, I.N, and Felix enter a busy food court filled with tempting aromas. They encounter Minho and Han, who are enjoying ice cream, leading to playful banter about Han's sweet treat. Minho urges Y/N to rest, while Felix eagerly asks for ice cream as well. As Y/N and Felix head to the ice cream shop, they are approached by a menacing alpha, causing Y/N to panic. She tries to protect Felix, but the alpha grips her wrist, escalating the tension. Just as things seem dangerous, I.N arrives and confronts the alpha, ready to defend Y/N and Felix. The chapter ends with a glimpse of Felix later, seeking comfort from Chan after a nightmare about the alpha, finding solace in Chan’s protective embrace.

Warning: Angst/comfort, cursing, physical fight, bruises, assault, mini skirts.

As I.N, Felix, and Y/N entered the food court, the rich scents of fried food and sweet treats enveloped them, making Y/n's stomach grumble. They navigated through the sea of tables and chattering people, their eyes darting from one group to another until they finally paused, spotting Minho and a surprisingly quiet Han.

"You two look comfortable," I.N snickered, a playful glint in his eyes as he gestured toward the pair, who were indulging in ice cream with unabashed delight. “I thought it was no sugar for the omegas before dinner?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he observed Lee Know, who looked utterly exasperated.

“He wouldn’t stop complaining, and this was the only thing that would shut him up,” Lee Know huffed, casting a sidelong glance at Han, who was blissfully licking his ice cream, his head resting on Lee Know’s shoulder.

“Hey, be nice! I’m sensitive!” Han whined, playfully pushing away before crossing his arms in mock indignation. “I’m mad at you now,”

“Oh, baby, please don’t be,” Lee Know fake-begged, stifling a laugh as he rolled his eyes dramatically. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He leaned in, his voice low and soothing, coaxing Han back into his good graces. Han pouted for a moment but soon melted, returning to his ice cream with a soft smile as Lee Know pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, wrapping an arm around him protectively.

“Y/nnie, sit down and rest,” Leeknow instructed gently, patting the spot next to him. “I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

“I’m okay, oppa! I don’t feel tired, really,” she assured him, though she couldn’t help but take a seat beside him to ease his worries.

“Would you all like something to drink? I think it would be good,” he said, quickly reaching into the grocery bag and pulling out water bottles. He passed them around, his eyes warm with care.

Y/n accepted hers with a soft smile, whispering a grateful “thank you” before taking slow sips, savoring the coolness.

“Hyung, I want ice cream too!” Felix whined from his spot next to I.N in the booth, his eyes wide with longing as he pointed at the treats.

“Then go get some, hun. Put it on my card,” Lee Know encouraged, his tone light but firm. “And get some for Y/N too, but not too much! We bought dinner, and I don’t want you guys filling up on sugar.”

Felix nodded enthusiastically, bouncing on his seat before jumping up to head toward the counter. “Do you want one too, Innie?” he asked, glancing back at I.N, who was intently focused on his phone, thumbs flying over the screen.

“No, you two go ahead. I need to talk to Changbin-hyung; he wants me to pick up something,” I.N replied, his voice absentminded as he continued typing, the weight of responsibility momentarily pulling him away from the playful banter.

Y/N watched the exchange, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Felix shrugged his shoulder and intertwined his fingers with Y/N's, a playful smile lighting up his face. She felt a rush of warmth as she blushed, quickly setting down the bags she had been holding to follow him toward the ice cream shop.

“We’ll be back!” Felix called over his shoulder, his voice bubbling with excitement as he led Y/N just a few shops down, well within Lee Know’s line of sight.

"Be safe and don't wonder away!" they heard Leeknow call out behind them.

The ice cream shop was charming, adorned with whimsical decorations and slogans that were adorably cheesy. Y/N couldn’t help but giggle as she read some of them. Felix turned to her, his eyes sparkling. “What ice cream would you like, my love?”

Her cheeks flushed at the endearment. “Hmm,” she murmured, scanning the vibrant array of flavors displayed before her. “I haven’t had ice cream in so long, oppa. Can you help me pick?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, a mix of excitement and shyness overwhelming her.

“Of course!” Felix beamed, his enthusiasm infectious. “I love chocolate and vanilla! Oh, and chocolate chips—those are the best!” He continued to share his favorites, his eyes alight with passion as he described each flavor, making Y/N smile with his delight.

As they waited in line, she shifted her focus, taking in their surroundings. The cheerful atmosphere was suddenly pierced by a wave of unease when she noticed a tall figure approaching them. Her stomach dropped as she recognized the confident stride and the aura that marked him as an alpha.

They weren’t thoroughly scented by I.N or the other alphas or betas, which made it seem like they were unclaimed omegas. Y/n appeared to fit that description perfectly—no bite marks to signify a bond—while Felix’s scent spoke volumes of his connection. If the scent ventilators were turned off, anyone nearby would unmistakably sense that Felix was a very much taken omega, his fragrance rich and layered with the unmistakable warmth of the members of the pack but right now they looked and smelled like unclaimed omegas.

“Felix,” she whispered urgently, tugging on his shirt, her heart racing. “Felix, look at the guy—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the tall male stepped into their space, too close for comfort. Felix remained oblivious, engrossed in his conversation with the cashier. Y/N cursed under her breath, anxiety knotting in her stomach.

The alpha’s eyes gleamed a light shade, and she felt a chill run down her spine when she noticed the flash of red in his gaze. “This is bad,” she thought, her instincts screaming at her. She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other, acutely aware of the danger lurking just inches away from Felix. Why did he have to be so close and why was he trying to peep under Felix's skirt? 

“Can you take a step back?” Y/N asked, her voice steady but her heart racing as she positioned herself in front of Felix, who was precariously balancing on his tiptoes in his short skirt.

“Oh, am I bothering you two?” The alpha’s voice was smooth but laced with menace. Y/N cringed, the overpowering scent of stale alcohol and cigarettes making her stomach churn.

“You smell bad,” she blurted, her cheeks flushing as she tried to push him away. But he tightened his grip on her wrist, and panic surged through her.

"You don’t just touch alphas, you know," he said with a growled leaning in slightly. "Did your pack alpha forget to mention that? Or are you just a curious omega?"

He licked his lips, his gaze sweeping over her body with a mischievous sparkle. Around them, the crowd was absorbed in their own conversations, laughter and chatter filling the air, Her body shook as she tried to cover herself.

“Let go,” she squeaked, trying to wriggle free. Felix’s eyes widened as he turned, his expression shifting from confusion to alarm.

“What’s your problem, dude?” Felix growled, stepping protectively closer. 

Meanwhile, I.N had just returned from picking up the protein powder that Changbin wanted from the gym store and he had realised the omegas weren't back. How long does it take to get Ice cream? He wondered.

“Are they back yet?” he asked Leeknow, who was scrolling through his phone.

“Nope, not yet,” Leeknow replied, glancing up and eyeing the package I.N was carrying. “What flavor did you get?”

“He wanted strawberry, but they were out, so I—” I.N suddenly paused, a frown creasing his brow as an uneasy feeling bubbled in his stomach.

Leeknow who was putting back his mask on, furrowed his eyebrows in confusion wondering why he had stopped talking so suddenly. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, but before he could get a response, he felt a wave of worry wash over him as-well. The tension in the air grew as Han whimpered softly, tugging at Leeknow's sweater.

“Hyung… " his eyes flashed gold before he frowned, "hyung, Felix is in trouble,” Han said, his voice trembling. Leeknow exchanged a concerned glance with I.N, who was already grabbing his jacket.

I.N! There’s an alpha trying— Felix voice started, but I.N had already jumped out of his seat, his heart racing. He could feel Felix’s fear echoing through their bond.

I’m coming! he replied back, determination flooding through him. Stay calm, Felix! Just make sure he doesn't try and bite you or Y/n.

Dashing down the food court, I.N shoved past people, his senses heightened. When he finally reached the store, he spotted Felix’s blonde hair in the crowd. Without thinking, he lunged forward, his protective instincts taking over. He landed a punch on the alpha confronting Felix and Y/N, but in the chaos, he felt himself slipping into a darker place.

As he turned back, I.N noticed Felix and Y/N stepping back, visibly shaken. “Are you guys okay?” he asked, his expression softening at the sight of them trembling. Felix nodded, pulling Y/N into a comforting embrace.

“I’ve got you,” I.N reassured them, standing firm as he faced the fallen alpha, ready to protect his omegas no matter what.

The alpha was on the floor, clutching his face in shock and pain.

“What the hell?” I.N thundered, his voice reverberating through the shop. “You don’t just touch people like that! Have you lost your mind?! You reek of alcohol and cigarettes!”

As I.N moved forward, rage radiating off him, Lee Know quickly stepped in front of him. “Calm down, Innie, it’s okay—”

“No, hyung, let me at him!” I.N huffed, his eyes blazing. The tension in the air felt electric, a palpable mix of fear and protectiveness swirling around them. Y/N felt a rush of gratitude and fear, knowing Felix was right beside her, ready to face the threat together.

Felix and Y/N stood behind Han, who was firmly planted behind Lee Know, a protective barrier in the chaos.

“I’m going to ruin him, I swear to God! Who does he think he is? Wait till Chan hears about this! He’s going to rip—”

“I.N, we're in public and you're an idol. Calm down.” Lee Know growled, but the younger boy was fully in 'alpha mode,' his fury palpable.

“Are you okay, Y/Nnie?” Felix’s voice was urgent, his hands checking her arms for bruises. “This is my fault; I should have paid more attention. I’m so sorry—”

“Felix, stop. It’s okay,” she assured him, feeling his panic radiate through the air. “You didn’t know, and I’m fine.” She tried to calm him, though deep down, she felt a flicker of concern. She was used to unwanted attention from alphas, a reality that often left her unfazed. But seeing Felix and Han so shaken brought a pang to her heart.

“Hey, you two, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me, I promise,” she said softly, enveloping them in a comforting aura. It was like they were in their own bubble, isolated from the chaos around them. Han instinctively scented her, clinging to her side, while Felix let a few tears slip down his cheeks, seeking solace against her.

“Y/N and Felix, come here,” Leeknow called gently, his voice soothing despite the tension in the air. He had just managed to guide I.N away to calm down, but his heart raced at the thought of what had just happened. “Are you both okay?” He looked at them with concern, trying to gauge their state. He knew he had to keep his composure to prevent the younger ones from spiraling into panic. “What happened?”

“I’m fine, oppa, just a bit shaken up,” Y/N replied, though her voice quivered slightly. “He didn’t bite me or Felix, but he came out of nowhere. I was just trying to protect Felix—he was trying to touch him under his skirt.” The memory sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. The thought of Felix, so innocent and vulnerable, made her heart ache. She couldn’t shake the fear that he would be scarred by this encounter, just as she was.

“Hey, look at me,” Leeknow said softly, stepping closer and pulling her into a warm hug. He gently checked her arms and shoulders for any new bruises, his heart racing at the thought of her being hurt. “You were incredibly brave standing up to him. I know how terrified you are of alphas, but you put that aside for Felix.” His praise was heartfelt, and he could feel her tense muscles relax a little as she took comfort in his words.

Y/N closed her eyes tightly, accepting the embrace and squeezing him gently. The warmth of his presence helped ease her fears, and she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. “Thank you, oppa,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Are you okay, Lix?” Leeknow asked, glancing at Felix, who was curled up against Han. Felix’s face was streaked with tears, his usually bright expression dimmed by the recent scare. Leeknow’s heart sank at the sight. He felt an overwhelming protectiveness swell within him, coupled with anger toward the unknown alpha who had dared to harm his pack.

Felix looked up, his big eyes filled with uncertainty. “I-I’m just really scared,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I thought something bad was going to happen.”

Han tightened his hold around Felix, offering silent support as he glared at the ground, his own emotions boiling beneath the surface. Leeknow could sense Han's frustration, and it mirrored his own feelings of anger and helplessness.

“Hey, it’s okay to feel scared,” Leeknow reassured Felix, kneeling down to be eye-level with him. “You’re safe now.” He offered a warm smile, hoping to ease Felix’s worries. “I promise we won’t let anything happen to you.”

Felix nodded slowly, his expression softening a bit as he absorbed Leeknow’s words. Y/N, feeling the weight of the moment, reached out and took Felix’s hand, squeezing it gently. 

“Come on, guys, I’ll grab your ice cream,” Lee Know announced, trying to lighten the mood as they watched security lead the alpha away. Y/N's gaze darted outside, where she spotted I.N pacing anxiously, his knuckles bruised and raw. A wave of relief washed over her.

“Innie, are you okay?” she called out, gasping at the sight of his injuries.

“I’m fine, love. Are you okay?” His voice was thick with concern, his eyes searching hers. “That scared the shit out of me. I’m so sorry I let my guard down—”

Before he could finish, Y/N leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for being my hero, Innie. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

His expression softened, the tension easing as he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“I’m going to need some time to calm down, or my alpha is going to make me literally run and find that guy. What was he thinking? Ugh! I should have scented both of you. You can’t even be safe ten feet away from us,” I.N vented, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“I-if it helps, you do look hot right now… you know, being all protective and stuff,” Y/N said quietly, immediately regretting it as she buried her face in his chest.

“Yeah?” He paused, a smirk tugging at his lips as he nudged her chin up gently. “You like it when I go all crazy alpha over you,” he teased, and she squeaked, playfully slapping his chest.

“Stop teasing!” she muffled into his shirt, feeling her cheeks burn.

I.N chuckled, holding her close as they waited for Minho and the rest of the omegas to come out of the shop. Though his mind was still racing, his heartbeat began to slow. He could sense the rest of the pack trying to reach out through their bond, but he shut them down, not wanting to dwell on the situation.

“Let’s go. The boys keep spamming my phone, asking why they can feel fear and anger in the bond,” Minho sighed, juggling the bags in his arms.

“Fuck, I’ll text the group on the way. Are they home?” I.N asked, stepping in to help with the bags.

“Yeah, they got home a few minutes ago.” Minho turned to Han, Felix, and Y/N. “You three walk in front of us, please.”

As they made their way back to the car, Minho turned to I.N. “You did good today, pup. I’m proud of the alpha you’re becoming.” He leaned in to plant a quick peck on I.N’s lips, who blushed furiously. “First at the doctor’s, now here? I’m so telling Hyung to give you a treat later.”

“Thank you, hyung. I appreciate you having my back in there. I think I would have—”

“No negative thoughts,” Minho interjected firmly. “Let’s just get home and relax. My feet and head are killing me.”

“I can give you head,” I.N smirked, earning a playful smack on the back of his head from Minho.

“Not that kind of head, you little rascal!” Minho laughed, shaking his head as they settled into the car.

🌱🍄🌻🥞

Once they arrived home, the group tumbled out of the car, each grabbing bags and laughing as they made their way inside. I.N and Minho exchanged playful glances and headed back for the second and third rounds, panting a bit as they watched the omegas stroll into the house with carefree smiles.

“Sometimes I wish I was an omega,” I.N joked, chuckling to himself. “Just chilling while alphas and betas take care of me 24/7.” He locked the main door with a grin, then headed to the kitchen to set up the table for dinner, the aroma of home-cooked food already wafting through the air.

In the studio, Chan heard the front door open, and he instinctively glanced at his phone, a wave of relief washing over him when he saw it was the rest of the pack returning through the cameras. His stomach had been tied in knots ever since Leeknow called about the earlier incident; however, after chatting with Felix and receiving a reassuring text from I.N, his worries began to dissipate.

With a determined huff, he saved his work, mentally shifting gears as he made his way to the main living room. The familiar sounds of laughter and chatter welcomed him as he entered, where most of the boys were sprawled out, enjoying the moment of downtime. “Hey, where’s Y/N, Felix, and Han?” he called out, spotting Changbin deeply engrossed in his phone, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Changbin looked up, momentarily distracted. “They’re getting ready for dinner, I think. Y/N mentioned something about wanting to unwind after shopping,” he replied, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.

Chan knew that bringing up the earlier situation could dampen the mood, especially since everyone was clearly exhausted. He had made it a point to tell the others beforehand to hold off on discussing the incident until after dinner. He could still picture the moment he had to convince Changbin not to rush to the mall in a panic—Changbin's protective instincts had kicked in, and it had taken some calming words to reassure him that they would address it later.

“Got it!” Chan nodded, his eyes sparkling as he spotted Leeknow in the kitchen. “Hey, baby!” he called, wrapping his arms around the beta from behind.

“Ugh, you smell like horny alpha,” Leeknow teased, leaning back for a quick kiss before returning to his task.

“You know you love it,” Chan shot back, grinning as he caught Leeknow rolling his eyes playfully.

“im not your sex toy—”

“You sure?! Don't you remember last night when everyone was asleep?” Chan interrupted, dramatically moaning and mocking him. “Oh Chan, right there! Hyung, don’t do that, I’m going to cu—”

Leeknow gasped, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink as he threw a dishcloth at Chan. “Hyung! Seriously!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll behave!” Chan laughed, enjoying the lighthearted banter. Minho chimed in, shaking his head with an amused smile. 

"Hyung! you cant do that!" Minho growled, "get out my kitchen," he shoos chan who is chuckling histerically at the flustered beta. His scent spiking to a certain sweetness..

“Fine, fine, I’ll go,” Chan said with a mock pout. “Where’s I.N? I need to talk to him.” He made his way toward the stairs.

“He’s in his room showering!” Leeknow called from the kitchen.

“Thanks!” Chan replied, quickly jogging up the stairs. He navigated the familiar corridors before knocking on I.N's door. When there was no response, he opened it without hesitation.

“Innie?” he called out, stepping inside.

“Yeah! Just a sec, Hyung! I’m drying my hair!” I.N’s voice floated from the bathroom. Chan nodded, settling onto the bed and idly playing with his fingers as he waited. Moments later, I.N emerged, wearing pajama pants and one of Changbin’s hoodies, his hair still damp and tousled.

“You okay, love?” Chan asked, concern softening his voice.

I.N crawled onto the bed, resting his head on Chan’s chest. “Tired,” he murmured, a sigh escaping his lips.

“You don’t have to worry about me, babe. I handled the situation,” I.N insisted, meeting Chan’s gaze.

“I know, and I’m proud of you,” Chan replied, brushing his fingers through I.N’s hair. “But I can’t help but worry. You completely shut down your side of the bond when your alpha was angry. That’s scary. What if it happens again and you’re alone? God forbid we can’t reach you through your phone, and your bond is shut off.”

I.N frowned, understanding the gravity of Chan’s words. “I know, but it’s like he just doesn’t want to deal with anyone, and he forces me to shut down. I’ve tried to connect with him and to get on the same page, but it feels like... I just black out.”

“Maybe we can try the specialist EunYoung-hyung suggested last time this happened with staff,” Chan said thoughtfully, knowing this wasn’t the first time I.N had blacked out completely. “It might become a problem if we don’t deal with it now, especially with the tour around the corner.”

I.N huffed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wasn’t mad at Chan—he was mad at himself for not being able to control his instincts. If he had hurt that alpha earlier, he could have been all over the news, and they might have stripped him of his K-pop career. Thank goodness they had masks on today; it could have been so much worse.

“Maybe you’re right, Hyung,” I.N finally admitted, his expression turning into a pout as he thought it over. What if one day he got so angry that—

“Hey, no need to be upset,” Chan said gently, brushing his fingers through I.N’s hair. “I told you when you first presented as an alpha it would be hard to control your instincts. But you did such a great job today, baby boy. I’m so proud of you; I just don’t want you to get hurt, alright?” He pressed a soft kiss to I.N’s forehead.

“I love you,” I.N mumbled, his doe eyes wide and earnest.

“I love you too. I’ll book an appointment with the specialist, and we’ll go from there.” Chan’s heart lightened as he smiled at I.N, feeling the warmth of the younger alpha scenting him. What would he do without his boys—and his girl?

“How was your day? Did you guys finish the track list?” I.N asked, shifting to rest his head on Chan’s shoulder.

“Yes, but we had to literally fight with Seungmin to get him to record. He was being bratty and annoying,” Chan huffed. “He’s really struggling with this new addition to the pack. I just hope he gets over himself soon. Hyunjin was actually fine; he even asked if he could talk to Y/n to apologize,” Chan added, slightly impressed.

“Yeah, after the talk he had with Leeknow,” I.N chimed in.

“He had a talk with Leeknow?” Chan asked, surprised.

“What, you think I can’t play therapist for the pack?” Leeknow popped up from nowhere, startling both alphas. He leaned against the door frame, smirking.

“Seriously, what is it with people sneaking into conversations in this house?!” Chan yelled, throwing a pillow at Leeknow.

“Woah there, Pack Alpha! I’m just an innocent beta,” Leeknow gasped for air, feigning innocence while giggling.

“Sure you are,” I.N said, rolling his eyes as Chan shot Leeknow a playful glare. It felt good to laugh, the weight of the day slowly lifting as they settled back into their comforting routine.

“Will you two stop being disgusting and come for dinner?” Leeknow huffed, not bothering to wait for a response. He marched straight to the omegas' room, knocking softly before pushing the door open. The sight before him made him pause: Y/n, Han and Felix were cuddled up on the bed, surrounded by a mountain of untouched bags. The room smelled sweet and fresh, an inviting aroma that made him smile despite his irritation.

“Are you guys done washing up?” he asked, carefully navigating through the clutter.

“Yeah, Hyung. We were about to come down, but Y/nnie has to apply her medication first,” Felix replied, sitting up and reaching for a bag filled with pills and creams.

“She should do that after dinner. I’ll do it for her,” Leeknow insisted, his voice firm yet gentle.

“Yeah, you’re right, Hyung. You’re the professional,” Felix conceded after a brief debate.

“Right, come on then, guys. Let’s go eat.” Leeknow tugged Han out of the room, who was practically asleep on his feet.

“Hyung!” Han whimpered, clearly annoyed at being disturbed. “I wanna sleep,” he protested, only to climb onto Leeknow as if he were a tree.

“Yes, you’ll sleep after dinner, bubba. I know you’re irritated today, but you have to put something in that belly,” Leeknow reassured him.

“Mmph,” Han grumbled in response as they set him down on the couch. He voluntarily crawled into Changbin’s lap, occasionally glancing at his phone and giggling at the funny memes Changbin found.

One by one, the other members piled into the room. Felix tackled Chan to the floor, showering him with a thousand kisses, earning a chorus of playful “Ew, get a room!” from Hyunjin. Laughter filled the space as they all began to dig into the takeout food they had bought earlier.

Y/n settled beside Minho, joining the conversation only when prompted by questions. She didn’t want to irritate Hyunjin or Seungmin, so she opted for silence, which slightly worried the other six members of the pack. They exchanged concerned glances, their usual banter overshadowed by Y/n's quiet demeanor.

“Did you enjoy shopping, Y/nnie?” Chan asked, trying to pull her into the conversation after Felix had gone on an enthusiastic ten-minute rant about all their amazing finds.

“Yes, Oppa, thank you so much,” she replied kindly, returning to her food.

“You better have, with how many times the bank called me asking if my card was stolen because someone was buying a ‘Mickey Mouse thong’…” Changbin playfully grumbled, and the room erupted in laughter. Y/n buried her face behind Leeknow’s shoulder, mortified.

“Felix, I told you it was silly!” she exclaimed, shooting him a glare.

“I picked that one out for her, Hyung! It’s so sexy,” Felix giggled, and Y/n felt her stomach twist in embarrassment. She had no idea Changbin and Chan had been tracking their purchases.

“I didn’t know you could see the purchases! Now I feel stupid,” she grumbled, her ears flushing red.

“We don’t track purchases, but if my card is being drained by almost $4,000, the bank has to check for theft,” Chan chuckled, ruffling her hair before heading to the kitchen for water.

“Oh, Hyung, wait till you see the buttplug we got her!” Han squealed.

“What?!” they all yelled, including Y/n, who immediately threw a pillow at him.

“You got me a butt plug?!” she shrieked in horror.

“Yes, and a silicon—”

“Felix, not helping!” she yelled, covering her face in total embarrassment. Felix giggled again, crawling into her lap and playfully licking her cheek, making her laugh despite her mortification.

“When did you even get a chance to buy that? We were together the whole day!” Y/n groaned, her cheeks flushing.

“I was just kidding! I wanted to see your reactions,” Felix said, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at the flustered alphas. “You guys are hilarious!”

“I wouldn’t complain if you did have one,” Changbin smirked as Leeknow was stretching out comfortably on the couch, his hand casually resting behind Y/n’s back.

“Of course you wouldn’t, you man-whore!” Han shot back playfully, hopping off Changbin’s lap with a laugh.

“Hey! I was ready to treat you to a dick down today, but I guess that’s off the table now,” Changbin teased, grinning at Han.

“Hyung!” Han exclaimed, bursting into giggles as he covered his face and dashed into the kitchen, hiding behind a chuckling Chan.

“Alright, let’s change the topic before we get too silly!” Chan chuckled, looking around at the happy faces. The room was filled with warm,happy scents, and even Seungmin and Hyunjin, who were watching from the sidelines, seemed to be in good entertained.

Despite the light atmosphere, Chan felt a twinge of concern for Y/n’s health. He made a mental note to check in with her later. She really shouldn’t be carrying heavy things, and with Felix snuggled in her lap, he felt a bit anxious. But for now, they were all together, laughing and enjoying each other’s company, and that was what mattered most.

🌱🍄🌻🥞

“Y/N, come here,” Leeknow called gently, his voice cutting through the soft sounds of the living room. It was 10:15 PM, and most of the guys were scattered throughout the house—some in the gaming room, others in the studio or the theater, engrossed in their own worlds. Meanwhile, Y/N and Changbin were comfortably nestled on the couch, sharing laughter and watching YouTube videos together when Leeknow interrupted their cozy moment, a bag in hand.

Y/N pouted, her expression a mix of reluctance and playfulness, but she knew better than to ignore him. With a small sigh, she crawled over to him, settling on her knees and facing him, her curiosity piqued despite her initial resistance.

“I know you don’t want to, but you have too,” Leeknow chuckled, a knowing glint in his eye as he recognized her attempts to wiggle out of it. He extended the water bottle and pills toward her, snapping on a pair of gloves with a practiced ease that made her heart flutter with a mix of anxiety and trust.

Seeing the situation unfold, Changbin quickly stepped in, eager to distract her from the impending discomfort. “So, how many siblings do you have?” he asked, hoping to draw her attention away from the task at hand.

“I have four siblings,” Y/N began, her voice lightening as she shared about her family. “Three boys and one girl. Two of my brothers are alphas, while one is an omega.” A soft smile spread across her face as she reminisced about her youngest brother, Yunji. “He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but we get along really well since we bond over being the omegas in the family.”

“Then my sister is an alpha and—” Y/N was suddenly cut off by a sharp wince as Leeknow’s fingers began to gently stroke her gland with cream. She instinctively tried to pull away, only to find herself wedged between Leeknow's legs, trapped yet secure.

“Oppa! It hurts,” she cried out, a whimper escaping her lips as Leeknow applied more pressure, his fingers delving deeper.

“I know, sweetie, but it’s going to make you feel better, I promise,” he cooed softly, his tone soothing as he continued his work, focused on helping her.

Changbin winced, cringing at the sight. “Oof, that looks painful,” he remarked, unable to hide his discomfort, which earned him a sharp glare from Y/N.

“You think?” she shot back, her voice laced with mock indignation before a sudden yelp erupted from her when Leeknow found a particularly sensitive spot. She instinctively swatted at him, half-heartedly hitting his arm while trying to suppress a laugh through her frustration.

“Okay, okay, I’m done. Pass me your hands,” Leeknow sighed in relief, shifting positions to access the glands on her hands. His movements were gentle but purposeful, determined to provide the care she needed.

Just then, Chan appeared from downstairs, his headphones resting around his neck and a beanie pulled low over his hair. “I heard screaming, what’s going on?” he asked, concern etched on his face as he scanned the room.

“She’s getting her medicine, and it hurts,” Changbin explained, his eyes glued to the scene unfolding before him, a mixture of worry and empathy in his gaze.

Chan walked over, his eyes narrowing as he examined Y/N’s neck glands, his expression shifting from curiosity to alarm. “Oh babe, that looks horrible,” he winced, taking in her pained expression and the tear stains on her cheeks.

Leeknow glanced at her, a twinge of guilt settling in his stomach. “I feel bad, but there’s nothing I can do right now,” he admitted, his voice softening. “We’re almost done, I promise.” He offered her a reassuring smile, even as he continued his work.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally stopped, carefully removing his gloves and inspecting the red spots on her skin. “You’re okay, baby. Don’t worry,” he soothed, but Y/N whimpered again, feeling overwhelmed by the discomfort.

In a rush of instinct, she crawled into Chan’s lap, seeking comfort. As he wrapped his arms around her, he released a wave of powerful pheromones, enveloping her in a warmth that almost made her feel weightless.

“Alpha so soft, so cuddly,” she purred into Chan’s chest, sinking deeper into his embrace. His presence was grounding, a sanctuary amid the chaos, and he held her tightly, ready to shield her from any lingering discomfort.

Chan’s heart swelled as he cradled her, whispering sweet reassurances while the world around them faded away.

“Leeknow, did you see her bruises?” Chan asked, his voice laced with concern. “Yuna mentioned that she needs plenty of rest and calcium-rich foods to regain her strength and heal some of the minor fractures. Apparently, her powers might help speed up the healing process, but still…”

“I’ll make sure she gets plenty of rest after everything that’s happened,” Leeknow reassured him, his brow furrowing. “Honestly, I think she’s going to pass out for two days straight. She’s been so overwhelmed with all these changes. I just don’t want her to go into a subdrop because it’s all too much for her to handle.”

Changbin chimed in, “I’ll ask my mom to come watch her while we go to practice tomorrow. She doesn’t have any plans, and with all the rehearsals we have lined up for the show in France, we might be working late.” He huffed, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face.

“Alright, then,” Chan replied, sighing. “I’ll also need to talk to Manager Jin about her flight details and everything else. There’s just so much to juggle right now, especially with the new addition to our pack. I’m not complaining, really, but it’s a lot. I have to balance my responsibilities with the company and my role as pack leader, and honestly, the pack will always come first. But the company demands so much of my time.”

Leeknow glanced over at Y/N, who was peacefully sleeping on the couch, a gentle rise and fall of her chest the only indication of her presence. “Are we going to announce her to the public?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

Chan shook his head firmly. “No, I don’t want to expose her to that just yet. Maybe when we’re on tour or once things settle down a bit. There are just too many risks involved if we’re not with her 24/7. She deserves to feel safe and secure, especially now.”

The room fell into a contemplative silence, each member of the pack lost in their thoughts about Y/N’s well-being. They all knew how important it was to protect their own, and as Chan looked at the peaceful figure before them, he felt a renewed sense of determination. They would do whatever it took to ensure her safety and happiness, no matter the challenges ahead.

🌱🍄🌻🥞

After a very long conversation Chan had with the omegas about what had happened at the mall, everyone went to sleep except one omega who kept on tossing and turning;

“Channie…” Chan was deep in sleep, comfortably cuddling with Seungmin when he heard the soft, trembling voice. He blinked awake to see Felix standing by the edge of the bed, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, and a scent of distress lingering in the air.

“Channie-hyung, please wake up,” Felix sobbed quietly, shaking him gently, his small frame quivering with anxiety.

“Hmm?” Chan groaned, wiping the sleep from his eyes and scanning the dimly lit room. “Felix? Baby, what’s wrong?” He shot up, careful not to disturb the sleeping beta beside him.

“Nightmare,” Felix whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N is in a deep sleep, and Han is with Hyunjin, and I don’t know what to do. It’s scary…” His small whimpers broke Chan’s heart, and he instinctively reached out.

“Hey, just breathe for me, okay? Come here,” Chan urged, worried about the panic that might bubble up. Felix wiped his tears and crawled into Chan’s lap, where the alpha quickly wrapped his arms around his tiny waist, drawing him close.

“I’m so sorry, baby. What was the nightmare about?” Chan asked gently, pressing a kiss to Felix’s forehead, feeling the warmth radiate from him.

“T-the alpha we saw today,” Felix whispered, nuzzling into Chan’s neck, inhaling his comforting scent to calm his racing heart.

“Oh, baby, you were scared, weren’t you?” Chan cooed softly, his heart aching for the younger omega. “I’m so sorry, love. You’re safe now. I’m right here, and I won’t let anyone touch you, okay? None of us will,” he promised, his hand rubbing gentle circles on Felix's thigh, soothing him.

After a moment of silence, Chan asked, “Do you want to sleep with me for the rest of the night?” He noticed Felix’s sobs had quieted to soft sniffles, and his scent shifted from the sharp anxiety of burnt brownies to the comforting aroma of freshly baked cookies mixed with sweet caramel.

“Yes, please,” Felix hummed, a hint of relief in his voice.

“Alright then, close your eyes. We have a lot to do tomorrow, but I’ll be right here when you wake up,” Chan replied, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on Felix’s forehead. He held him tightly until Felix’s breathing evened out, and he fell asleep nestled against Chan’s warmth.

Once he was sure Felix was peacefully asleep, Chan let out a soft sigh, feeling a mix of protectiveness and love wash over him. He reached out, gently holding Seungmin’s waist with his other, before drifting off himself.

🌱🍄🌻🥞

Dont forget to reblog and follow! <3

Okay! Okay! You caught me *sigh* i haven't really included Hyunjin and seungmin but don't worry i'm going to get there eventually. I promise >_<

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[sunboki]

merry christmas to everyone that celebrates! gonna drop this off…

what about dad! minho baking cinnamon rolls with his little girl. PLEASE.

it’d be a lazy morning, a day he finally got to take work off and spend time with the two loves of his lives. of course, his baby wakes up just as early as he does — both of them nearly cracking up while trying to carefully tip toe out of your room without waking you up.

while Minho ties the apron around his waist, he turns around, met with the cutest sight of his daughter surrounded by kitties, Soonie and Doongie purring their delight as the toddler giggles.

he’d scoop her up in his arms, bringing her face up to his own to touch noses and hear that adorable laugh — just like yours.

her grabby hands too tempting to resist, he fastens the curious girl on his shoulders, humming the sweetest “Want Daddy to cook something?” to which she replies an eager “Cinammon rolls!”

And who is Minho to deny her of her precious cinnamon rolls?

So, the chef and his mini chef get to work, her fingers gently holding onto his hair as he maneuvers through the kitchen, hands periodically tapping her legs to ensure she’s safe (a habit).

Nevertheless, your heart utterly melts upon witnessing your husband gently teach her the ropes of making her favorite breakfast, answering all of her eager questions and reaching up here and there to pop a bit of the sugary goodness into her mouth.

Sure, there was doubt upon first starting a family, but as you watch, whether it’s how you can sense that newfound protectiveness he’s developed or the way he’s always interested in whatever she loves to do, there’s no other person who fit the role better.

sunboki, may 2022 ©