#Wedding Lights | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

diy-dynamite · 10 days ago

Text

Longing for Home (1)

Mr. Crawling x Reader || feminine terms used (wedding dress 😭) so I think this is for the fems... I'm sorry guys

Contents: spoilers for one of Homicipher's endings that I don't remember, NOT a part of my "Television" series (but I might make a version of this for that)

********

YOU never found your way back home. With your skin stained with red, rash-like patches, and with your body slowly conforming through regenerative cycles, your home is no longer the one you knew.

This is your home.

Your home is in this strange building.

Your home is in the room next to Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped's.

Your home is on one of the two hospital beds that stand next to each other.

Your home is standing in front of you.

Or crawling, rather.

He was leading you back to the room after your usual wandering, collecting cute trinkets from the piles that fell from the human world. You came back with an arm full of things, and surprisingly, the majority were makeup.

Not the major glam kind, but stuff like lip gloss, lipstick, mascara, and powdery stuff for the eyes that you can't remember—and it hurts that you forgot what it was.

You laid them out on your bed, Mr. Crawling sitting on the ground next to you, looking at what you brought back with a puzzled look on his face.

He called all of them "things," which isn't entirely wrong.

Pop! An idea went off in your sneaky little head.

"You like me?" you asked out of the blue, turning to him with lip gloss in hand.

He tilted his head and chirped a little, ridiculing your question. "I like you? I love you many. You tired?" he asked, as if to say, "Is the fatigue messing with you?"

You laughed. He smiled. "Not tired!" you explained, then you sat down in front of him. You gestured him closer, so he did as you asked and crawled a couple of inches closer to you.

"You do something for me," you said.

"...?"

"Don't move."

...

"Don't move!!" you laughed, finally putting lipstick on him properly. He was struggling to hold still, the feeling of the lipstick irritating him.

"So cute!" you said, hoping to calm him down with a compliment as you shut the lipstick lid. "Cute! Cute!"

"Strange..." he mumbled, reaching up to wipe it off, but he didn't do it. He couldn't. Not when you said he was cute this way. "I cute...?"

You nodded, beaming brightly, and he couldn't resist it, so he didn't remove the lipstick.

As you rummaged in your little collection, you found a magazine full of ladies with white, majestic, beautiful dresses. Almost like The Bride's, but way more... lively.

No.

Way more alive.

Just how long will it take for you to lose all that feeling?

No—if you long for it, then it must've already been missing.

The home you knew is a place you can never reach again.

That's where your heart is. That's why your chest feels so hollow.

Do you even have a heart anymore?

You pressed a hand against your chest, and you felt a pang of envy for the smiling woman and man on the front page. Technically, you were never alone. You had Mr. Crawling!

That didn't help how you felt, though.

Jealousy.

Longing, nostalgia, and jealousy.

A longing for that human feeling, a nostalgia for your childhood dreams, and jealousy, because you no longer had that within your reach while others do.

You threw the magazine over your shoulder, and you buried your face on your mattress, knees still on the floor, and you tried to get rid of the heaviness on your chest.

You didn't cry.

It just... hurts.

***

It felt like ages—Mr. Crawling came in and out, bringing in various people to try and check on you after his own attempts failed. Mr. Silvair didn't do anything. He didn't know what to do. Mr. Chopped tried to console you with his silly faces—the expressions you showed and taught him with your own face—but to no avail. He even dragged in Mr. Stitch—and he hates that fellow—albeit bloody from Mr. Crawling forcing him to follow, but you didn't look up at all. He shoved Mr. Stitch right back out once he didn't work, though.

He was starting to panic. You never did this before.

He tried to think back to anyone else who you seemed to tolerate the presence of, but... oh!

The pile of pages you threw! That was the last thing that you touched before you shut yourself off!

He picked it up, looking at it with a puzzled coo. He didn't understand it, but he noticed that in most of the pages, there were people like you who were smiling happily together. He wondered why.

Oh! Maybe you wanted a new dress! Is that it?

He glanced at you and tried to show you the book again, but you only inched away. At least he knew now not to do that again....

He quickly left the room and glanced down the halls.

Then with one huff, he recited: "Clothes!"

"Clothes?"

He giggled when he saw The Bride appear.

"You hurt...?" she pointed at his face. Specifically, his mouth.

Mr. Crawling proudly showed it off, smiling. "They put it. They say I cute."

She raised a white dress, trying to offer it to him, but he shook his head.

"They sad," he said. He raised the book. "Clothes."

The Bride, elegant and poised, glanced at the book with her non-existant eyes (and head). "Wonderful! Wonderful, cute!"

"Clothes," he pointed at one of the dresses. He liked this one, specifically, where the dress wasn't as puffy as the others, but not as skinny. There were white clothes for the hands (gloves) and for the legs (stockings), and there was a strange but aesthetically pleasing clump of cloth on the back (a rose made of silk).

"They look cute, this."

"I make!" The Bride nodded eagerly. If she had a head, she'd be smiling the same way the humans in the book were. "I make, I give!"

It didn't take long—she disappeared, and Mr. Crawling waited outside your door for only a moment until she came back with an even prettier version of the dress.

Mr. Crawling, trying to contain his excitement, chirped happily and let The Bride enter your room.

You were still there, curled over your bed, but you were putting the same red thing you put on his.

If he had eyes, they'd be sparkling. He had no idea what you did to yourself, but you looked... even better than you already did. Which is saying something—you were everything to him, and now you have such a pretty shade over your eyes, and your lips were like his!

"You hurt?!" The Bride gasped again.

You let out a strained laugh. Mr. Crawling knew it wasn't a real one. "Not hurt. I... make me cute."

"You cute! Before!" The Bride said. "Cute now, cute before."

"They cute," Mr. Crawling agreed simply. "Give! Give!" he urged the ghost-woman in white.

"Give," she extended the dress to you.

You stared.

And stared.

And you... began to cry.

Mr. Crawling panicked, and so did The Bride. There you were, kneeling next to your bed with tears running down your face. Mr. Crawling immediately took his place beside you, holding your head in his hands as he tried to console you.

"I sorry," he said, but he didn’t know what for. "I sorry, don't sad... I sorry—"

He would've apologised on and on if it weren't for how the black streaks appeared from your eyes.

You looked even prettier to him.

He loved it when you smiled, but he dies a little more than he already did, figuring out that you were so pretty when you cried.

"No, no," you said, wiping the black gunk off your face. "I—I love—" you pointed at the dress. "So—so wonderful, can't—can't.... You...!"

Your shaky hands held his face, and he didn't know what to do.

"You... kind... can't cry not," you continued to sob.

"...you kind," he mumbled in return. He's still confused, though.

***

Did this ho just assume you wanted a new dress??? Because he wasn't entirely wrong. Or maybe that's just you trying to justify it all.

Even if you tried, you can't stop crying. He doesn't comprehend the layers of what you feel yet, but he still tried, and you can't. Stop. Crying.

"You're so sweet," you began to ramble in your own language. You cupped his cheek with your hand and your lower lip trembled. "You're so sweet and nice and you always look after me and I—agh, I can't—I hate how nice you are, it's annoying, I love you so much," you sobbed.

He didn't understand at all. Even you yourself didn't—you're losing your knowledge in your own language and you can't stop crying.

You're sad. You're angry, you're missing what you used to have, you're happy, you—

Your weeping calmed.

You realised something.

A sliver of human shame entered your face, embarrassment for crying, but as well as another thing. You can't quite tell what it is.

Mr. Crawling seemed hopeful, leaning a little closer to make sure you're okay.

You wiped your tears away and stood up, hoping they'd just forget about it.

"Thank you," you said to The Bride. She seemed confused, but so were you, so it's fine. "I appreciate. Clothes, wonderful."

"Thank you," she clasped her hands together as you took the dress away. "You are wonderful. Farewell," she hesitated but left, anyway.

"You ask they make clothes for me?" you asked Mr. Crawling, going behind the curtain that separated the two beds.

He tilted his head. "Yes."

"I appreciate," you said, wiping your face down with the blankets of the other bed.

After a moment of shuffling into the new dress, you suddenly froze.

Were you gonna cry again...?

No, no—you were nervous.

Why?

You glanced over your shoulder to see Mr. Crawling, expectant, and, as before, confused.

You peeked your head out, and he lit up with a smile. "I unsure."

"....?" he frowned a little. "Unsure?"

~~~

"Honey, I'm not sure."

"What? Why?" he laughed. "We did agree to this, right?" he joked. You would've laughed, but right now, your thoughts were too clouded for you to even form a grin.

"Yeah, but..." you bit your tongue, wary.

Your fiance—no, your husband laughed. "Sweetheart, nothing will go wrong. It's just a superstition."

But what if it isn't?

You glanced down at yourself, clad in a shiromuku. You heard one of the guests say they'd "go home" (a superstition in Japan that they say might jinx the marriage). What if something bad happens, now?

Before you could overthink, his hands clasped over yours, his long, black hair only sealing his own black-coloured attire, his effortless ethereality catching you off guard again.

"No matter what happens, I'll be right next to you. It doesn't matter what the guests say," he said, pressing a light kiss on your knuckles.

You felt your cheeks bloom, and your heart only sunk deeper in the well of love you carried for him.

"And as much as you're adorable when you cry...." he then said, so you smacked his arm with a playful laugh. He responded with a giggle of his own and only held you closer.

"Let's head back inside, okay?" he smiled and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. "Staying in the garden for too long might make the guests assume something."

That earned him another smack, and that made him give you another laugh.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, but there wasn't any. He just wanted to hold your face.

He smiled.

"I love you so much."

********

This is already way too long so I'll just have to make a part 2 SIGH

#♡ azalea ♡#homicipher #homicipher x reader #mr crawling #mr crawling x reader #fluff #light angst #homicipher fluff #idk #wedding #IDK BRUH

646 notes · View notes

dksfml · 1 month ago

Text

picture perfect - lhs

pairing: ex!heeseung x midnight rain!reader genre: angst, exes meeting again in a different circumstance, heeseung is getting married, the one that got away word count: 2.5k summary: what's worse than interviewing your ex-fiancé for his wedding while tormented by the life you could have had? especially when you couldn't stop glancing on the ring on his finger.

My boy was a montage A slow-motion, love potion Jumping off things in the ocean I broke his heart 'cause he was nice

“When did you realize that she was the one? That it was love?”

The room was colder than you expected, or maybe it was the weight of the moment that made you shiver. Five years had passed since you left Heeseung behind, but here you were, standing across from him again. He stood in a pristine tuxedo, tailored to perfection, like the life he now led—polished, flawless, but distant. Heeseung, heir to a powerful conglomerate, and you, the broadcast journalist in a media uniform tasked with interviewing him for what was being called the "wedding of the century."

It had been an impossible love, one you knew couldn’t last. But that didn’t stop you from falling hard for him.

Back in college, it felt like the stars had aligned just for you two. You met by chance in a quiet library, studying late at night. You were flipping through notes, while he sat across from you, struggling to stay awake after hours of classes and business meetings for his family’s company. He caught your eye when he nearly fell asleep, knocking a stack of books to the floor.

“You alright there?” you had teased, a soft smile playing on your lips.

Heeseung rubbed his eyes and chuckled. “Yeah, just tired. Guess business majors don’t get to sleep, huh?”

That small interaction turned into late-night study sessions and shared meals at the local café, hiding from the world that seemed to have already decided your places. The more you learned about him, the more the quiet, gentle side of him drew you in—the side that wasn’t always front and center in the media’s image of him.

“Let’s keep this just between us,” Heeseung had said once, eyes soft as the two of you sat together in a dimly lit restaurant far off campus, tucked into a corner where no one would recognize him. “The world outside… it’s too complicated.”

You agreed, understanding the stakes. His family had expectations, and you were just an ordinary student. Yet, it didn’t stop the stolen glances in class or the secret hand-holding when no one was watching.

Those were some of the happiest moments of your life. No matter how fleeting, they felt like something real, something lasting.

And then there was that night—your last trip together before everything changed. The two of you had gone to a secluded beach, the sound of waves crashing against the shore the only witness to your love. Underneath a sky full of stars, Heeseung pulled out a ring, his hands trembling slightly as he looked at you, eyes wide with hope.

“I know it’s crazy… but marry me,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “I want you to be the person I come home to. The one who knows me when the rest of the world only sees… him.”

You had said yes without hesitation. How could you not? In that moment, it felt like everything was falling into place. You had both once pictured yourselves at opposite ends of the aisle—him in a crisp, white tuxedo, and you in the wedding dress of your dreams. It was this memory of him that still kept you awake at night.

But reality didn’t wait long to rear its ugly head. Graduation came, and with it, responsibilities neither of you could ignore. You got your dream job as a news presenter, but it meant constant travel. Heeseung, meanwhile, was tied to his family’s legacy, the weight of it pressing down on him, anchoring him to a life you couldn’t share.

"I can’t leave everything behind," he had told you one night, frustration evident in his voice. "This is who I am."

"I know," you replied quietly, staring down at the engagement ring on your finger, feeling its weight more than ever. "And I’m not asking you to. But I… I need to be someone too. I can’t just be… your shadow."

Heeseung had pleaded with you to stay, to make it work somehow, but deep down, you both knew it wasn’t possible. The worlds you came from were too far apart, the demands on you both too great.

When you took off the ring that night in his car, your hands trembling, the look in his eyes broke you. Heeseung had always been composed, even under pressure, but that night, he cried. You watched as his tears fell, and the ache in your chest felt unbearable.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, voice barely holding steady as you placed the ring in his palm. "I love you, but I can’t… I can’t do this."

Heeseung had tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was watch as you opened the car door and walked away.

Now, five years later, that past stood between you like an invisible wall.

The soft murmur of crew members adjusting lights and setting up cameras filled the studio, but all you could hear was the steady, rhythmic pounding of your heart. Heeseung sat in front of you, the gleam of his dark wedding tuxedo catching the artificial light. His hand rested on his knee, the gold band on his ring finger gleaming—a silent reminder of everything that had changed.

You cleared your throat, shuffling your notes, attempting to shake off the unease settling over you. This was supposed to be just another interview—routine, professional. But the tension in the air was palpable, an invisible thread tugging at memories you thought you’d buried.

"Mr. Lee?," you asked again, your voice steady, eyes fixed on the paper in front of you to avoid the intensity of his gaze. "A lot of people are curious about your relationship with Ms. Choi. When did you realize that she was the one? That it was love?"

Heeseung shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes flickering to yours before looking down at his hands. For a moment, he hesitated, and you found yourself unconsciously glancing at his left hand again—the wedding band glinting under the lights. The sight of it made your stomach twist.

"When did I know…" Heeseung trailed off, his voice quiet, reflective. He took a deep breath before answering, his eyes still focused on his hand. "I think love can be complicated. Sometimes, it’s not about a single moment, but a series of small ones. You come to realize what's expected of you, and you grow into it, bit by bit."

It was a carefully worded response—safe, diplomatic. He wasn’t answering the question. Not really. And that tugged at something deep inside you, pulling at threads you didn’t want to unravel.

You nodded, trying to move forward, but your thoughts were slipping. "But… when did it feel like more than just expectation? When did it feel like love?"

The words fell from your lips before you could stop them. Too personal. Too revealing. Heeseung’s eyes snapped to yours, surprised at the sudden shift, the edge in your voice. For a second, the air between you thickened, the unspoken past rising to the surface.

"When did it feel like love?" Heeseung repeated slowly, his eyes lingering on your face, as if searching for something. His voice softened. "There was a time I thought I knew… what love felt like."

You blinked, the space between his words loaded with meaning. There was an implicit sadness in the way he spoke, a crack in the façade he’d been holding up for so long.

You felt yourself sinking deeper into the moment, losing grip on the professional veneer you had worked so hard to maintain. Your gaze dropped to his left hand again, to the gold ring encircling his finger. It felt suffocating, knowing it symbolized a future you once imagined would be yours.

Your own fingers absentmindedly brushed against your ring finger, where once a promise had been worn but was now bare. Heeseung’s eyes followed the movement, his gaze lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but he closed them again.

The camera’s blinking red light reminded you where you were. You cleared your throat, refocusing on the script, but your mind was still spiraling.

You hesitated before asking the next question, feeling the weight of it before the words even left your mouth. It wasn’t on the script—it wasn’t the kind of thing you were supposed to ask in an interview like this. But it was the question you had to ask, the one lingering at the back of your mind since you stepped into the room.

You swallowed, feeling your pulse in your throat. "Are you happy?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Heeseung’s gaze lingered on you, and for the briefest moment, his polished composure cracked. His eyes softened, as if searching for something in yours.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly to the ring on his finger again—gleaming and perfect, a stark contrast to your own bare hand. The ring you had taken off five years ago.

"I... I have everything I’m supposed to want," he began, voice quiet, almost too quiet for the room. His answer was measured, careful, like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was you. "I’ve built a life, a career... I’m where I’m supposed to be."

But then his eyes met yours again, and for a heartbeat, something vulnerable passed between you. "But happiness?" He let the question hang in the air, not answering it fully, but leaving the meaning clear. His gaze lingered a second longer, unspoken words filling the silence.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your emotions in check as the weight of what wasn’t said between you pressed down. His answer, or lack of one, told you everything.

You glanced down at your next question, but your voice betrayed you, trailing off as you asked, "Do you… ever think about the life you could have had? If things had been different?"

Heeseung’s gaze locked onto yours, his expression unreadable. The question hadn’t been on the script. You hadn’t even realized you’d said it until it was too late. A deafening silence filled the room, every crew member, every camera operator feeling the tension brewing between you both.

His jaw clenched slightly, and for a moment, it looked like he wasn’t going to answer. But then, his voice came, soft, barely above a whisper, yet laced with emotion. "Sometimes… I think about the life I could have had. The life I almost had."

The way he said it made your breath hitch. You weren’t sure if anyone else in the room could hear it, but to you, it felt like the only thing that mattered. His words hung in the air, filling the space between you with a weight too heavy to ignore.

You tried to regain control, but you were slipping further, your thoughts clouded by the memories you had worked so hard to forget. "Do you have any regrets about the past?” you asked, the question intended more for your own sake than for the magazine.

Heeseung's expression softened, and for the first time throughout the interview, his voice wavered. ‘Regret... it's complicated. There are times when you make choices because you believe they’re what’s best for everyone. Yet there are nights when you can’t help but think… what if?’"

His words hit you like a wave, washing over you with the force of all the unspoken feelings between you. What if. Two simple words, yet they carried the weight of everything you had left behind.

Your breath hitched, and you glanced down at your notes, trying to steer the interview back to safer ground. But the damage was done. You couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.

You felt your eyes well up, memories flooding back of the days when Heeseung had been your world. The secret rendezvous, the promises whispered under moonlit skies, the proposal on the beach—the life you almost had. You swallowed hard, pushing the memories down.

"Two weeks until the wedding," you said, your voice hollow, desperate to pull the conversation back to the present. "Are you… ready?"

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you, really looked at you, as if seeing past the years, past the distance, and straight into the heart of the girl he had once loved. His lips parted, but the answer you expected didn’t come.

"Are you?" he asked quietly, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline.

Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt too small, the walls too close. You blinked, shaking your head slightly as if that could shake off the weight of the moment.

The tension between you was unbearable now. You could feel every unsaid word, every lingering regret, every what-if stretching between you, filling the space with a heaviness you could no longer ignore.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Lee," you said, your voice tight, trying to wrap up the interview before you completely unraveled.

But as you stood to leave, Heeseung’s voice stopped you.

"Y/N…"

He adjusted his cufflinks, and the air between you grew heavier. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “Do you ever think about… that time?”

You looked at him, surprised he had asked. The cameras aren’t rolling anymore. “All the time,” you admitted, the truth slipping out before you could stop it.

Heeseung nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah… me too.”

You paused, not daring to turn around, your heart in your throat.

"If I had another chance…" His voice was barely a whisper now, but it sliced through the room like a knife. "I would risk everything."

Your hand hovered on the door handle, but you couldn’t move. His words clung to you, wrapping themselves around your heart like a vice. You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall.

But you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.

Instead, you stepped out of the studio, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you, knowing that you’d leave this room just as you had left him five years ago—heartbroken and haunted by what could have been.

About an hour after the interview, you found yourself standing at the back of the studio, watching as Heeseung and his fiancée posed for their couple shots. He looked effortlessly handsome in his pristine black tuxedo, while she glimmered in a flowing gown, radiant and picture-perfect.

“Smile a little wider, Heeseung!” the photographer urged, and your heart ached as you watched him comply, his smile lighting up the scene in a way that had once been reserved for you.

You swallowed hard, the memories flooding back—late-night laughter, whispered secrets, and the way he’d promised you the world. A crew member nudged you, breaking your reverie. “They really are the perfect couple,” he said.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice thick with unshed tears.

As you turned away, the sight of them—the life you had once envisioned—felt like a dagger to your heart. It was time to leave, to step back into your own reality, but a lingering question haunted you: What if things had been different?

430 notes · View notes