#candle decoration ideas for weddings

[crimsonkreachr]

This is the look I was thinking about for my wedding, but not only that... in my house, in my fuckin' BEDROOM!!

[ctweddingdj]

Creative Ideas To Display Your Wedding Memories At Home

Creative Ideas To Display Your Wedding Memories At Home Wedding memories should be cherished forever. Continue reading Creative Ideas To Display Your Wedding Memories At Home

[dwyane-moggridge-1986]

chic rustic wedding table decorations with candles

[immoralimmortals]

I READ THEM TAGS OFFER EM UP MY LEIGE I NEED MARRIAGE HEADCANONS FOR THE AKATSUKI

(EDIT: this is by far my most popular post! If you like this, I have a longform akatsuki x reader fic pinned on my blog and linked here!)

You water my crops and put the stars in the sky. I'm madly in love with you. I'm bringing this post to your feet much like a cat does their favorite toy. I have caught it. Be proud of me, mother.

Even if it's less about the whole life of being married and more about the actual act of marrying, hope that's ok!

Akatsuki Marriage Headcanons, for real this time:

Pain:

I am a huge proponent of the popular fanon opinion that if this man takes you so seriously as to express a label for it (love, spouse, etc.), he is at the brink of worshiping your feet. Don't get me wrong, in terms of the arrangement of proposal and marriage ceremony, the leader is still in charge; however, he is dictating with every detail painstakingly about you. If there is decor, it is your favorite color. If you expressed you like a certain gemstone, he tracks it down for proposal and gets the finest cut upon your finger. You don't want an actual wedding? No problem, you're just going to come home to several thousand lit candles and a profession of commitment as deep from his heart as a corpse is in the grave.

The idea is that it is necessary for this bond to be formalized, at least for his own sake. Pain would refer to it as something you need to hear. If he is nothing else, he is serious about whatever he experiences emotionally; that goes for both his immense suffering and his most delicate of joys. He declares you his, neigh: commands...but only after you assure him yes.

If a traditional proposal is done, it must be in private. He dares not be too exposed. It's already so much that he has become vulnerable to you.

It is a hard privilege to earn. And so, the Akatsuki leader pays you back in kind. As long as you both shall live, you are his deity. You will never want, not as long as he is allowed to bask in you.

Pain kisses you firmly, one hand on your wrist and one on your back. You are to feel both his presence and his commitment.

A wedding song for you: Take me to Church by Hozier (yes I am a sucker for this song, yes yes and yes) or Ship in a Bottle by fin

Konan:

All at once, her heart aches in the best and worst ways, as it is such a curse of the Akatsuki to have had their loves taken too soon. Up till this point, she has been passive, letting you lead the relationship, but now- despite how much she yearns for the same- the angel stands her ground.

"Why?" you ask her in retaliation. She's thin-lipped as she refuses the real answer. It takes a couple tries over a few, staggered moments in private for the truth to tumble out:

She does not want another person she loves to die because of her. It's irrational; your death is not predetermined by the commitment. And yet it remains. She is scared, and the closer you get the more she stings.

But you have to press closer. You have to assure, promise, fight your way back into her heart as it tries to close you out in self protection. You succeed, thanks to one of the reasons you adore Konan: her capacity to hope, no matter the circumstance. Reminder her of that, and she can only be yours.

The wedding is small, the two of you and whomever you deem precious enough to witness. (I imagine probably not even a full handful). It is twilight and the color of the world is shaded blue. Blue as her hair, blue as she feels whenever you're away, blue in the same way the purest of whites are to the human eye. You are pristine. The paper that folds the bouquets that drape around you are spotless and glow in the moonlight in such a way they're almost lanterns. Their starkly pale and crisply folded nature surround as if it is her prayer that everything that is good may stay that way.

Konan kisses you in such a way that no part of you but your lips touch one another. It is chaste, it is soft, it is a seal.

A wedding song for you: Saturn by Sleeping at Last (I cry every single time I hear this in full. I sincerely think there are few songs that have so viscerally touched me like this one has.) or Soul Meets Body by Death Cab for Cutie

Obito:

You cannot get his single-mindedness off of Rin. There is no way around it, and anything meant as distraction will not only fail but backfire on you. Therefore, if you are this deep into a partnership, you are there not in spite of her but thanks to her. You will be compared and contrasted to no end; this is not cruel, it is merely how he shapes his worldview in regards to goodness and love. You are his second chance. You are his solitude.

You don't get opportunity to propose. He will tell you first.

It is every definition of a ceremony, almost ritualistic, almost like they're crowning a king/queen. The ceilings are tall and decorated with the visage of ancestors and gods. Incense is lit and the setting sun sets the room on fire with orange and red. You are presented to him, ornate in the way he demands. A masked face cannot hide the lust and satisfaction in his voice. His hand reaches out, and you take it. For perhaps the first time, the mask is tilted to hide from their audience while still showing his scarred face to you.

His kiss is hard. Not sloppy, but hard. His hand is on the back of your head, and he going to press you into him until your soul enters his body.

A wedding song for you: Come Along by Cosmo Sheldrake or Sick of Losing Soulmates by dodie

Bad relationship songs because I can't control myself: Anybody Else by Dom Fera (THE song of all time for me, I love it) or Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde

Zetsu:

Marriage? That's a fascinating concept. He's never had the desire for this kind of relationship before, but as you talk more and more of it, the more he grasps. In the end, it is a concept that matters to you, and he can appreciate the sentiment of it.

The weirdest part, honestly, is that you reserved such a thing for him.

Though he follows along (you must guide the entire arrangement), he quietly, curiously doubts the whole time. But your guiding hand is so soft as you take him and lead, so nice onto his skin as you select two rings and slide one on each color of hand. You make no mistake: it is both you are marrying. It is both you are committing to. That recognition is his first step into a hesitant acceptance of your eternal love.

When the time comes, you walk him to the first place you met, beside a large tree in a clearing with no human settlement in sight. None of the "don't see the bride/groom" tradition, it has no room here. Any amount of people you want are there, regardless of if it is everyone or no one. (He would prefer no one, but this is all for you, after all). As you're about to kiss him, he makes one request. It is the only thing Zetsu has asked for in all of this time:

Let him taste you.

How can you tell him no?

So his bi-colored lips part, taking your bottom lip into his first, and then rounded teeth gently drag the flesh into his mouth. Pressure is applied and you taste your blood, though fleetingly as he drinks it in. In all the time you've known him, this is the closest Zetsu has ever been to you. In this symbolic action, you have finally gained his full and complete trust.

Zetsu's kiss is metallic but it is not cold. It is pensive, meditative, doing his best to understand that which you crave, and so he does his best to crave you. He cups your face in both of his ringed hands so he need not focus on anything but your taste.

A wedding song for you: & by Tally Hall or Yes to Err is Human, So Don't Be One by Will Wood

Hidan:

At first he's going to make fun of you. He's going to tell you that this is the dumbest idea he's ever heard. And when you go quiet and don't bring it up again, he is going to pin you down and demand to be told why you changed your mind.

This man wants you so much, he can't fathom it. What is marriage if you must slaughter your neighbor? Well...a lover is a step above neighbor, isn't it?

Thank Jashin he doesn't need to kill you to get married.

If you do a traditional wedding, he will drag his feet but he will do it. It's to your detriment alone, really, how obnoxious he'd be. If you pin a flower to his lapel, he'll rip it off. He'll spit to the side in disgust at any mushy gushy talk done in front of others in this bastardization of another religion's ritual. This isn't a real ceremony. Let him show you what a wedding really is:

It's going to end up with your blood on his body and his blood on yours. He makes you straddle his lap, in the middle of the symbol of his lord that he's drawn upon the floor. The same sigil is dangled from a chain, his necklace held between you, from your view right between his intense violet eyes. The metal is cold as it plays a barrier between your lips and his.

Hidan's kiss is reverent. If this Jashinist is marrying you, he fucking means it. Do more than tolerate the cut a knife makes into your palm; pray to it.

...And then he will pray to you.

A wedding song for you: I Wanna Be Your Slave by Maneskin or Misanthrapologist by Will Wood

Bad relationship song I can't help but add: This is Love by Air Traffic Controller

Kakuzu:

Despite popular belief, this is not a man who fusses over money the way Scrooge does over every last coin. By the contrary, it is that he is a man that does not have much to give. This is in every sense, it turns out. Kakuzu is a man that has had all hope in humanity and for himself beat the hell out of him, so it's a shock to him if you hint at a desire for marriage. A mistake, that's what you're trying to make, here. At first he'll rebuff with few words but still sure, but it'll hitch onto him like a tick. A traditional man at heart, you know best to let him propose himself.

And so he does. It is the only time you've ever seen him doubt himself, but of course you tell him yes. As you throw your arms around him, that's when reality hits in the best of ways.

He does not wait, not if you don't oppose him. He takes you to a temple, middle of nowhere with no one either of you or your nations will know. For an old man, it's such a romantic, young man's task to arrange to elope. The priest marries you, as you sit side by side at the break of dawn upon his stoop. He wears his mask, still wears long robes to cover his stitches, but his silky brown hair drifts so beautifully with the wind; he will say this compliment is one he had of you and yours, when he looks back upon today. You are his world, intertwined in an immortal and mortal life.

Kakuzu does not kiss you at the wedding. That comes later, when no one else is there. He pulls down his mask and takes your mouth upon his, tangled until one of you can't breathe anymore.

A wedding song for you: Vanilla Curls by Teddy Hyde or Budapest by George Ezra

Deidara:

A flirt he may be, but a guy of commitment? Hell no. At first he's really flattered, chuckling and letting a large smirk trail up one side of his face. It falls when he realizes you're being serious. "Wait, really?" You nod, and his always-intense stare seems a bit closer to concerned.

"My dear...you're getting carried away, aren't you?" he offers like a second chance to not embarrass yourself.

Everything, as it always has for Deidara, has happened so fast it hits him before he recognizes what it is. Love is included, even and up until the point he's in this deep. Honestly? It terrifies him. He'll laugh and walk away, but it'll fucking haunt him.

A couple days of flying on a bird, all by his lonesome, and he returns with a bit of a different view. Life is short, beauty is fleeting: the opportunity is here and damned if he don't take it. He offers your hand- both in marriage and for a ride- and you soar into the sky.

There's no such thing as a traditional wedding, no need for it when the most beautiful things in the world are you and his art. Explosions and fireworks alike light up the night sky and he leans over to whisper his dedication upon your lips.

Deidara's kiss is, of course, bombastic. It's intense and with tongue and repeats, over and over, never lasting too long as he can't keep his love-drunk words to himself for longer than two seconds. Streamers and confetti flutter around your heads, grander than any parade for any newly wed prince or princess.

A wedding song for you: The Cult of Dionysus by The Orion Experience or Fear and Delight by The Correspondents

Sasori:

Only someone who knows him as well as you will pick up the subtlest shifts of the scorpion's expression, the way brown eyes barely widen. You bring it up, nearly like a dream you had, nearly like you're talking to yourself in your sleep, but he hears it. Sasori continues with his work, the monotony of woodwork allowing him to chew on the idea. A marriage isn't necessary, of course...but he also will lie to himself about how downright alluring the symbolism of a wedding is.

If the most beautiful things are eternal, why not your love?

If you've gotten him so far that Sasori will consider whatever form of affection he can manage in his barely organic heart, then he will make every second of your life never-ending bliss.

He decorates you, almost like one of his dolls, in the finest patterns of fabric and sleekest of jewelry. He pains over every inch of skin on top of muscle and bone, the way the ring slips on your finger and the way your wrist bends to do it. The ritual is an art piece, and you gaze upon him so marvelously... Your lips part with such slight but sure poise...

The venue is silent and you both are alone. Not even a bird caws, no insect chirps. Pure, clear as glass silence. You are the only two beings in all of existence. You will ascend time itself. A single candle is lit as you sit in the deepest depths of this cave, where no one may interrupt.

Where no one can hear him confess to you.

Sasori's kiss is soft, far too soft. He holds both of your hands so delicately, like they're on a string. Lines of chakra help you move into him in a way that is just right, just utterly perfect.

A wedding song for you: Thumbnail by Louie Zong and Brian David Gilbert or Dark of the Matinee by Franz Ferdinand

Kisame:

Shockingly enough, this guy is going to be your hardest sell. Perhaps predictably, it isn't because he dislikes marriage, settling down, falling in love. Disliking and opposing are very different things.

He panics, at least just a little the first time you mention it. "I'm a shinobi, you know. You won't see me very much." Time passes on, and your desire appears again:

"I'm a rough guy. Just take a second to think about what you're asking for, alright?"

More time, and more desperation on his part with your persistence:

"I am meant to die alone," he finally tells you outright. "Don't bother with me. You could be spending your time so much better than fussing over someone who isn't going to last."

But you do, and he does last. Unfortunately, he does last. It gnaws him to the bone.

"Alright," he'll ask you, a long time since you first expressed your wants, "Are you certain?" You say yes, of course you say yes. Bittersweet, sharp teeth smile. "Very well," the swordsman concedes.

You marry traditionally, though very small. A hood drapes over him, hiding his face as the priest speaks the seal of marriage. His hand clings to yours, so very afraid of losing you. Or worse: making you lose him.

With the formalities out of the way, his own way begins. Finally alone, you both plunge into deep water, a loud splash quickly muting to flooded ears. He holds your face as your hair drifts past him in strands noses nearly touching. Kisame gets a good look at you before he changes everything forever, closing his eyes.

Kisame's kiss is a leap of faith. It tastes like lake water and seaweed and his love. He presses all of you into him like a shell holds a pearl, limbs climbing around you as you suspend in water and sink. Breathe into him, breathe deep. Every last breath in his lungs is just for you.

A wedding song for you: Against the Kitchen Floor by Will Wood or If I'm Being Honest by dodie

Itachi:

The implications of this circumstance are astounding. He loves you- yes, of course he does- but what's more is that he loves you enough to be so selfish as to gift himself to you, even knowing the fate he's reserved. It is both impressive and heartbreaking. Have hope, you ask of him. That is all you ask of him. Give it a chance. It is what he wants, isn't it?

Of course it is. But are you okay if the inevitable comes true?

You pause, and he studies your naive, innocent eyes. But you know more than perhaps Itachi has realized. You know it is okay to treasure. It is okay to enjoy. The journey matters more than the destination. Yes, it is okay, you tell him, you love to love him all the same.

Dark eyes close. Then he will give you what is desired.

Kisame is present, of course, as well as the ancestors of the Uchiha clan in spirit. You are radiant, and he tells you so. You return the compliment in soft earnest. A single hand cups your cheek as he approaches, pausing to feel and taste your breath as it drifts into his mouth.

Itachi's kiss is barely there, like he's afraid of breaking glass. If you want to kiss deeper, you'll need to go in and get it yourself. Just don't mistake delicacy for a lack of interest. This is the most of his body he has ever given in his entire life. Just give him time.

A wedding song for you: Herbal Tea by Velvet Moon or Here For You by Good Co

[scoobysnakz]

1940’s hubby miguel who decides to make dinner that night. he tells you to go have a bath, pour in those bath salts he’s spent so much money on, and relax. he’s got this sorted.

he makes your favourite and even decorates the table all nice and pretty for you. there’s a candle in the middle with the fancy white doilies you got as a wedding gift from some cousin however many times removed on his side. he even uses the china that is specially reserved for when either of your parents come over.

1940’s hubby miguel who plants a soft kiss to your neck as he pulls the chair out for you. “can’t let you get your freshly manicured hands dirty now, can we, doll?” he teases playfully.

you push him off, grinning, because you know full well he cleaned the house before you got home.

1940’s hubby miguel who spends the whole of dinner showering you with compliments and praise. at first you’re suspicious but his soft, dimpled smile calms your nerves.

you’re having an amazing time, just him and you with no negative emotions to get in the way of what will surely be be a great evening.

1940’s hubby miguel who eventually realises tonight can’t be all flirting and smiles because he has to be honest with you.

miguel clears his throat, drawing your attention away from your food and back up to him with your wide, admiring eyes. “we need to talk, doll.”

bile rises in your throat and your head feels heavy. he sounds so serious, anxious even, you’ve never seen him this way before. what is it he has to tell you? is he, fuck, is he cheating? is that why he’s been so nice, to let you down slowly?

“it sounds ridiculous, unbelievable, and i won’t be surprised if you slap me and tell me to grow up,” he starts, a slight edge to his voice, “but i’m spiderman.”

1940’s hubby miguel who can’t hide the hurt in his eyes when you burst out laughing. it’s nice, to see you smiling and giggling right after staring at him with such wide, intense eyes. but it still stings that you find this funny.

“dios mio, what’s so funny, amor?” he questions, trying to soften his tone.

it takes you a moment to catch your breath, tears threatening to spill as you clutch your chest. “what am i meant to say to that?” you just about manage, “is this some new roleplay you want to try out?”

he hadn’t thought of that, actually.

“no, no, doll, i’m being deadly serious right now,” he allows an air of urgency to enter his voice, hoping it conveys the amount of vulnerability he’s showing.

“no way,” you declare, arms folded across your chest, “i’ve met him and he’s a slimy pompous ass, who thinks just because he’s saved a few thousand lives he can just pick up some random married woman.”

he smiles sheepishly at you, pearly whites and ever sharp canines poking over his lips. “ouch.”

you shake your head, still refusing to believe him. “if this is true, how haven’t i figured it out yet?”

“i’m a little hurt that you haven’t. you spent so long oggling over him on the news that i was sure you already knew.”

1940’s hubby who, after much back and forth, slowly convinces you.

“show me your webs.”

“muñeca, i can’t.”

“i know you can, migs.”

he pauses for a moment, glaring down at you with your determined frown, his expression mirroring yours. “how?” he finally sighs, a smile creeping up on him.

“i have a few ideas…”

since u asked for a tag

@laysmt

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[captain-joongz]

I'm sorry for bothering you... I really want you to write something. If it bothers you and you feel bad, just ignore it. The reader is in a long-term relationship with Soobin and a mature relationship. A nice meeting at home, a very slow sexual relationship and a marriage proposal in bed.

I really can't get this plot out of my mind

hello baby, it's not bothering me at all~ i'd love to write that for you! soft Soobin is so sweet and no matter how much i try to seem like a badass, deep down i'm a romantic and a sucker for proposals and weddings hehe so i enjoyed writing this piece too !

here you go, and i hope you enjoy yourself <3

warnings: unprotected sex, but otherwise not much, they're just so disgustingly sweet

word count: 1.8k

"You're late." Despite the words leaving your mouth the second you opened the door to Soobin, there was still an amused smile on your face. The man chuckled and leaned in to give you a chaste peck on the lips before bending down to take his shoes off.

"Sorry, baby, blame Beomgyu for it," he laughed and as soon as his feet were free he launched over to pull you into a tight hug.

"Beomgyu? Why him?" "I don't know, everything's his fault somehow." You didn't even have the time to laugh before Soobin was eagerly pulling you deeper into the flat, the excitement rolling off of him in waves.

"Come on, baby, let's have a nice evening together," he announced into the quiet space, "I've got a nice surprise for you later." You laughed again, but ultimately followed after him.

"I swear to god Soob, if you pull out male edible thongs again, I'm going to spend our third anniversary digging your shallow grave and getting rid of the evidence." All you got in response was his raised eyebrow and jokingly disapproving look before you both stepped into the kitched and the prepared view came into sight.

You spend the afternoon cooking and baking, preparing a nice dinner for you two, so you could spend the time in the privacy of your shared flat. Not that you were against restaurants, but both of you sometimes prefered the peace and quiet your home offered you. Not to mention that you were terrible homebodies and loved the idea of spending your birthdays and anniversaries eating ice cream in pyjamas and playing Mario Kart.

The table was set for the two of you, decorated with lit candles and flowers, the pie you baked already prepared on a nice plate while the steaks were kept on the stove to preserve the heat.

"Hurry up baby, we have a lot to do today," Soobin urged you again, pulling you to the stove to to assist you while plating and somehow hoping he'd be able to hurry you along.

You noted his sudden eagerness, and it warmed your heart knowing your boyfriend was this excited about this milestone with you, and you couldn't help yourself and stole a few kisses off of the man whining for you to come to the table and eat.

Normally you could chalk this up to his hunger, but even during the duration of the dinner Soobin was strangely squirmy, his cheeks red and eyes blown wide with unexplainable elation. It was so stinking cute.

The anticipation was rolling off of him in waves, and he was just so chattery and joyful, it was enough to push happy tears into your eyes when the realisation that you've already been together for three years hit you. You had a feeling this was going to be one of the best anniversaries you guys would have together.

Like that the dinner flew by in a blink of an eye, the conversation flowing naturally and you both laughing the evening away and basking in your affection, spending the evening together channelling your love for one another.

Soobin insisted on cleaning up, and the strange excitement made itself known again as you watched his tall lanky figure flail around in the kitchen while you laughed at him and sipped on your wine.

But now it was time to move to the living room - because that's where the you two usually moved, to play or to watch something or to just settle down on the couch and talk.

As you started spreading the blankets on the sofa, fluffing up the pillows and moving the pie to the little table there, suddenly there was an over-grown excited puppy hanging off of your back.

"Binnie, I need to move so that we can sit down," you chided him softly, patting his arms wrapped around waist, but he seemed to have a different idea.

Feeling the light kisses on your neck, you giggled at the man lightly, playfully trying to push him away.

"Nu-uh mister, behave," you tried to worm out of his hold, but all you managed to do was turn around so now you were facing the man. He only smirked at you, before he gently kissed you again.

There was nothing easier than letting the man kiss you, the soft flow of your passion slowly clouding your mind when he didn't let up and instead pushed you closer together.

"Baby," was all he whispered and you knew it was useless trying to fight against him. Not that you wanted to anyway. Instead you looped your own hands around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.

You were stumbling through the halls tangled together like a duo of horny teenagers, romantic evening by the TV long forgotten the moment Soobin got his hands on you.

And it did make sense this was where you would end up with how eager he was that evening - and you enjoyed that, so much.

And that night was so special. Soobin was a versatile lover - he could be playful, he could be mean. That night he was so soft and gentle, laying you down on the bed and covering you with his body, hands softly caressing up your body as he kissed down your neck.

You wore a nice black dress, legs exposed for his big hands to grab at, and Soobin seemed to appreciate that.

Every gesture was full of slow passion - the way his hands gently slid the dress straps of your shoulders, his mouth following in its footsteps and loving on your collarbones, the way he so perfectly fit between your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips while he gently rolled into you, making both of your breaths hitch.

You had your hands tangled into his soft brownish hair and they bobbed together with the movements of his lazy wet kisses. Pushing your dress out of the way he put attention to your breasts, nipping the skin gently and sucking onto your nipples.

You found yourself writhing under him, back arched and pleas for more spilling out of your mouth, the small undulations of his hips driving you crazy and stoking your lust.

Before you knew it, you were both naked, tangled together naked skin on naked skin. You could taste the sweat on Soobin's lips as he rolled his hips into you slowly, savouring every moment. The look in his eyes spoke of intense love merging with lust, soaking the whole atmosphere with pure adoration.

It was beautiful.

He always knew how to please you so well, hitting you just right. Your moans pitched higher as you clenched on him, and the man himself stuttered, groans spilling out. You haven't made love like this in a long time, drowning in each other in affection, bodies moulding together, hands grabbing onto any piece of skin avalaible.

"I love you, baby," Soobin grunted out, hips stuttering. He was arching over you, drops of sweat rolling down his cheeks. His eyes were glassy and honest, everything spilling out of them.

You grabbed his cheeks and brought him closer to kiss again, tongues sliding together much like your bodies did, rhythm building as your climax neared.

"Love you, Soob," you cried out, "love you so much!"

He was desperately holding onto your thighs, hips smoothly thrusting into you, cock throbbing where it was pushed as far as it go and you clenched on him.

Everything burst and spiralled out of control, the pleasure overflowing and you both came, your body sucking his in deeper as you cried and moaned, the waves of ecstasy pulling you under the sweet blanket of buzzing pleasure. Soobin was moaning sweetly over you, riding out his own orgasm.

Once the high wore off, he plopped down next to you, immediately gathering you into his arms and pressing your sweaty overheating bodies together. You wanted to joke around and swatt him away, but the moment was so tender you let him smush you together while you were catching your breaths.

Calming down you started to feel a little cold now, but you indulge Soobin who was nervously shifting around next to you while playing with your hand.

With a big sigh he suddenly sat up and moved from the bed. You thought nothing of it, expecting him to just go to the bathroom and come back to clean you up, but then he was back next to you, pressing himself into your side.

You laughed at him gently and reached over to play with his hair, but Soobin was giving you the famed big eyed bunny look, worrying his lip between his teeth.

"This isn't exactly how I wanted to do this, but... I think it's perfect either way," he whispered into your neck and you made a confused sound.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, and then there was a little black jewellery box sitting on your naked stomach.

Everything froze that moment, even Soobin felt like he wasn't breathing while you took it in. The insane mix of emotions storming through you was making you speechless, hesitant but happy tears slowly swelling up in your eyes.

"Soobin..." you whispered, gently grasping the little box, "is this what I think it is?" His hands were back to caressing your sides, now warming you up after you cooled down so rapidly.

"Just open it," his voice barely audible, the nerves swallowing it all up. He was trying hard to stay still, but you could feel how tense he was.

Opening it, there was the most beautiful ring sitting there, one just like you wanted.

"I asked your bestie, she helped me choose," Soobin breathed with breathless chuckle into your shoulder, "Y/N... would you marry me?"

The chuckle that tumbled out of your mouth was wet with the backed up tears. "Of course I'll marry you, you dummy," you cried, tearing the ring out of the box and putting it on, angling your hand so you could admire it, before you turned to your now fiance and attacked his face with kisses.

It took a long time before you calmed down between all the breathless kisses and giggles and tears, settling down into the bed still tangled into an embrace that neither of you would break anytime soon.

You were too pumped and excited to fall asleep, and you could feel Soobin gently sniffling into your neck, the happiness pouring off of him in waves as his hands grabbed onto you and refused to let go, while you couldn't stop looking at and admiring your new ring.

And you know what? You were right.

This was the best anniversary you two had, and it would be for a while.

"Oh my god!" you suddenly exclaimed, tensing up. Soobin's head shot up from your shoulder, looking alarmed.

"What? Is something wrong?"

"I forgot to cover up the pie, it's gonna get dry." Soobin gave me a single look before bursting out laughing and pulling me back into bed.

divider by @cafekitsune

[cosyvelvetorchid]

Buck stumbles on a wedding planning folder on Tommy's computer and has all sorts of feelings about it

This was such an adorable prompt! I loved writing this. Thank you!

*****

The second Tommy left the house, Buck pulled pulled out Tommy's laptop. He'd mentioned in passing the night before that his grandmother would make him meatloaf when he visited her. He'd had such a fond look on his face when he recalled the memory that Buck immediately knew he was going to make it for him. He'd opened the laptop with the intent on looking up some recipes to surpises him, and as the screen lit up, he saw the folder that that Tommy had left open.

The folder was untitled, and had multiple other folders inside it. 'Taxes', 'insurance', various car manuals littered the screen. But there was one folder that caught Bucks interest immediately.

'Wedding'

Buck stared at the unopened folder. Tommy had told him he had never been married. Maybe it was photographs from someone else's wedding? His finger hovered over the track pad. It would be wrong to open it, right? It would feel like violating Tommy's privacy. Something inside Buck was curious, though. He double clicked, and the folder opened.

It was filled with photographs but they weren't of somebodies wedding. Well, technically, they were, but they were random images of different peoples weddings, alongside stock photos of flowers, table arrangements, decor.. it was Pinterest for the luddite. Buck smiled.

He clicked on the first photo - a simple, rustic looking, 3 tiered wedding cake with cream frosting - and began scrolling across. An antique wooden table decorated with lit pillar candles of differing sizes, a male model in a black fitted suit that made Bucks mouth water at the thought of Tommy wearing, two men stood at an alter with vines of purple and white flowers hanging down above them, a collage of different coloured orchids, a tungsten wedding band..

Tommy, to the outside world, was very squared away. He was well versed in keeping himself together and rarely, if ever, let himself slip. It was one of the reasons Buck felt so unbelievably lucky that he got to see a side of Tommy that nobody else saw. He saw Tommy giggle like a kid in bed late at night over something ridiculous Buck had said. He got to see him with food spilled down his shirt, or his face when he comes apart when Buck touches him in the way that he likes, or when he's sick and hasn't showered for 3 days because he can't get off the couch without wanting to vomit.

However, Tommy did struggle sometimes with being open about his needs. Buck had learned that Tommy had spent so many years having only himself to rely on. It was hard for him to admit his needs or even his wants. But, over the almost year they'd been together, he had begun opening up more and trusting that Evan wasn't going to see him any differently. He wasn't going to think he was less of a man or less attractive. That Evan loved him, and taking care of Tommy's needs was something that he wanted to do.

Still, knowing that Tommy had this collection of ideas filled Buck with more love for him. Tommy was a romantic, Buck knew that, and he'd seen it many times. The man's favourite move was 'Love, Actually' for Gods sake. But even after almost a year, Tommy's softness still wondrously surprised him.

Buck continued to scroll through the images. More random decor - the overarching theme was very rustic. Lots of wood and flowers. Then, an image slid onto the screen that made his smile even bigger.

It was a photograph of Buck. It was taken at the medal ceremony after the famous cruise ship rescue. He was holding the wooden plaque with a big grin on his face. The next photograph was him again. This one, he was in his everyday blues, playing pool at the station, laughing at something. He continued - a selfie he'd sent Tommy from his kitchen where he was covered in flour while making cookies for Christopher's school bake sale, a selfie of the two of them Buck had taken in bed, where Tommy was fast sleep with his face nuzzled into Evans neck, a picture Hen had taken of the two of them smiling proudly with their medals around their necks, and then a photograph of Evan leaning against the fence of Tommy's deck, looking out at the ocean. Buck hadn't seen it before. The shirt he was wearing he'd only bought two weeks ago, so it was recent.

He clicked across to the last image in the folder, and his heart damn near burst out of his chest. It was a receipt from a jewellery store. For a tungsten band.

Buck shut the laptop, quickly placing it on the coffee table. He'd bought a ring. Tommy had bought a ring.

The first feeling that coursed through him was terror. They were 2 weeks away from their first anniversary. It was too soon. Buck was supposed to be impulsive one - Tommy was the calm, patient, and methodical one. But was it impulsive? A year is a long time to some people. Cap and Athena dated, got engaged, and married all in less than a year, so comparatively, it wasn't that short a time span.

The second thing he felt, which he tried to keep down, was excitement. He would be lying if he said he hadn't allowed the words 'Evan Kinard' to flicker through his minds eyes occasionally. It always created little flutters of warmth deep in his belly. This time, he couldn't stop the images of Tommy standing in front of him, placing that ring on his finger. Those flutters in his stomach raced up to his heart, expanding it to a size that was probably not safe.

The third feeling, the deepest and most all-encompassing, was love. And unfathomable amount of love that he didn't think was possible for a human heart to withstand. He loved Tommy - that had been obvious by the second month of their relationship - but in this moment, it suddenly occurred to him that this wasn't just any love - it was the love. Tommy was it. Tommy was his soul mate. Tommy was the sun, the moon, and every single star in the universe. He made Buck see colours he couldn't see with anybody else, sounds and sights that no gadget or gizmo would be able to detect.

And he wanted to marry Evan.

Once the shock of it all began to disapate, it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't supposed to know about this. He opened the laptop again and clicked out of the folder before putting the laptop back where it was.

Tommy was going to be back from the grocery store any minute. All he had to do was figure out how the hell he was going to act completely normal around Tommy and not go full Buck. He heard the front door opening and he took a big, centering breath before leaving to couch to meet his future husband at the door.

[caitified]

We need an entire wedding series w CC. Like I need the planning, wedding day, wedding dance, honeymoon

Just ahhh 🙃

planning

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none, part of wedding series so more to come! part 1 here

after caitlin proposed on that breathtaking hawaiian beach, it felt like the world was spinning in slow motion. you could hardly believe that moment was real—caitlin down on one knee, the ocean behind her, a sunset painting everything golden. the ring on your finger sparkled, but nothing compared to the joy in her eyes as she slipped it on.

when you both got back home, the excitement settled in a new way. you weren’t just dating anymore; you were planning a life together. every day, you’d catch her looking at you, a small smile playing at her lips, and she’d say something like, “can you believe we’re getting married?” and every time, it felt as surreal as the first moment.

the wedding planning started with the big question: when. with her WNBA season and your own schedule, finding the perfect date was no easy task. you’d both sit on the couch in sweatpants, laptops open, scrolling through possible dates and venues. caitlin was surprisingly involved, even though she’d joke, “whatever you want, babe.” but you knew she cared. she’d light up whenever you talked about a potential outdoor ceremony or discussed which season would give you the most beautiful photos.

“okay, what if we go for fall?” you suggested one evening, looking up at her. “the colors, the cool air—it could be perfect.”

she looked thoughtful, then nodded with a grin. “yeah, i can see that. plus, i can rock a nice suit without sweating through it,” she teased, making you laugh.

from there, you both started envisioning an autumn wedding. caitlin was all about the cozy, romantic vibe, wanting a venue with warm lighting, candles everywhere, and an intimate feel. you spent hours browsing through ideas together, sending each other links to florists, photographers, and little details you thought would make the day perfect.

one evening, she surprised you with a notebook filled with ideas. “i know you’re handling a lot of the details, but i had some thoughts,” she said, handing it to you. flipping through it, you saw pages of handwritten notes—ideas for vows, table decor, a song list for the reception. it was thoughtful, heartfelt, and completely unexpected.

“cait, this is amazing,” you whispered, looking up at her with tears in your eyes. “you really thought about all this?”

she shrugged, blushing slightly. “of course. it’s our day. i want it to be everything you’ve dreamed of.”

from there, the planning became more than just tasks to check off. it was late-night conversations about how you wanted the ceremony to feel, choosing songs that held special meaning, and even playfully arguing over cake flavors. caitlin insisted on chocolate; you had your heart set on lemon. eventually, you compromised, deciding on a tiered cake that offered both flavors.

there were plenty of moments that reminded you why you’d fallen for her in the first place. she kept things light, making jokes when you got stressed about the guest list or when the florist didn’t respond quickly enough. and whenever you felt overwhelmed, she’d pull you close, press a kiss to your forehead, and remind you that, at the end of the day, it was about you and her, nothing else.

one of the most special parts was finding your dress. caitlin came with you, sitting outside the dressing rooms with a grin as she waited for each reveal. the second you walked out in the one, her expression softened, and she couldn’t stop staring. “you look incredible,” she whispered, reaching out to take your hands. “i can’t wait to marry you.”

her suit fitting was just as memorable. she wanted something classic but with a twist—something that felt uniquely her. when she finally settled on a deep navy suit with subtle detailing, you knew she’d look amazing, and she absolutely did. she showed off, giving you a playful twirl, and you laughed, knowing how much you adored her.

as the day grew closer, it felt more real. your families met, sharing stories and toasts at a casual dinner. seeing her interact with your family, laughing and bonding, made you fall in love with her all over again. it felt like your worlds were merging, coming together perfectly.

finally, after months of planning, the night before the wedding arrived. you stood outside on a quiet balcony, nerves and excitement tangled up inside you, when she found you. “hey,” she said softly, slipping her hand into yours.

“hey,” you replied, leaning into her warmth. the world felt perfect in that moment, the two of you wrapped up in each other as you prepared for the biggest step of your lives.

she looked down at you, her eyes filled with so much love, and brushed a thumb over your cheek. “ready to start forever?” she asked, her voice soft, full of everything that had led you here.

you nodded, a smile spreading across your face as you looked up at her. “ready as i’ll ever be.”

thanks for reading! requests open, more to come.

[electricneonvalkyrie]

Holiday Headcanons for a WLF Christmas:

(Awkward Crush Energy Turned Up to 11)

🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

✨️Abby tries to help you with your gingerbread house. Instead, she accidentally crushes one of the walls with her heavy-handed decorating. “Guess it’s more of a… fixer-upper now,” she mumbles.

✨️While hanging decorations, Abby steadies you by the waist as you reach for the top of the tree. Her hands linger, her breath warm against your neck as she says, “Careful. Don’t want you falling.”

✨️Abby tries to hang tinsel but ends up tangled in it. When you laugh and offer to help, she awkwardly says, “Nah, I’ve got it. Totally planned this.” She’s still stuck five minutes later.

✨️You mention how pretty the candles look. Abby immediately says, “You’re prettier,” then freezes and gracelessly adds, “Uh, objectively. From a lighting perspective.”

✨️Abby sits on the couch, replaying every interaction with you in her head. “Why didn’t I just say something cool?” she mutters. Manny, walking by, snarks, “Because you’re a disaster.”

✨️Abby sketches you as a secret gift but chickens out. Manny finds the sketch, smirks, and says, “Nice portrait. What’s next, wedding invitations?”

✨️Abby uses duct tape to wrap your gift because she doesn’t know how to wrap properly. When you struggle to open it, she says, “You’re welcome. Consider it strength training.”

✨️Abby finds an extra gift she meant to give you and spends the next hour debating whether to run to your apartment and deliver it. Manny finds her pacing and says, “Abs, just do it.”

✨️Abby bakes cookies to impress you, but they come out like rocks. When you try to eat one anyway, she yells, “No! Those are… tactical paperweights. Don’t ruin your teeth.”

✨️On Christmas Eve, Abby starts to say, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something…” but chickens out halfway and switches to, “You’re standing in front of the snacks.”

✨️Abby fills in as Santa for a WLF children's event but tries to act cool about it. When you tease her, she smirks and says, “Careful, or you’ll end up on my naughty list.”

✨️Abby sneaks into the Christmas party early to hang a small stocking with your name on it, filled with scavenged treats. When you ask who did it, she shrugs. “Santa?”

✨️Abby shows up to the Christmas party wearing her best flannel, hoping to catch your eye. Manny smirks. “Ah, yes, the ‘gay lumberjack’ look. Bold choice.” Abby punches his arm — hard.

✨️Abby spends the evening subtly checking on you. “Just making sure you’re not cold,” she says, draping her jacket over you for the third time. You're indoors.

✨️Abby offers you her chair and says, “I don’t need to sit.” Then awkwardly looms behind you, not sure where to go next. Manny whispers, “Real subtle.”

✨️Abby notices the mistletoe above you, panics, and ducks to tie her shoe instead. “No mistletoe rules for people on the floor,” she mumbles, totally unconvincing.

✨️Manny puts up mistletoe and tries to push Abby under it with you. She “accidentally” trips him into the punch bowl instead.

✨️You make a joke, and Abby laughs way too loud. Everyone stares. “It was funny!” she insists, crossing her arms and trying not to turn bright red.

✨️Manny loudly declares, “Abby’s single, by the way!” Abby threatens him with a candy cane to the jugular. You? Giggling. Abby? Mortified.

✨️Abby takes a sip of eggnog and tries to act casual. “You know,” she says, “this tastes like… how I feel about you. Sweet, but also confusing.”

✨️When you inevitably end up under the mistletoe again, Abby takes a deep breath and says, “I could just kiss you and call it tradition, but… I really want you to know it’d mean something to me.” The soft look in your eyes afterward? She’s thinking about it for the rest of the night.

✨️As the night winds down, Abby’s hand hovers near yours, trembling slightly before she takes it. “You have no idea how hard it is for me to stay away from you,” she whispers.

✨️When the last candle flickers low and the world feels still, Abby approaches, hands shoved deep into her pockets. She hesitates, her jaw tightening as if she’s fighting a battle within herself. Finally, she looks up at you, her tone more tender than you’ve ever heard it. “I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length… thinking it was safer that way,” she begins, her words slow, deliberate. “But this year, I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to lose what’s right in front of me.” Her gaze locks on yours, and she steps closer, her voice dipped with a fragile softness. “I want to make more time for the things that matter. For you.”

✨️After walking you to your door, Abby leans in for a hug. But instead of pulling back, she pauses, her lips just a breath away from your ear. “I don’t want to leave,” she whispers, her voice low, carrying a weight that makes your stomach flip. Her fingers graze your back, lingering as if she’s afraid to let go. The closeness, the warmth of her breath against your skin, leaves your head swimming, the world narrowing to just her. “Tell me to stay.”

Love,

(Formerly) DeepOuterSpaceCandy 🌙🩷

Wishing you so much love and all the best things in life. I’m not ✨️back✨️ but I wanted to put some soft Abby into the ether. Be gentle with yourselves—this season and always.

[allophonicmess]

Time and Time again - Part 2

14th Doctor x reader / mentioned 15th x reader

Masterlist

Full version cross-posted on Ao3

The Doctor is struggling after the Bi-regeneration. It only seems logical for you to move on with the next version of him. So why do you stay?

Established relationship

Timelord!wife reader

Mostly jealous 14th! Doctor and angst but balanced out with fluff.

The 25 of December 2023, Christmas day

 "Okay, but I have to ask. Why two wedding bands?" Rose leaned over to you, eyes moving between your wedding rings and your face. On your left ring finger was a thin, twisted band adorned with a clear gem. On the right a wider band decorated in fine Gallifreyan symbols.

"It's an old tradition." You chuckled. "Two rings-"

"For two hearts?" She finished for you, smiling softly at the idea of the intricate gesture.

"Yep, exactly." You laughed softly, squeezing her hand under the table. The Doctor sat opposite you, next to Donna and Shaun. The table was set beautifully with Christmas decorations, lights and candles. The new Doctor had been right about the roast, complementing the Noble-Temple household for their magnificent cooking.

"Aww, that's so sweet!" Rose marvelled, gasping at Doctor. He blushed softly, suddenly very interested in the bits of carrots on his plate. 

"One for each heart? I thought that whole ring to the heart idea is an American thing?" Shaun wondered, looking between you two and the others at the table.

"Well, actually-"The Doctor started, setting his cutlery in an attempt to create a rhetorical pause. You chuckled at his antics. You loved his storytelling. His expressiveness and capturing performance. You leaned back a little, watching the family around you, focusing on him with curious expressions. 

"Many human cultural practices are adopted from alien contact." He casually crossed his arms, basking in the attention like a cat in warm sunlight. "Weddings themselves. Imported from the Bisianth. Inquisitive creatures, birdlike, like um-"

He went on with his tale, pretending to think about the proper expression. 

"Like ostriches." You offered, leaning your elbow on the table to cover your grin. He loved it even more when you joined in. A team effort at wowing the company.

"Yes! Ostriches! Thank you, love." He laughed.

Rose smirked at you suggestively. She had grown close to you and your partner over the last few weeks. She loved each and every story about your adventures, fascinated by what is out there. She felt connected to you in a way that only the Doctor was. She was so much wiser and grown than her age allowed for. 

"And what about them? You were explaining about the rings," Sylvia interjected. She was quick to notice the Doctor drifting off from his original story.  

"Hm? Oh well, they bond for life. Ostriches, I mean. And Bisianth-"

He was lost in thought for a moment. Eyebrows furrowed, and gaze focused on the light of one of the candles. He remained silent for another moment. The humans at the table became slightly concerned at his sudden stop and change in demeanour. 

He blinked a few times, shaking his head slightly. He seemed to have lost the plot, so you stepped in.

"They bond for life as do timelords. But our culture does so at a deeper level since death is a more, let's say, abstract concept." You explained simply, sipping from your glass and gently smiling at the others.

"And on that note, we'll ask you to excuse us. Someone here is still woozy from their Bi-regeneration and needs to sleep." You explained, finishing your drink and smiling at Donna. 

"I thought timelords don't sleep…" Donna explained, looking at you and the Doctor quizzingly. 

"I don't need sleep" The Doctor replied with a scoff. "Just a little bit for regeneration sickness, but I'm fine, so-"

He stopped talking when he saw your and Donna's doubtful expressions. 

Rose spoke up after a moment of awkward silence, "Looks like that's something you can work on." she joked, getting up to help the others gather the plates and cutlery. You gave a soft laugh, sharing a knowing look until she rounded the corner to the kitchen. You also got up, pushing your chair to the table and walking around to meet the Doctor. 

"As I said, Dinner was fantastic. Thank you so much, Donna, all of you." You called a little louder to make sure that all of them heard. 

They had taken you in without any questions. You instantly became family and integrated with them as if it had been like this from the beginning. You were happy to have helped them when UNIT came in to fix the Noble-Temple's house after what happened with the Meep. The house had to be cleared and empty for repairs, so the whole family moved in with you. They spend 2 weeks living with you in the Tardis. It was a delight, the fascination they felt, and it finally gave you a chance to organize and relocate the rooms. In the end, you finally had a functioning kitchen, a proper bedroom for you and enough set guestrooms for a full-on family trip. The Doctor also enjoyed the new proper setup, even though he tried not to show it.

"Of course, darling. "Donna smiled, watching happily as you sneaked an arm around the Doctor's waist. His reaction was instantaneous, leaning into you and placing his arm around you, smoothing his thumb over your arm. You were good for him. Always have been. But your relatively stationary position on earth only allowed for a few visits and meetings between you and the Doctor. You had travelled with him every once and again but mainly took care of earth, protecting it when he was gone. 

"Now get this one to bed. He's losing focus again, and I'm not going to let him sleep on the couch again. Not after all that complaining last time." She replied, pretending to sound strict and fed up. The Doctor had tried to sit through a binge-watching session with Rose, trying to build that proper Uncle-Niece relationship early on. But even a timelord has no chance against the hyperfocus and messed up sleep schedule of a 15-year-old. So he spent the night sleeping on the couch in an almost impossible position and proceeded to complain about his back for the next week. 

"Eh, I'm fine. And I didn't complain." He scoffed, "But I won't fight with this one here." He pecked a kiss on your head, pulling you into his side. 

"So, have a good night!" He called into the house, smiling softly at the "thank-you!"' s  and "you-too!"' s  that came from the kitchen and hallway.

He took in the moment, that easy joy he felt. He was surprised at how happy these small things made him. Dinner with the family, a game of cards, gardening, or simply watching the others with a cuppa in hand. It felt good, a joy that didn't need a grand entrance or having to save a civilization. Just life.

He took your hand and gently led you out towards the terrace, the garden, and into the blue box you called home. He opened the door for you, letting you inside while smiling at you with soft admiration. You thanked him, listening to his soft-soled steps as he followed you inside. You threw your jacket over one of the railings and approached the upper level. 

But you paused at the door when you noticed he didn't follow.

"Are you coming?" You leaned onto the upper railing, watching him flip a few switches at the controls and studying one of the screens intensely. It took him a moment to answer, looking up at you. "Yeah, I'll be there in a second. Get settled already." 

His focus shifted back towards the controls. He even took out his glasses, all attention on the screen.

You smiled at him and made your way towards the bedroom. You changed into your nightwear, brushed your teeth and settled under the soft duvet. With closed eyes, you focused on the steady hum of the Tardis. It was like breathing, a soft whining that sounded like home to you. 

Soft rustling and a gentle tug on the duvet made you open your eyes again. The Doctor slipped under the covers next to you. He laid on his back and immediately lifted his arm to let you rest your head on his chest. He let out a long sigh, lowering his arm as your head came down over his right heart and gently running his fingers over your back and arm. You closed your eyes, letting out a sigh of your own and relaxing as the sound of his heartbeats drew you in. You hummed softly, just enjoying the moment and running your hand over the cotton of his shirt. Your hand consistently over his other heart. 

"Why did you stay?" He whispered, almost as if too afraid to ask you out loud. Ever since that kiss with the new version, he had been thinking about it. It only seemed logical for you to keep going and settling in with the new Doctor. Especially since that one seemed to do so much better than he did.

You slowly lifted your head and turned to look at him properly. The lines on his face seemed more prominent in the soft orange light of the Tardis night setting. 

"Why wouldn't I stay?" you ask, your hand gently smoothed through his hair. You felt him relax under you. Melt into your touch like candle wax. 

He remained silent, eyes closed and quietly enjoying your touch. Then he breathed in deeply, licking his lower lip before focusing on your eyes with a stern look.

"He is better than me. In so many ways." He gently shook his head. "A younger body, the charisma, that smile. Oh, that damned grin. How dare he-"He gritted his teeth, his eyes moving away from you to focus on some random spot in the room. Anywhere, really, he regretted starting the conversation. He knew it was silly, but he needed to know. 

"And he seems to be so much better. Lighter…” 

"Healed." You interjected. Holding his chin to bring his attention back to you. You knew that you two would have this talk. You always had these types of discussions after he met other versions of himself. Especially the younger ones. Being with 12 had been a real challenge in that sense. 

"He is healed. Because he stopped running." You smooth over the lines on his forehead. Caused by so much thinking and worrying. 

"He stopped and faced his past. And that hurts, but it's the only way to keep going." You kissed his eyebrow that dared to lower in confusion to your statement.

"He stopped and reflected, spending his time with life's little joys. And over time, it helped him to become better. To lose that baggage." You saw the tears starting to well up in his eyes. He tried to look away again, but you kept your eyes on him.

"It's okay, Doctor. Let it out. You don't have to keep your emotions shut away." You encouraged him softly, feeling your own tears welling. It felt like a relief to feel his tears soak into your shirt. It was a first step.

He sat up slightly, pulling into a tight embrace and burying his face in your neck. You just held him, both of you letting your tears flow. 

After a moment, you laugh softly, "See, this is what made you become him." Turning your head to kiss his cheek.

He sniffed softly, "Yeah?" "Yeah. And I'll be here for it. Every step of the way." You gently pushed him back onto the bed, resting on his chest again, both hands placed on his cheeks. 

"And when this run ends, I'll be there for the next chapter." You kissed him slowly, feeling his desperation as he kissed you back. His lips moved softly against yours, and he moved his hands to hold your face like you had his. 

"Hopefully, with this face, but who knows. Maybe I'll have a new face by then, and you'll have to be clever to find me in the crowd. No, wait-" You stopped to think about the exact workings of time in your situation. "You'll know the new face 'cause you were here before. Oh, I wanted to have you work for it. At least once." You sighed dramatically before going for another kiss. 

He chuckled softly. "What are you on about?" the Doctor said, shaking his head softly. "We split. It's me and him from the point of Bi-Regeneration and onwards."

You stared at him momentarily, dumbfounded that he hadn't figured it out. You laughed, sitting up and looking at him with mischief.

"Is that how you think Bi-Regeneration works?" You giggled, watching his confused face. 

"Well... Yeah! What else should be happening? It's two time-strands opening. I've got this once, and he's off doing new version things!" His hasty and offended answers made you laugh even harder. 

"See, that is why I was at the academy and learned the proper stuff while you just went  and stole a Tardis." You calmed down, still giggling but moving back towards him. 

"This here is a time loop, silly." You peck a kiss on his nose. "You remain in this form till you regenerate, and then it's back to the rooftop, love." You grinned, watching gleefully as his 'Oh, now I understand' – expression took over his face. 

He blinked, thinking for a moment, and you watched him quietly, a knowing smile on your lips.

"That's where he took off to. That's why he was in a hurry to leave!" He grinned triumphantly. He pulled you into a deep kiss, holding you close as he celebrated his achievement. You pushed yourself off him slowly," Now you have got to remember the date, Kensington Park, the 12 of June 2023. Italian Gardens." 

"And bring some Ice cream?"

You held his cheek, gently smoothing over his skin.

 "You know it, darling."

Thanks for reading! Feel free to send requests or promts if you would like to see more stories like this one :)

[sillyromance]

A nightmare

The first time Marcella asks Vincent to swallow her after their wedding.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Marcella gasped and snapped her eyes open.

Still shaking, nervously observed the room Only after a few minutes passed, she gained the courage to brush off the blanket and slip her feet down at the cold floor.

Her body felt hot and her head was sore. Too busy and sore to go back to sleep, especially after she saw that.

A loud "Boom" at the window made the girl flinch and duck her head into the shoulders; wary mind could hardly think straight. She knew there was a tree outside; the noise was probably caused by a brunch or an unlucky bird which didn’t notice the glass through leaves. But everything in the big dark room with deep corners and high ceilings seemed to be hiding danger. Trying not to pay attention to the lights dancing on the walls – her vivid imagination would transforme those harmless little blue spots into glowing eyes of unknown beasts – Marcella swiftly crossed the room and pushed the door open.

A stream of freshness breathed at her exposed shoulders.

The corridor was just as dark and unwelcoming as the bedroom. Yet, a barely visible yellow line was flickering on the carpet at the end of it. A moment of hesitation – and, hugging herself, the girl rushed forward to that thin bright line, her bare fit thumping softly on the cloth beneath.

Vincent was working in his cabinet, luxuriantly decorated coat hanging on the back of his stool, shirt unbuttoned, when he was interrupted by a hesitant knock. Lifting his head, the man was met by a vision of his wife standing in the doorframe with a mix of fear and guilt written over her pale face.

-        What is that, sun drop? I thought you’ve been sleeping… - He asked with a soft smile, yet his eyes were attentively scanning Marcella’s quivering form as she was shifting her weight from side to side; grass green of her irises had shed with worry.

-        I…  I had a nightmare. – She choked out. – And I don’t want to stay there alone... Sir… Can I… Can I come in?

Uncertainty in her feeble voice made Nor’s heart shatter. Did she really think he would send her away?

-        Of course, Marcella. And, please, don’t call me “sir” – it’s a bit too late for addressing me like that.

With a short nod, the girl stepped in. She was not just scared, but definitely cold, and Vincent didn’t hesitate to stand up and lift his wife off the ground. Soon they settled back in his chair, her little form snuggled up nicely on his chest, his arms rubbing at her tensed muscles. As far as she realized no harm would come to her, the girl slowly embraced Vincent back. She clutched on him with such despair as if the world itself was crumbling down before her terrified eyes.

-        Do you want to talk about it, my darling?

She shook her head negatively.

-        Is there… anything I can do to soothe your fear?

Two anxious emeralds pierced through him, a tiny bit of hope glimmering inside.

-        Yes… One thing.

-        What is that, honey?

She bit her lip.

-        I… Would you be so kind to… keep me in your belly for the night?

Despite perfect control the prime minister had over his emotions, surprise must have found its way out since hopeful twinkle in Marcella’s gaze died in an instant.

-        Oh… Sorry… I didn’t mean to… Stupid me… I…

-        Wait.

He cupped her face and ran his thumb across her skin. Dried tear tracks. Heavens, what she could possibly see to appear so shaken…

-        I can do that, if that’s what you want – it’s not a big deal… But why? It could make your state worse… Is it a good idea to hide from nightmares in their very lair?

The only source of light in the cabinet was a candelabrum with three candles at the corner of the table. But even their uneven glow allowed the man to see his darling flaming with embarrassment.

-        I don’t think so, si… um… Vincent. Actually… - She stumbled and looked down on her feet. - I have never felt safer in my life than on that day when you ate me…

Marcella’s heart was a stutter. Vincent unwrapped one of his arms from around her. Gently, he removed her grip from his shoulders and planted a light kiss on the cool knuckles of her amusingly small hands.

-        It’s OK, my darling. I deeply appreciate your confessiom. And, if you’re certain being within me is going to help, who am I to dismiss you? You are my wife, and I shall do whatever it takes to shield you from danger, no matter if it’s real or imaginary.

With that, he opened his jaws.

Marcella watched in trance as his lips closed around her wrists, hot, slimy tongue cradling her hands within that cavernous maw. She was able to catch a glimpse of long teeth rimming the entrance, yet neither of them hurt her fragile body. Vincent’s reassuring gaze locked with hers, and she let her limbs sink deeper into the natural warmth of another body, so familiar, yet so alien.

The first swallow erupted.

Subtly, she was pulled closer, her fingertips fluttering against sensitive walls of his throat.

Nor wished he could just roll his eyes and moan in ecstasy – her taste was divine. How didn’t he notice that before? Maybe, bitterness of their first encounter was the reason. Yet, all that wasn't happening for him. Vincent sensed stiffness in her frame; trust in her eyes was debating for dominance with natural instincts of survival. She didn’t want to die anymore; she wanted to feel safe, secure. As far as it sounded bizarre, she came to him, looking for protection. And so he had to oblige and provide it to her.

With exceptional gentleness he didn’t know he had in himself, the prime minister pushed her body further, further into his awaiting gullet. When Marcella’s head and neck entered his mouth, he made a pause to give the girl a soothing lick. She was panting, struggling to get acquainted to the situation, yet didn’t try to stop him. Vincent proceeded, sighing at the wonderful feeling of his insides stretching to accommodate a big, willing meal. The girl’s body was sliding inside without resistance like melted butter, her round, pliant, delicious forms passing through with oh-so much enjoyed pressure on his lungs, gradually spilling into his impatient stomach. Once there was no chance she would accidentally slip away, Nor placed a hand on the stretched surface of his abdomen, fingers tracing her upper part twitching and squirming within in attempt to find a suitable position. Another hand of his remained on the prey, stroking Marcella’s legs which were leisurely swaying above for Vincent had tilted his head back, allowing gravity to assist him. He didn’t want her think she was abandoned even for a second.

In a few thick gulps her hips, and calves, and ankles vanished in the greedy abyss of Vincent’s body. Finally, he let go of Marcella’s feet; they now lied, tickling the roof of his mouth. With a tender stroke he devoured them too. His Adam apple bobbed out, then fell back with a wet “gulk”, sending the last bits of his wife behind the collar. The heavy mass in Nor’s belly shifted a few times as the girl was curling up in a tight ball, then went still – the same way she did just three weeks ago when neither of them predicted the outcome of Nor’s fateful decision.

A content grumble of a well-fed stomach announced Vincent's complete victory.

A wave of serenity washed over Marcella. Soft heat was creeping into her very soul, chasing away the memory of a harsh breeze howling in the halls. New, comforting darkness rescued her from the claws of threatening void. Marcella exhaled in relief, engulfed by yielding, restless flesh pulsing around her, reaching to her shrunken form to grant it a kiss. Moist, humid environment had sucked away her powers, and fear was gone; besides, Vincent’s steady heartbeat served as a reliable reminder of her secure, defended position in the core of a man whose name made the bravest of knights weak in their knees.

She received a gentle pat from the outside. Vincent leaned back, rocking her through his skin.

-        How are you feeling, my dove? – A muffled question reached her ears.

-        Perfect. – She replied, nuzzling deeper into the soft folds.

Even convinced to be at the brick of death, during her first stay Marcella noticed how malleable and plushy Vincent’s insides were. They fit rather for a bed in Eden than a deathtrap. Supple walls had easily enveloped every curve of her body, churning away the tension and ache in her joints. No acid occurred, only some slick slime was still stuck on her nightgown, but it could be accepted.

Moreover, once adrenaline had worn off, dreamy haziness fogged the girl’s mind, forcing her to yawn sweetly.

A quiet chuckle rumbled above.

-        Drowsy already, huh? Good… Sleep, little one, nothing will disturb your rest in here. No one can get to you in my belly…You’re safe…

-        Thank you, sir… - The girl mumbled in slumber. A few seconds after she was snoring peacefully, accompanied by satisfied gurgles of her husband’s full stomach.

Vincent glanced at the clock on the wall – they showed three in the morning. Holding at his voluminous stomach, he stood up with a grunt and headed to his chambers. There he got rid of the shirt and crawled under the sheets, lying on a side to give his passenger some extra space. Occasional movements within his body brought a genuine wide grin on his tired face.

He embraced his stomach protectively and prepared to doze off too, happy to be someone’s home for once.

It was a new, astonishing feeling... But, if that lasted, he could get used to it...

[fantasyescapes17]

Scandal (Part 3)

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) is beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

Genre: Wonwoo x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Joshua's sibling so your maiden name is Hong but the reader has no other physical characteristics.

Warnings: This part has some discussion around character(s) struggling with mental health and dark thoughts including one or two which are not explicitly (but could maybe be perceived as borderline) suicidal.

Word Count: 7k+

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Series Masterlist [Reading Candle and Manners, the earlier installments in this series first is strongly recommended as main character dynamics are introduced there.]

The Jeons' countryside estate was vast and spacious. Mr. Jeon Wonwoo was the eldest son of a rich noble family and although his wealth could not compare to the fortune possessed by a Viscount- it was still nothing to sneer at. The Jeon manor towered over a lake and was surrounded by a pleasant little garden and blooming green fields.  

It was more remote than you had expected. The estate was followed by swathes of farmland and the nearest village was well over a mile away. 

It was late evening by the time your carriage rattled up to the front entrance. 

Mr. Jeon helped you down and you were greeted immediately by a host of servants that lined up outside the front gates upon your arrival. The head housekeeper hurried forward to greet you; she was an older woman with greying hair and a kind smile. 

"Mr. Jeon!" she welcomed him warmly.

You looked at Mr. Jeon from the corner of your eye, and were shocked to see him give her a small smile. You had never seen him smile other than a mere dispassionate curl of his lip or a smirk. 

This was a genuine, warm smile. 

"Mrs. Betsy. It is really wonderful to see you looking so well," Mr. Jeon greeted her kindly before turning to you. "This is Mrs. Betsy- she has been the head housekeeper at the estate since before I was born."

You nodded simply. "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Betsy."

She beamed at you. You realised immediately from the warm reception and big smile on her face that she had no idea of the circumstances of your wedding. The household staff were evidently under the impression your marriage with Mr. Jeon was… normal. 

"We always knew Mr. Jeon would find a young lady that could persuade him to marry," Mrs. Betsy gushed as she took Snowball from your arms and led you up the entrance stairs. "Of course- I never imagined- is it quite true, madam, that your brother is a Viscount?"

Mr. Jeon was not far behind and he cleared his throat. 

"Mrs. Betsy…" he said in a gentle warning tone. 

The housekeeper blushed. 

"My apologies, Mrs. Jeon. We are merely curious about the young lady that could capture our master's heart. Supper is ready; you must both be very tired from the long journey. I will show you up to your rooms and the ladies' maids will help you dress."

You were guided by the ladies' maids into a large bedroom that was beautifully decorated. The pastel-colored linens were fresh and the dressing table was ornate, spotless, and filled with everything you could need. 

Two maids worked quickly to help you dress for supper. 

"We have placed you in the master suite since the elder Mr. and Mrs. Jeon are settled year-round in London and rarely come down to the country," the maid informed you as she swiftly did your hair. "Mr. Jeon Wonwoo's room is adjacent and…" she trailed off and let out a giggle. "There is a connecting door between your rooms."

You looked towards the door and sighed in relief. 

Thank goodness. You would have preferred the bedrooms to be entirely separate, but that was wishful thinking. At least the servants did not expect you to share a bedroom with your new husband. A connecting door could easily be closed and you and Mr. Jeon could each retain your privacy. 

Once you had been allowed to change into an evening dress, you were guided down to supper by the maids. To your surprise, they turned away from the enormous dining room and instead led you into the garden. Underneath a large oak tree, the household staff had set up a small, intimate table, two chairs, and a number of twinkling candles. 

You swallowed nervously as all the servants left. 

Mr. Jeon stood and pulled out a chair for you. 

"I apologise if you are uncomfortable," he said quietly as you sat down and he took the seat across from you. "Mrs. Betsy took it upon herself to arrange what she believed would be a… romantic supper for our wedding night."

"She seems very thoughtful," you mumbled. 

Mr. Jeon nodded. "I did not think you would want me to inform the servants about the particulars of our marriage. They are unaware. But if this is uncomfortable for you, and you wish for me to ask them not to overstep-"

You shook your head. "It is fine."

Mr. Jeon relaxed into his seat. The distant chirping of crickets filled the silence of the evening. It would have been a very romantic dinner if the circumstances had been different. If you had actually married this man out of love, or at the very least some mutual admiration. The serenity of the garden at night, the way the candlelight cast teasing shadows over Mr. Jeon's sharp jawline and dark eyes….

He  reached across you to seize the bottle of wine on the table, and uncorked it in one fluid movement. 

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to your empty glass. 

"That is…" inappropriate, you caught yourself about to say. But it was not. You were alone in your home having supper with your husband. A little alcohol in his presence was nothing unusual or improper. "Yes," you corrected yourself. "Yes, please."

He poured you a glass and gave it to you silently. You sipped the wine and took a deep breath. 

"Mr. Jeon-"

He interrupted you. "You are free to address me by my given name. The servants will consider it strange indeed if you continue to call me Mr. Jeon in our home."

You bit your lip. Enough boundaries had been crossed between you both for one day, in your opinion. Intimacy of that level would not come easily. 

"Perhaps… in time."

Mr. Jeon blinked in surprise but did not press the point. He poured himself a glass of wine and sipped it quietly. You looked at the delicious food and then at the silent, brooding man sitting across from you. 

It was pointless to expect him to make conversation- you knew Mr. Jeon better than that. He was perfectly comfortable with silence. 

"Did you grow up here?" you asked lightly. 

He nodded. "Yes; my sister and I spent our childhood at this estate until I left for my schooling at Oxford."

"The housekeeper seems to know you well."

"She does."

The conversation died out. There was nothing left to do but sip your wine. The glass was soon empty and Mr. Jeon watched-but made no comment- when you reached for the bottle and poured yourself a second glass. 

Once the second glass had been duly ingested in silence, you could feel the light buzzing in your head and your tongue felt looser. 

"Of all the things I imagined about my future since I was a child," you began slowly, prodding at your half-finished  plate with a fork. "I could never have imagined that my wedding night would be like this."

Mr. Jeon raised an eyebrow. 

"Did you spend a lot of time as a child imagining your wedding night?"

You gave him a sharp look. "You are a man. What would you understand about what a young girl thinks about? Marriage is the singular most important event in a woman's life. Everything she does from the moment she is old enough to speak is all leading up to the eventuality of her marriage."

Mr. Jeon was silent. 

"Learn French, Latin and Greek- practice drawing, dress impeccably, smile the right way, practise the art of engaging conversation-" you trailed off and raised an eyebrow at your husband. "I am quite sure nobody has ever asked you to practise the art of engaging conversation, Mr. Jeon."

"Perhaps not," he remarked lightly. 

"I did it all. Every bit of it. Years of lessons, and practice and training to ensure that I was the most desirable young lady in the room. You might call it vanity, Mr. Jeon. But that is what young women are taught to value. Their beauty, their talents and their virtue."

"You still possess all those things," he told you quietly. 

"Yes," you said with a dry laugh. "And now I have no need of them. They are the most useless things in the world to me. They failed to protect me. For all their worth, they could not protect me from complete societal ruin caused by a momentary lapse of judgement."

Mr. Jeon's silence continued. 

"But," you said with a sigh. Your head was beginning to ache. "Of course, this is a waste of time. I will hardly find a sympathetic ear in you, Mr Jeon- a man who considers me so vain and spoiled that he believes I intentionally make my friends cry by attempting to outshine them at the piano."

"That is not-"

"And for your information," you cut him off with a frown. "I was not trying to make Miss Brooke feel inferior by playing the most difficult piece I knew. Miss Brooke was the last thing on my mind.  I was trying to flirt with you. All my attempts that evening had fallen quite flat and I thought at least an impressive performance on the piano would make you pay attention to me."

Mr. Jeon's ears had turned pink. He pressed his lips together and gently took your empty wine glass away from you. 

"I think perhaps you have had too much wine," he said softly. 

You bristled at the suggestion. 

"You need not worry, Mr. Jeon. I am under no delusion that I might have any impact on you. You are perfectly welcome to sleep in your own bedroom and go about your own business and seek… pleasure elsewhere, if you so choose. Please do not feel any compulsion to cater to my vanity. It is quite clear to me that our happiness is not to be found in each other."

His expression was unreadable. He swiftly corked the wine bottle and stood up.

"I think we had best retire for the night."

"That sounds excellent," you replied. You stood too quickly. Your legs felt shaky, but Mr. Jeon was by your side immediately and took your arm to steady you. 

"Careful-"

"I am fine," you mumbled. Your senses were flooded with Mr. Jeon all at once- his large, warm hands grasping your bare arms and his soothing scent invading your thoughts. You looked up at him. His dark eyes were watching you with a tinge of worry. 

"You will fall, if you are not careful-" he pressed. 

"I am fine. I can walk, thank you."

He released you. You stepped away from him and went upstairs to your personal bedroom, where you ordered the surprised ladies' maids to leave you alone before locking the connecting door between your bedrooms. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

If the lack of marital relations on your wedding night did not make it abundantly clear to the household staff that something was wrong with your marriage, then your continued distance from your husband over the next few months was more than sufficient to send the message. 

Wonwoo threw himself into handling business and matters of the estate. His reasoning (though he never said so) seemed to be that the less you saw or spoke to each other, the less chance there was for conflict or arguments. He spent long periods of time away from home handling these ‘matters of the estate’ that you were told little about. On the rare occasions that he was at the manor, he locked himself in his study for hours on end. Sometimes it felt like you lived alone with the housekeepers and maids. 

There was nothing to do.  You were simply alone for the most part with nobody but Snowball and your increasingly melancholy thoughts to keep you company. 

Mrs. Betsy tried, the kind soul. She showed you the large library and persuaded you to take walks in the garden and engaged you in light conversation. She even insisted you accompany her on her weekly trip down to the village to buy supplies; but you found little pleasure in the activity. The villagers seemed wary of you and everyone involved appeared to think that the new wife of the local nobleman had no business walking around the vegetable market. 

Endless days turned to weeks and months. 

Nothing interested you. You received letters often; from Joshua, the Viscountess, your mother, and even Ella. But gossip from London was only a dull reminder of the life you had left behind. News that would have excited the old Miss Hong had almost no impact on the new Mrs. Jeon. Your responses to them were rare and brief. What could you even write about? There was nothing to report. Every day was exactly the same. 

Being alone with your thoughts was the worst part of this. Snowball was, of course, your companion- but his inability to converse or comprehend your emotions meant that even his presence could not drag you out of the downward spiral that you found yourself falling into. You were at the mercy of your own thoughts night and day. 

Was this life? Was this how it was to be? 

What were you even living for? 

The question cropped up in your mind often and you contemplated it deeply; not out of despair but as a genuine, genuine curiosity. You could not return to London society, but at the same time, you had no purpose here. You were married to a man who did not care to speak to you. Indeed, you were nothing more than a burden to Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. You ate the food he provided and sat in his drawing room and lived in his home without providing anything in return.

His home. 

For although the months passed, it only became increasingly clear to you that no length of time would ever make this place your home. 

You sat absently at the fireplace one evening, wrapped in a warm blanket and staring into the crackling fire while lost in your grim contemplations when Mr. Jeon entered the room. 

Snowball ran to greet him; the little Pomeranian had warmed up to your husband early on in your marriage. He gave her a little pat before turning to you.

“Have you had supper?” he asked you. 

You nodded. 

“Mrs. Betsy says that you have not moved from that chair all day,” he said slowly. You looked up at him. Mr. Jeon was in his riding clothes. He had evidently just returned from a journey. You did not know where he had been. His dark hair was tousled and his jaw clenched tightly. 

You blinked. “My apologies. Was I expected elsewhere?”

He stiffened. “No, I did not mean- are you well? The village has a doctor and if he is not competent enough, then we can send for one from the next town over.” 

“I am not ill.” 

“But you do not look healthy. When was the last time you left the manor?” 

The question should have made you angry. If you had been the same person you were before marrying Mr. Jeon, you might have issued a sharp retort about how your movements (or lack thereof) were none of his concern considering that he certainly told you nothing of his coming-and-going. 

But the anger would not manifest. It was as though the part of you that pressed the trigger on your characteristically quick temper had gone completely numb. 

“Two days ago,” you answered his question simply. “I took a walk about the gardens.” 

“I have told you before that if you wish to go anywhere, the carriage is always at your disposal,” he continued. “You need only inform the butler and he will have it brought out for you.” 

“I am aware.” 

You saw a flicker in his eyes; it was a brief flash of something that you could not place. A mixture of realisation, despair or perhaps even frustration. Mr. Jeon had always been a closed book to you. Living with him for months had done nothing to make his silences or intense looks easier to comprehend. 

There was nothing you understood about this man that you had not already known on your wedding day. 

“I insist that you go down to the village with Mrs. Betsy tomorrow. The weather is supposed to be pleasant,” he said. 

“Very well.” 

Mr. Jeon stood there for a long moment, watching you in silence before he turned and left the room. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Mrs. Betsy was always in good humour. You were surprised that despite your long silences and reserved demeanour towards her, she never ceased her attempts to engage you in pleasant conversation. There were entire days when her voice was the only cheerful one you heard. 

She rambled on eagerly about the seasons’ cabbage harvest as you walked around the market with her. Cabbages were not a topic that interested you; but then again, nothing seemed to pique your interest of late. You held Snowball’s leash loosely in your hand. The spoiled little pup refused to move past the butcher’s stall, so you paused to purchase a scrap of meat for him. 

“Miss! Could I pet your dog?” 

You turned and saw a young boy of barely eight or nine with a bright smile on his face eyeing Snowball. He was accompanied by an older woman who looked horrified. 

“Fred!” the woman scolded him sharply before offering you a clumsy curtsey. “My sincere apologies, Mrs. Jeon, I am afraid Fred is a little outspoken. I will ensure he does not trouble you again-” 

“Not at all,” you reassured her lightly. “It was polite of Fred to ask permission before approaching. You are welcome to pet Snowball, Fred. He is very friendly.” 

You did not say what you wanted to say- which was that this young boy was the first villager who had treated you in a friendly manner. You could not blame them for their wariness. Your husband was the local nobleman and controlled their livelihoods, so it was natural that they feared offending you. Fred, however, was delighted to kneel down in front of Snowball and scratch him behind the ears. 

“Are you his mother?” you asked the older woman who stood back and watched Fred anxiously. 

She shook her head quickly. “No, Mrs. Jeon. My name is Sister Lynn. I work with the orphanage."

“I did not know there was an orphanage in the village.” 

Mrs. Betsy spoke up brightly. "Indeed, there is. It is small but very well managed. Mr. Jeon's grandfather established it many decades ago. Even now, it survives almost entirely on donations from the Jeon family. There are about 11 children there currently and Sister Lynn runs it  single-handedly." 

Fred looked up at you with a toothy grin. "We have a dog at the orphanage as well! His name is Tucker. He would love to meet Snowball!"

Sister Lynn laughed nervously. "Fred…"

"I think it is an excellent idea for Snowball to meet Tucker," you replied simply. "Lead the way."

Sister Lynn seemed anxious as you followed Fred to the orphanage. She was certainly not prepared for an unexpected visit from the wife of the orphanage's primary benefactor. The orphanage was a quaint little house on the edge of the village and you felt a sudden warmth emanating from the place the moment you stepped through the opening in the fence. 

"Everyone! Come meet Snowball!" Fred called out eagerly as soon as he entered the drawing room. 

But Sister Lynn had had enough. 

"No. First you will all stand in a line and introduce yourselves to Mrs. Jeon," she ordered all the children who came running up. The children hesitated and organised themselves clumsily into a  line in front of you. The youngest boy was no older than four, and the eldest was a pretty young girl who looked just over fourteen. 

They went in a line to state their names and ages- and for the first time in what felt like months you allowed yourself a small smile. Their clumsy curtseys and stammered introductions were the picture of innocence. For a few brief moments, the creeping dreary thoughts that had so thoroughly invaded your mind were kept fully at bay. 

Once the introductions were complete, the younger children ran to surround Snowball. Your Pomeranian, delighted at the attention, lay down on the carpet and freely offered his belly to the children for pets and scratches. 

"The children seem quite happy and well cared for," you remarked to Sister Lynn. Her eyes widened and she seemed almost relieved at your words of approval.

"They are a wonderful bunch, Mrs. Jeon," she replied warmly. 

"What happens to them when they become of age?" you wondered. 

"The boys usually leave for work- Mr. Jeon is usually kind enough to find something for them to do to earn their keep. The ones who are good at numbers are hired to help with accounting for the estate, and the Jeons have even helped others acquire jobs in London as clerks and bookkeepers."

You nodded. "And the girls?" 

"Some of the girls get married- others go on to become seamstresses or take other simple jobs. I wish I could do more for them. Some of them are very clever and could probably go on to become governesses if they only knew a little French and had someone to teach them drawing and music."

You raised an eyebrow. "You cannot find them tutors?"

Sister Lynn flushed. "The best tutors are teaching young noblewomen such as yourself in London, Mrs. Jeon. Even if we had the money I could never persuade anyone to come out to the countryside to teach our young girls. But they do a very good job of teaching themselves with books."

You nodded. "That is admirable indeed. I should like to see what they learn."

"Marie is our brightest one," Sister Lynn told you before calling over the eldest girl. "Marie! Escort Mrs. Jeon into the study and show her your books and writing, my dear."

Marie came over and curtsied prettily for you before guiding you into the schoolroom. She was an intelligent, soft-spoken young girl and she showed you some of the poetry she had written. 

"Your handwriting is excellent," you told her kindly. "As is your English. These are the books you use?"

Marie nodded at the shelf of textbooks. You pulled one down and frowned. 

"This geography textbook is almost 15 years old. Are you still learning from this?" you asked her.

Marie blushed. "It's the only one we have, Mrs. Jeon," she admitted shyly. "Sister Lynn does her best to educate us, but there is only so much she knows, and there is no school nearby which will accept girls."

You nodded. "I see."

Marie guided you into the next room. "And here we have the playroom-"

You froze. The playroom was a fairly large room filled with toys and drawing boards and unfinished art. But the first thing that caught your eye was a large wooden piano in the corner of the room. 

"You have a pianoforte?"

Marie nodded eagerly. She hurried over and pulled out the stool in front of the instrument. "It was donated to the orphanage by the Jeons' a few years ago when they redecorated their manor. They had no room for it-  and there was nobody in the family who liked to play. I taught myself a song from an old piano book I found. May I show you?" she asked hopefully. 

You nodded. 

Marie blushed but sat down in front of the piano and played a simple tune. She was shaky- her fingers were not always in the right positions and it was evident that she had no formal training. But it was a pleasant song all the same. 

"That was very well done," you told her. "You learned that yourself from a book?"

Marie nodded. 

Mrs. Betsy, who was standing a little distance behind you, gave you a smile. "Do you play, Mrs. Jeon? I am sure a Viscount's sister would certainly have been taught to play at least in her youth."

You bit your lip. "I do play.'

Marie's eyes brightened. "Would you play something for us, Mrs. Jeon?"

Sister Lynn was about to scold her for making an inappropriate request of her benefactress but before she could get the words out, you had seated yourself in front of the instrument. The keys were old and worn but it was evidently still an excellent instrument. 

It had been months since you had touched a piano but your fingers danced over the instrument as though you had practiced the tune just yesterday. It was pure muscle memory- some of the happiest times in your life had been spent in front of the piano, and for a moment you almost forgot where you were as you allowed your fingers to dance on the keys to their heart's content. 

The children burst into applause. 

You let your fingers fall from the piano and turned to see everyone watching you. Marie was staring in awe and Mrs. Betsy had a warm twinkle in her eye. You felt a sudden rish of adrenaline. 

For the first time in months, you felt alive. 

Sister Lynn rushed over to you. "Mrs. Jeon, that was the most beautiful performance I have-"

"I am afraid I must leave now, Sister Lynn," you informed the older woman briskly. "But there are some things I will require from you."

Sister Lynn nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Jeon."

"I should like a list of any textbooks in the schoolroom that are over two years old- I will have them all replaced myself, as soon as possible. And you will need to make room in the girls' schedules for extra lessons. I think French on Wednesdays, and music on Fridays would be suitable."

Sister Lynn looked bewildered. "Extra lessons? But who will teach them?"

"I will."

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Teaching the young girls at the orphanage was, at the least, a welcome distraction that kept the melancholy thoughts from consuming you for a few hours every week. 

Mrs. Betsy was happy to ensure that the carriage was ready and waiting to take you into town every Wednesday and Friday. She could not accompany you herself, since her duties did not permit so much leisure- and perhaps it was for the best. Mrs. Betsy's presence was not unpleasant, but you were still uncomfortably aware that her loyalties lay with your husband. 

Marie was your star pupil. You could tell that the young girl admired you greatly, and she was a very fast learner. Hardly two months into your lessons she was reciting French poetry with a near-perfect accent and was a better piano player than Miss Brooke could ever hope to be. 

You returned from your lessons one Friday evening later that winter to find that Mr. Jeon was, to your surprise, sitting in the drawing room. He seemed tense. 

"I thought we might have supper together," Mr. Jeon suggested to you lightly. The words were calm, but you saw something in his eyes that was familiar. Something that was often reflected in your own eyes.

It was a familiar kind of sadness. 

"Of course," you replied. "I will dress and join your shortly."

You noticed the stiffness in Wonwoo's shoulders as he sat across from you in the dining room. You both ate in silence; not unusual for the few meals you shared. He looked up at you about halfway through the meal.  

"I received a letter from my friend, Mr. Kim Mingyu," he informed you slowly. "The social season in London has come to an end, as you know, and Mingyu will be stopping by our estate tomorrow evening and spending a night here before resuming his journey through the countryside."

You nodded. "Alright."

"You have no objection?"

You blinked at him. "This is your home. Why should I have any objection to you hosting your friend in your own home?"

"Because-" Mr. Jeon began, but stopped himself. "Never mind. I only wanted to ensure that we would not be causing you any discomfort. You need not dine with us if you do not wish to."

You nodded. "I am sure as old friends, you would have much to discuss. I would not want to be in the way."

"That is… considerate of you."

"Of course."

Mr. Jeon took a deep breath and turned his attention back to his meal. You watched him silently for a few moments. He was ever the brick wall; as always, you had no idea what went on in your husband's mind or what he thought about. 

But this silence… it could not go on forever. 

"I have been visiting the orphanage," you told him slowly. "A few times a week."

Mr. Jeon nodded. He did not seem surprised. "I heard. Mrs. Betsy mentioned it to me. And my clerk informed me of the books you purchased for the schoolroom."

You flushed- suddenly realising that you had spent money without consulting Wonwoo. You had been so accustomed to the Viscount covering all your expenses that the thought had not occurred to you that Mr. Jeon was now responsible for your finances. 

"I should have spoken to you-"

"Not at all, " Mr. Jeon cut you off. "If I had known that the schoolroom needed new books, I would have purchased them myself. And in any case- it is equally your money to choose to spend as you see fit."

You swallowed. "Right. Thank you."

He simply nodded. The rest of the meal passed in the usual silence, and you both went upstairs to your separate bedrooms. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

You were acquainted with Kim Mingyu from past social seasons in London. You had danced with the man at a few balls, and remembered him as a very handsome, charming and easy-going gentleman who had a reputation for capturing and breaking the hearts of London's young ladies. 

The Kim Mingyu that arrived at the Jeon estate on horseback the next evening looked nothing like the man you knew. He appeared, to put it simply, to be on the receiving end of  heartbreak for the first time in his life.  

"Mrs. Jeon," Mingyu greeted you with a stiff nod as he descended his horse. There was no smile on his face and he looked tired. "I apologise for intruding upon your hospitality at such short notice. I hope I am not disturbing you."

"Not at all, Mr. Kim," you greeted him politely. "You are most welcome."

"We will not disturb you. There are matters of business we wish to discuss, so we will be dining at the inn tonight," Mr. Jeon informed you as he laced up his riding gear. The stable boy brought out another horse for your husband. 

You nodded. "I see. Very well."

The two gentlemen rode out without further ado. One of the maids standing near the foyer was pink in the face and clearly suppressing a giggle. You raised an eyebrow at her. 

"And what is so amusing, Rosie?" you asked her lightly. 

Rosie blushed. "Sorry, madam. I was only remembering the last time Mr. Kim was here at the estate. It was when he and the master were on break from their studies at Oxford. They drove out to have dinner at the inn a few towns over but the elder Mr. Jeon had a manservant follow them and discovered that they had gone… well, certainly not to the inn."

You blinked. "Sorry?" you asked, confused. "Where had they gone?"

Rosie blushed further. "Miss, I really can't say- please don't make me. Mrs. Betsy would have my backside if she found out I was telling you-"

"Is Mrs. Betsy your employer?"

Rosie hesitated. "No, madam. You are.'

"Then tell me."

She twisted her hands anxiously and then spat out "They had gone to see some… ladies of the night. Mr. Kim admitted that it was entirely his fault and the elder Mr. Jeon was furious, so he had Mr. Kim banned from the estate."

You felt nauseous.

"Ah. Yes, I see," you replied awkwardly. 

Rosie's eyes widened. "I am sure that it is not where they have gone now!" she cried. 

You gave her a sharp look. "Of course not," you told her firmly, though you felt absolutely none of the confidence that you displayed. Regardless of what your husband was or was not doing, you could not allow a servant to gossip about it. "Mr. Jeon is a married man."

Rosie nodded. "Of course! Of course, Mr. Jeon is a very honourable gentleman and I am sure that even on that night in question-"

"Thank you, Rosie. That will be all."

You quickly walked away from the maid, who looked horrified. You had not seriously considered that your husband might be using ladies of the night, as Rosie called them, to satisfy his carnal needs- after all, the two of you had not even consummated your marriage. You had even told him on your wedding night that he was welcome to seek his pleasures elsewhere. 

You tried to push the thought from your mind as you had dinner and went to bed early. But sleep would not come. 

You laid awake for what felt like hours, straining your ears in an attempt to hear the noise of your husband going to bed in the adjoining room. It was almost midnight when you finally heard the sound of Mr. Jeon’s door click- followed by complete silence. You tossed and turned restlessly before rising and putting on your dressing gown and going downstairs. Sleep would not find you tonight. You passed by the drawing room and were surprised to see that the fire was still lit and there was someone inside. 

Mr. Kim Mingyu sat in front of the fire, staring into it deeply as though it held the secrets to eternal life. 

“Mr. Kim?” 

He jumped and turned to face you in a sluggish manner. Mr. Kim’s  eyes were unfocused; and as you took a step further into the drawing room your olfactory senses were assaulted by the pungent smell of whisky. He relaxed when he saw you, and turned his face back towards the fire. 

“Mrs. Jeon- I apologise if I woke you,” Mingyu mumbled. 

You shook your head. “Not at all. Is everything all right, Mr. Kim? Is there a problem with your accommodations in the guest quarters? I can wake the household staff if you require something.” 

Mr. Kim did not turn his eyes away from the fire. “No. I don’t need anything. I don’t deserve anything,” he said as his head fell back onto the armchair. “I am a monster.” 

He was evidently very inebriated. You crossed the room and stood precariously behind a sofa to keep some distance between you both, but be in a better position to address the man to his face. He slumped back in the armchair with a groan and turned his unfocused eyes to look at you. 

“A monster?” you asked lightly. “And what have you done that is so monstrous?” 

Mingyu chuckled. “Greed, Mrs. Jeon. I was greedy. I saw something that was not mine to take but I simply could not resist. I took advantage of her innocence, I knowingly crossed the lines of friendship and played with her emotions -and now she believes herself to be in love with me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “She believes herself to be in love with you?” 

Mingyu scoffed. “She doesn't know what she speaks of. She is too innocent to comprehend how valuable she is. She is too naive to understand love.” 

“I pity her,” you replied simply. “It would be very painful indeed, to be in love with a man like you.” 

Mingyu frowned. “What?” 

“I don't blame you,” you continued. “It is how you gentlemen were raised. All your life, people have told you that you are more intelligent and logical and rational than women so you have grown to believe it. You presume to think that you are guilty of manipulating an adult woman into falling in love with you; as though she was stupider than you.”

Mingyu frowned. “I never said she was stupider than me. She is certainly much, much smarter.” 

“Then if you had an iota of respect for this young lady, you would do her the courtesy of believing her when she says that she loves you.” 

Mingyu said nothing. He turned away from you and stared back at the fire. He was silent for a long moment and then he took a deep breath. 

"Those…" he said slowly, "may be the wisest words I have heard all day."

"I assume you had not consulted any women."

"You assume correctly," he replied. Mr. Kim turned to you with a small frown. "You are a clever woman, Mrs. Jeon. Far too clever to be wasting away in a remote countryside estate in a marriage you never wanted."

"And you are too clever to be running from a woman who loves you and finding meaningless comfort in the company of a prostitute."

Mingyu let out a hacking noise that was halfway between a laugh and a cough. "A prostitute? Strange words to call your husband," he remarked. 

You flushed. "I was not referring to Mr. Jeon. I am perfectly well-informed of what dinner at the inn really means."

Mingyu let out a proper laugh. "Oh, Mrs. Jeon. I have overestimated your cleverness, then. I really hope you do not think that Wonwoo is enjoying his time at brothels. I will be extremely concerned by how little you know your husband."

You stiffened. "He is not an easy man to get to know."

"Certainly not. He will go to any lengths to avoid talking about his feelings and he builds not just walls but fortresses around his true emotions. But surely you knew that before you married Wonwoo?"

"Our marriage was not… you know the circumstances in which we married…" you mumbled. 

Mingyu nodded. "I do. I also know that Wonwoo carries with him the burden of having ruined your life and stolen your happiness from you, perhaps forever. The man is drowning under the weight of his guilt."

You stared at him in disbelief. "I never once blamed him for-"

"You did not need to. Wonwoo may appear stoic, but he is a victim to his own conscience. In any case, I can assure you that he is not touring brothels while you sit here. He is aware of how miserable you are and it only serves to enhance his own misery."

You wrapped your dressing gown around yourself more tightly. 

Could it be true? If anyone, anyone could give you answers about what Mr. Jeon hid behind that sharp, unreadable face then you would have expected it to be Kim Mingyu. But how could it be possible? Wonwoo had shown no signs of guilt. He had never once apologised for any of the circumstances leading up to your marriage. 

In fact, your husband had gone out of his way to avoid you, to leave you alone in this empty haunting manor and let you wither away in loneliness. 

But what had you done? You blamed him for being distant and difficult but what efforts had you truly made to understand the man you married? You had simply drowned in your own misery and conveniently accepted the walls he put up between the two of you as fixtures. 

You were complicit in the ruin of this marriage. 

"It is late," you said shakily. "I must-"

You were cut off by a noise- you turned around and saw Wonwoo enter the room. His eyes looked tired and he carried a candle in his right hand. A small frown appeared on his face.  

"What are you both doing awake?" he asked doubtfully. "It is past midnight."

Mingyu stood up from his armchair unsteadily. "I was a little drunk and I sat down here for a while. I must have made some noise that woke you both up. Sorry; I'll be going to bed now."

He stumbled out of the drawing room. Mr. Jeon turned to you with a worried frown. 

"Are you all right?" he asked. 

You nodded. "Yes- of course. Snowball was growing restless in my room so came downstairs to let him out and stopped to speak to Mr. Kim when I saw him sitting here."

Mr. Jeon nodded. "All right. We should return to bed."

He turned to leave. The dim light of the fire lit up the profile of his handsome but tired and worn face. How had you not seen it before? Mr. Jeon carried a sadness within him too; one that had not been there before he married you, and which was growing darker and heavier day by day. 

"Wonwoo," you whispered. 

He froze. His face was turned away from you but you could see the way his broad shoulders tightened and his entire back stiffened underneath his white cotton nightshirt. 

You had never called him by his name before. 

After a long moment, he turned and looked at you. The remnants of surprise had still not faded from his eyes.  

"Yes?" he asked gently. 

"The… the children at the orphanage are putting on a performance for the village on Saturday evening. They have been practising hard all week. I thought, perhaps… it would be encouraging for them if you attended. If we attended."

Wonwoo stared at you. You saw the brief flash of emotion cross his face before he could control it and you knew that he understood your intentions. He understood that this was not a casual suggestion. This was not about the children, or the orphanage. 

This was you taking the first step in your marriage. 

"Of course," Wonwoo said finally. "That sounds wonderful."

You released the breath that you had been holding. 

"I will let them know. They will be very excited, I am sure."

Wonwoo nodded. He opened his mouth for a moment, and then paused, almost as though he had reconsidered what he wanted to say. Then he gave you a small, careful smile. 

"Good night," he said. 

"Good night."

—----------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'M SORRY THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO END IN PART 3 BUT BEFORE I REALISED IT I HAD WRITTEN 7K SO PLEASE DON'T KILL ME, I PROMISE I WILL END IT NEXT CHAPTER (I think)

[bitumz]

Title: A withered Rose still has its thorns

Pairing: Cooper Howard / Lucy MacLean

Word count: 4k+

Rated: T [angst, depictions of past violence, hurt/comfort, mentions of death and loss, happy ending]

A/N: this was written for the incredible @valeriarts for this beautiful fanart they made me, and was heavily inspired by this insane Beauty and the Beast Ghoulcy Fanart they entered into the Ghoulcy Atomic Blast Event! As such, this responding work is absolutely riddled with BatB references, but is lovingly set in the Fallout canon world because I am an absolute goon for the old music and wasteland setting. A tale as old as time... Ao3 link

~~~~~

One year has passed since Lucy pulled the trigger on her own decayed mother, withered away and rotted from the inside out by the inevitable cruelty of the wasteland. A necessary evil she still tries to console herself with on such a gruesome anniversary, though these days the grizzly voice chiding her in her mind doesn’t sound like her own anymore. And Lucy thinks she's starting to realize exactly how decay feels.

One year of failed leads. Shattered expectations. The growing pains of being remade into a woman more familiar than she should be, even well beyond the reflection of a mirror. 

The old shopping center she and Cooper find themselves in that evening is almost painfully similar to the Super Duper Mart, old clothing and clocks, and half burnt candles and varying arrays of other decorative knick-knacks scattered about like hastily flung debris across the rotting floors. But unlike the mart, high walls divided large sections of the space, reminding her even harsher of the vault rooms back home, centered just so by a long, splaying hallway that seemed to go on for miles into the shadowed corridor. An old mall Cooper had called it, but to Lucy that meant nothing. 

She'd done what she could to keep her distance from him that day, him never being one to appreciate her foul moods, and instead of calling out the blood curdling hypocrisy of that whole idea (and the inevitable fight that would follow), she bit her tongue and did her best to sulk alone, in only the company of a few blessedly silent clothing displays and dusty bedroom furniture. 

One of the former caught Lucy’s attention more than the others, a headless mannequin donned in a flowing silk gown, royal blue cut through the middle with a bright yellow sash that drew in the curves of the waist and cascaded floor length at the rear with the rest of the flowing hemline to trail like a river of molten gold across the moldy tile. 

Her mother had always disliked her in dresses. And Lucy can't help but remember the hazy bits and pieces of her fifth birthday. Of her father presenting her with a beautifully boxed up gift. Her mother's disbelieving scowl over at the man as Lucy held the soft floral material up against her chest and beamed at her own reflection in the vault bathroom mirror. They way her father twirled her around the room in it for many a birthday after that, with only Norm, a few aging Cooper Howard movie posters, and blinding fluorescents overhead as audience, pride already flashing even brighter in her father’s eyes as every year she grew more and more into the perfect daughter she was expected to be. And though Lucy had been too young to consider yet just where that gift could have come from, those memories now scathed in the shadows, somewhere deep beneath her bones like a bustling city of thousands of people being blown to nothing more than ruin and ash. 

And at this point, after fighting through all the many foul factions of the wasteland for just over a year and searching for a sense of fairness and freedom for so long before, she was so so far beyond sick of monsters masquerading as man. 

It was why slipping from the confines of her vaultsuit and stepping into the rolling blue and gold layers of silk felt something like lying. Like putting on that ill-fitting wedding dress again and continuing to do as she was told. Adding her name to the list and filling the role set upon her from the very moment she came out screaming like a wild beast into her mother's arms and a carefully crafted existence. 

She tugged her own suit up the slender plastic hips of the mannequin in trade. Zipped it securely closed with the final brush of her hands tenderly across the shoulders.

The worn leather slacked too big around the petite figure, and Lucy felt her own muscles clench the slightest bit in her newly exposed chest and upper arms. Her time away from the vault had made her only stronger. She could feel it in the easing of their long days trudging through the sand and restless nights with Cooper beneath the stars. In his harsh lessons and even harsher truths. But looking back at her mother’s last little hand-me-down gift as it sat wrong on the headless figure before her made her feel a bit like a child again; lost and alone in a world that was still so very much too big.

So she did just as she would when she was little. Turned the oldies station on low on her Pip Boy. Sat cross legged upon the cold dingy floor. Sought out her mother’s advice.

“I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do here.” Lucy said, eyes falling to her mismatched fingers in her lap. She curled them loose into the soft pile of golden fabric. “I wasn’t so sure I was going to make it through mourning you the first time around…” she admitted soft, swallowing at the pain rising heavy in her throat. “But this… now… knowing everything I do… I- I understand why you left. And I’m sorry I couldn’t help sooner… I’m so sorry…” And Lucy had long run out of water to waste on tears so she only clenched her fists tighter over her thighs. Waited quietly for a reassurance that would never come again, receiving only silence in answer apart from the lilting voice of Skeeter Davis softly reminding her from her wrist that the end of the world had already long since passed. 

Lucy could only blame her time above for being able to sense him well before she heard Cooper’s spurs clanging softly up the hall. And had it been even just a few months ago, she would have moved. Rose from the ground and stuck on a fake sunshine smile to avoid his prodding. Stood tall and still in the shadows like a predator in wait. But if he was going to continue to track her down every time she sought out solace, he was going to get what he got. Real and raw and just so very tired. 

“There ain’t shit for supplies,” his rumbling voice started before rounding the corner, “but I did find somethin’ interestin’ you may wanna have a look at wh…” Cooper stilled like the dead in the shattered frame of the once glass door. Rendered entirely silent, though she could feel the burn of his eyes across her newly bared arms, the curves of her shoulders, her dark hair falling loose and wild down her back. “What the fuck are you doin’?” He finally managed, sounding much farther away than he actually stood.

“Oh you know, just talking to my mom.” Lucy spoke flat to the mannequin, unmoving. “You’re interrupting.” She added in dismissal after a long dead-silent moment, but she only heard his boots close in closer behind her. 

So she held her breath and waited for the snide response to drawl from his lips. Something like ‘radaway’s losin’ its touch huh?’ she imagined first, or ‘Rose musta not took all the crazy with her when she left that fuckin’ vault...’

But as the pair of taunts grew hotter in her temples, nothing of the sort actually came from him... Which was odd enough in itself to make her finally look back over her shoulder. 

What she found was a world weary man who looked as lost as she felt. The darkness of the decaying building clinging to the protective cloak of his duster like a long drawn curse that was pained to let go. He carried the weight of his own deep in the lines of his scalded face, wearing his own many anniversaries of suffering in scattered jagged scars, jaw tense as if he fought not to set free a rising snarl at the sight before him, browline drawn beneath the shadow of his hat like she’d spoken a foreign language he couldn’t quite grasp. 

He eyed her hallowed vaultsuit as if personally affronted… Looked back down right at her, dark eyes sparking with something near that impenetrable mask of anger he so easily slipped on as they trailed slow down across the gathered yellow silk she fidgeted with at her waist, to the elegant tendrils of blue haloing in a wide puddle around her on the floor, shielding nearly as much of her body as the suit had, but still leaving her feeling so incredibly exposed to his studiously searching eyes. 

“What is it?” Lucy asked after a moment, unable to take the scrutiny any longer, heart rate rising as she shifted where she sat.

And Cooper blinked as if hearing her for the first. “What’s with the getup?”

Lucy forced the breath from her nose, long and heavy. Tugged a bit of the fabric up in a false curtsy. “Oh this old thing?” She tried to tease but fell flat. “I've never had a dress of my own, you know? Always something borrowed… and Mom used to say blue was my color.” Lucy smoothed the silk back down over her hips, missing the way the claim struck Cooper’s expression like the hail Mary of a well aimed brick. “My eyes, I guess.” She shrugged away.

“No.” Cooper disagreed low after a long beat. “It ain't your eyes.” Then he took the two last steps to stand near her side. Reached down a hand. “C’mon I wanna show you somethin’.” And for a moment Lucy sat unmoving, glancing away from Cooper’s gloved offering up to the plastic shell of her mother one last time. “She ain't goin’ anywhere.” Cooper promised soft after a while of watching her struggle, in a way Lucy now knew that only he had every right to vow. And it's what finally drew her hand out slowly into his. 

“Alright,” she breathed. And she rose.

—

The shop Cooper led her into was stacked floor to ceiling with disheveled shelves of books. Old wooden tables and chairs lined the front walls. Rows of cabinets had once cut lines through the center, now tipped and scattered by previous scavengers who must not have appreciated the incredibility of the rare bounty before her. But Lucy, however, was already mentally sorting through the contents of her pack and deciding what could be left behind to make more space.

It was the candlelight that eventually distracted her from the task. Lit aglow and sparsely set across the floor and on a few of the sturdier looking bookshelves all around the room, burning just bright enough to clear the murky darkness from the space…and it was the consideration of such a thing that emptied her chest, had Lucy steepling her hands over her mouth and gaping wide eyed all around her at the beautiful sight, the sheer number of books alone putting the vault’s ample collection to shame. But it was the man stood behind her in the darkened doorway that stopped her eyes. Silhouette framed in the soft glow of fire, features hidden almost entirely from view, but like the constant pull of the moon on the tide she could feel the weight of every ounce of his attention on only her. 

“Cooper,” Lucy called low, letting her hands fall slow to her sides. “This is incredible. I've never seen so many books in my life.”

And he ambled forward at his name like a bloodbug drawn to the life pumping quick through her veins, sharp features softened by the warm glow.

“Really?” He drawled in that way that preambled the rudeness she'd so long been awaiting. Downplaying the situation every time it got too close to - something. And he was never one to disappoint. “I thought all that Vault Tec propaganda down there would at least rival a two bit bookshop.” 

Lucy raised her eyes and turned away. Took another look about the room. Made her way to the closest shelf of books and let her fingertips brush lovingly across the dusted spines. Stacked a few aside that she had every intention of not leaving without. 

“It wasn't just propaganda,” Lucy informed, his jab unable to reach her properly through the soft flickering of flame. “Vault distributed media was delegated and traded by the overseers.” She sought him out again with the turn of her neck. “And as you know, ours was particularly fond of fairytales and cowboys. Villeneuve and Wister. That sort of thing. Not to mention the movies…” her smile was mean, a brazen curve of her lips.

And Cooper said nothing in riposte, instead simply closing the space between them with slow, lazy steps. Rested a hand against the shelf on either side of her head as she turned to face him, closing in and casting his shadow across her in a way that once would have made her feel small. 

Lucy only raised her chin, held his eyes above with the fire flickering hot in her own.

“Is that really what you wanna be doin’ today?” He asked her, a near growl as it rolled so close from his chest. “Defendin’ your daddy?” 

And the reminder twisted in her ribs like a spike, aimed and true; memories of laughter and life and being twirled around in loving arms slowly, agonizingly morphing into something more fowl in her gut like her father's guiltless eyes as he'd finally confessed aloud his many many sins down the barrel of a gun… Her mother's meatless corpse sagging gaunt in a chair nearby…

“Dance with me.” Lucy blinked, only truly registering the words as they settled skewed into her own ears. The violins dipped and drew out the start of Billie Holiday's, Crazy He Calls Me from her Pip Boy between them like a taunt and there was no better title for the way Cooper’s sharp eyes searched her face.

“Do what now?” 

“Dance with me.” Lucy repeated, just as unshaken. “You're right.” She nodded in truce. “I'd rather make new memories today than dwell on the old ones and my options are you or the mannequin.”

Cooper gauged her expression from mere inches above. Looked as if he awaited the splintering of her sanity beneath his glare. For the flinching call of her bluff as he raised his chin and thinned his eyes in a move she’d watched him use on countless others to sweeten a deal or seal a sentence. But Lucy only popped open the latch of her Pip Boy. Sat it nearby on the shelf. Held her hands out to him palms up in the dwindling space between them…

And Cooper took a step back and away. Squared his shoulders as if she had thrown a fist instead of anything near the beginnings of a dance. 

“Mannequin would suit better.” He said in faint protest, stilling only a moment longer to meet her unyielding eyes before sighing, shrugging his duster from his shoulders and draping it over the back of a nearby chair. Pulling his gloves off and dropping them unceremoniously into the splintering seat. 

And Lucy felt an altogether new sort of apprehension as he neared this time, sturdy arms straining against the worn fabric of his rarely seen sun-bleached undershirt. His bandolier of hastily crafted bullets glistened like sharp teeth across the visible rise and fall of his chest. He held a single bared hand out to her in offering, allowing her to take either that last fateful step forward or a silent final out…

And the thrill of it all was the best distraction she could ever ask for.

The fine hairs at the back of her neck rose in warning as she took this newest challenge in stride, just as she had the many before. “I don’t doubt it.” Lucy returned, resting a ruined-fingered hand over the solid curve of his shoulder. Cooper slipped her left into his and she couldn’t help but stare at that way her own something borrowed still looked pale and small against the rest of Cooper’s hand, wrapping warm and rough around her own. His other burned like a brand against her waist just as Billie sang of her own willingness to walk through fire and with it they were moving.

Cooper was a startlingly natural lead, sure in step and direction, guiding her along in soft curves of motion as if on instinct alone, whereas she stepped between his boots in thought absorbed angles, and it was a pre-war skill Lucy would not have imagined he cared to retain until that very moment. He’d always spoken so little of that time of his life, apart from Janey. And even if they weren’t spending an evening attempting to forget, she at very least knew better than to outright ask why. 

The thought brought her foot down hard on his for what she guessed was the second or third time judging by his growl.

“That supposed to be a two step?” Cooper rumbled over her instead. “‘Cause you’re movin’ like a goddamn sheet of plywood down there.”

And Lucy laughed a breathy thing at the very real exasperation in his tone.

“I’m distracted is all.” She forced herself to meet his eyes, so close and scalding in the candlelight. Reminding her even more of the last time she’d seen him display such a talent. The same way her father had taught her so many years ago… and she just couldn't help herself. “I remember this from the scene right after you killed Joey… Where you went back to town and danced with the widow in -”

“Deadhorse ya,” Cooper scathed in answer, spinning her silent in an almost violent twirl out to arms reach before snapping her back, her spine pressing flush against the buttons lining down his vest so that the “don’t start,” was hissed directly into her ear. It effectively scattered her thoughts and sent gooseflesh rising down the exposed skin of her arms for a much different reason than she knew was intended. But then he stilled them. Kept a forearm wrapped firm across the front of her waist. “Kick them boots off so you don’t take my fuckin’ toes too.” He nodded down over her shoulder, the brim of his hat brushing against her scattered hair. 

And she continued to follow his lead, shaking off one and then the other. Turned around again with minimal restraint as he took notice of her intention to face him once more. Lucy filled her lungs with the faint scent of old leather and smoke as his coarse fingers dragged slow patterns across the soft silk gathered at her hips. This time she brought both hands up to his shoulders. Felt his own slide home in a near perfect fit into the soft curves beneath her ribs. 

Then they were moving again, easier, a more natural sway that brought him the slightest bit closer. Allowed her to truly see his features painted warm beneath his hat in the firelight. Those most others would deem ugly, the proof heard often enough in wretched slurs and slithered curses from near every small bit of civilization they passed. But here in the safety of their solitude, the candles flickered deep against the rugged hollows of his face and brought somehow more life to his hazel eyes. And though they had always been so incredible to her, those eyes, something about the way the glow sparked in them now, subdued and scorching back at her in equal measure, was almost another distraction worthy of misstep. 

And she’d been doing so well until her eyes dropped to the side. Focused on the scattered splotches across his shoulders that proved his threadbare shirt had once been blue…

The music built and curled around them unimpeded by the realization, trumpets joining in with the strings to round out the repeated claims of being insane for all a number of reasons and Lucy couldn’t help but look down at her own feet again, strained and self deprecating as she focused on not stepping down onto his with the way her heart sped and cheeks flushed. His hands flexed at her waist.

“Relax.” Cooper bid low, undoubtedly sensing her struggle in her missteps and the growing tension of her muscles. “I ain’t in the mood for sparrin’ today and my drawin’ hand’s otherwise occupied, so you’re only fightin’ ya self.” 

The upward curve of his bowed lips and drawl of his words spoke only truths, something almost sad touching his eyes, and Lucy found trusting in him still came all too easy. She watched as the rise of his browline painted a told ya so look across his face while she focused only on her own breaths and the warmth of his tender hold about her waist, her movements growing more and more fluid between those very same hands that she’d seen reap death and destruction with ease for just over a year now in search of her father and the answers they were owed. Coming up just short on near every lead and tumbling almost as violently into each other's arms in one way or another so often now that it seemed only necessary for survival. 

“Perceptive.” She said finally. 

But this was something else… It was just so…

It was simply different, Lucy decided, rising up onto her bare toes to press her lips against Cooper’s just because she wanted to. Taking unapologetically in a way that he had been forcefully tearing into her from the beginning. And she softly parted her lips over his unmoving ones. Waited for the beast to surface and rear its fangs or draw its claws. To push her away with a shove or back her forcefully against the nearest surface in a deliciously dizzying coin toss of chance. Because, yes the beast was in there somewhere she knew well enough, but it was Cooper who had pulled her up from the floor of her vigil. Cooper who’d lit the candles that warmed the air around them; of a bookshop of all places. Cooper who still distracted her from her woes now in dance… 

And it was Cooper who kissed her back. Took her face into the sanctity of his hands to tilt and deepen it, his lips a hot brand across her own as he held her steady and tasted her slow in languid shallow swipes of his tongue along her lower lip. He parted from her just long enough for Lucy to draw a greedy breath from the shared air between them. Then he kissed her again, another sweet short press of his mouth over hers before he whispered “I gotcha somethin’ else,” near voiceless into the corner of her moony grin. 

Then he leaned back just enough to meet her eyes, his own expression sobering like he stood on the precipice of some great divide, and Lucy dared him to jump with the slight tilt of her head in question. 

Then he pulled out a drooping flower from the pocket of his slacks. A sun-bleached plastic rose that must have once been red before the end of the world and the crushing hands of time; petals welting and half melted... And her heart did a funny painful pair of skips in her chest at the sight of it held out to her in his own repeatedly scarred and sewn together hand. 

“What? It ain't enchanted or some shit.” Cooper said harsh, shifting an inch on his own two feet. A first misstep since they started this new dance. “I just know what it's like to not have a grave to mourn is all.” He tried again. “Don’t read too much into it.”

And what a feint it was to reach for in a room set aglow, filled to the brim with warmth and music; bound leather and parchment... 

Lucy’s smile was all straight white teeth.

“Of course not,” she succumbed, taking the rose from him carefully and tucking the stem safely away into the sash of her dress so that her hands were free to reach back out for what she really wanted. “I never really liked reading anyway,” she soothed, wrapping her wrists loose about the back of his neck and looking past him at a few new titles that would be soon added to her pile. “Though my bag has been feeling awful light lately.”

And Cooper chuckled soft, a deep rumble from his throat. 

“Fuck the books,” he said, breath ghosting warm against the sensitive skin at the side of her neck. Then his hands slid heavy through the silk pooled low at her back, drew her in close against his chest. “Pack the dress.” 

And for a long long while they danced together and forgot. 

[hanibalistic]

WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 15.1k+

warning | mentions of cheating, blood / occasions of toxic marriage / one instance of violence / not edited since the first time i posted this story​

note | the ending is essentially the same. i changed very little of the original story, only nearing the end. / forcing me to put fic into parts is heinous.

parts | one, two, three

You have had a fair share of envious moments before.

Whenever you see adorable and loving couples wandering across the streets, sipping a hot drink while letting their shared scarf do the deed of warming them up on a cold winter night, you want to gouge your eyes out to save yourself from the public display of chaste affection. But, at the same time, you cannot stop staring. If you stare long enough, you might just be able to replace the couple with you and your perfect, imaginary boyfriend. 

You have prayed for a significant other at one time or another. Who hasn’t? Discreetly whispering towards the birthday candles, the new year’s fireworks, an abrupt desperation appearing in the middle of the night when you were jolted awake. Yet, for years, the odds were not in your favor until at this exact moment when you opened your eyes after long hours of sleep you could not remember yourself ever heading to.

The sunlight was seeping through the white mesh curtains that mirrored the fabric of an expensive wedding gown, the kind that makes you gasp in awe at the bride when she wears it down the aisle. It did nothing to help with the glaring morning gaze but you could understand why people would buy it as a decoration. Those useless and overpriced curtains, no matter what, do give the room a whimsical atmosphere. If only you ever got one.

The second you laid eyes on those mesh curtains, your eyes snapped open and the grogginess you felt from just waking up vanished immediately. Those were not yours. No, definitely not. You cared too much about sleep to allow yourself an aggressive wake by the sun. Besides, you would not be caught dead spending hundreds of dollars buying a home decoration that serves no purpose other than looking pretty.

You clenched the bedsheet and gasped in both shock and awe. Talk about the softest bed sheets you have ever felt! The blanket covering your, thankfully, fully-clothed body felt like silk yet the material was thick enough to make you feel warm like you were taking a steamy hot shower and make you sleep like you were in a coma. But the same thing applied: these bedsheets never belonged to you and possibly never will.

“Oh god,” you breathed out in a whisper as your eyes rolled around the unfamiliar room.

You were stalling at this point. The heavy presence laying next to you was far too obvious for you to ignore but you were also too afraid to look. Who could it be? You hadn’t the faintest idea. You couldn’t even recall exactly what happened last night! Did you make any plans? That would be extremely unlikely. You’ve got no friends who would invite you anywhere and you’ve got no motivation to go anywhere but slack around in your apartment!

Nothing else could explain the current situation you’ve gotten yourself in, though. Nothing but you getting very drunk and possibly handing all that was sacred about you to a complete stranger.

Slowly turning your head to the side, you let your squinted eyes fall open slowly for the big reveal. The man sleeping next to you had his body turned towards your side. His lashes fluttered even when he was unmoving and his brown locks fell just above his closed eyes in the most boyish, attractive way. The bridge of his nose arched perfectly to welcome to button tip. His lips have a natural pout to them and they somehow appeared to be glittery under the sunlight.

Oh yeah, you must be drunk last night. You were sure this man was too because no way in hell would he ever want to have anything to do with you.

You stared at the man for a brief moment. Your internal thoughts went through all five stages of confusion, with all first four of them being pure confusion and the last stage being acceptance. You felt like you opened your long hidden psychic third eye after the stage of acceptance and you have never felt smarter than before. Acceptance should have been your first instinct. What else should you have done when you wake up to find yourself sleeping next to one of, if not the most, handsome man you’ve seen on Earth?

After giving your mind a nod of approval for creating such a beautiful man, you turned on your back and closed your eyes. You went back to sleep because, obviously, this was just a lucid dream.

I would let you think you were smart for a moment, [Name], but I do believe it is about time we progress with the story and learn about who the man of your dreams was, so–I’m not sorry but up we go!

You jolted awake as if you just had a nightmare, which you did not. Your body just wanted to keep you awake, it seemed. It was as if it knew you were not in the right place, or you were in a place you have never been to before, and it wanted you to stand up and discover an escape route. Sighing in defeat, your eyes blinked at the unfamiliar room you had gotten a glimpse of before you concluded that you were in a dream.

Turning your head to the side, your eyes welcomed the sight of the man you had previously admired. The only difference this time was that he was very much awake and was blatantly staring at you with a look of utter distaste that felt more common than ever. He was not the first person to give you that unamused frown and wickedly condescending gaze but it really did add more impact to it when it came from someone as good-looking as him.

“What the fuck?” you muttered out with a hasty, croaked voice.

Minho tilted his head to the side at your obnoxious reaction, then he spoke, “Why are you on my bed?”

You furrowed your brows at him, both at how nice his voice was early in the morning and in confusion to the fact that he asked you the million-dollar question. Breathing out a short laugh, you looked away from him. “I don’t know, man. I was hoping you could tell me that.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything aside from the rules we established the first day of our marriage,” he wasted no time to say, his tone getting duller and duller as if he was really getting mad over you being on his king-sized bed.

“Oh, you’re crazy.” You rolled your eyes as you reached your hand up to ruffle your hair. 

Upon the subject at hand, it was slowly coming to light the faint weight that has been resting on your fourth finger and was completely neglected by your confused state of mind. Your ruffling slowly came to a stop and, stalling time once again, you turned over to look at the stranger who was still staring at you with distaste. Something about his lack of expression, and the weight on your hand, told you he was being honest.

“Are we married?” you asked. “The thing I am feeling on my finger is not a ring, is it?”

Minho’s gaze shifted for a moment. You seemed genuinely confused, out of your usual element if he could say so himself. Truth be told, he never really paid that much attention to you. He did once in a blue moon, never enough for your presence to stick in his head. But he could definitely tell when you weren’t being yourself, when you didn’t feel like you.

“Don’t joke around with me, [Name],” he said when he regained his usual demeanor. The theory he thought about was discarded with ease. There was absolutely no way something so fiction-like could ever happen to him. The arranged marriage aside, of course.

“You know my name?” you questioned slowly, finally sitting up now that this situation was becoming creepier. Your legs inched toward the edge of the bed to leave the soft blanket and were ready to bolt out of the room for good. “I don’t even know yours.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho said, sitting up as well. “Stop messing around. Just admit that you broke the rules and slept on my bed. This amnesia act is a waste of my time.”

You squinted your eyes at him, jaw hung open in utter disbelief. His attitude fueled nothing more than the distaste for him that was currently brewing inside you.  “Dude, I don’t fucking know who you are? Am I supposed to just guess your name? Something generic like Lee Minho?” 

He showed you a deadpan expression immediately after your voice fell. Judging by the way his shoulders dropped in annoyance, you knew for a fact that you had guessed his name correctly. That was a generic name as you mentioned. You cursed under your breath then, recognizing how your luck was completely working against your favor. 

“I–I gotta go. I have to leave!”

You let the anxiety in your body do the job as you stumbled backward and out of the bedroom. You were immediately greeted with a long and bright hallway that looked way too familiar for you to not be able to navigate around it. 

You have never been here before, but you just knew. It looked like a house straight out of a drama. With the opened curtains, the velvet carpet, the random Chinese vases located in the awkward middle, and the giant wooden patterned doors—oh god, were you on secret camera right now? Did you sign some ten-page long contract you never took the time to read?

Moving to a random direction of the hallway, you grabbed the handle of the next door you could find and opened it to head inside. The lights automatically turned on when it noticed a presence, and you found yourself in what appeared to be a walk-in closet.

It was a black and white. A very minimalistic color scheme. The orange lights made you wince because it didn’t match the atmosphere. Clothing racks lined up against the wall and eventually met each other at the end, where a tall mirror stood waiting to be used. There was a door that you guessed might lead to a bathroom and a few shelves of expensive perfume and shoes. Sitting oddly in the middle was a small round desk and a cushioned chair.

You grimaced at how obnoxious and luxurious the closet was. It was everything you could have dreamed of having. Maybe even a little beyond that. There was such a thing as too big of a closet, and the idea of actually spending that much money made your skin all itchy and irritated.

Oh, [Name]–what are you doing? You have got no time to give criticism to a rich person’s closet. You have got to figure out what the fresh hell was happening!

“This makes no sense.” You clicked your feet against the carpet floor before you started to pace around.

Marriage? Minho knowing your name yet you needed to guess his? This foreign rich land you stumbled upon? There were only four solutions you could think of after having rethink every single detail.

Exhibit A: This is still a dream.

You slapped yourself after much preparation. The pain stung you like your bare hand to a burning stove. This is not a dream, it has never been. 

It was funny to watch you slap yourself though, I have to say. 

Exhibit B: This is a television prank.

Your drama-loving, variety-show-watching freak would definitely be able to tell. Each pranking show has its distinct element to the way they execute their plan—from the setting to their actors to their fake scenarios. This was far too obvious and far too risky for any pranking show you have watched. You could cross the option off the chalkboard!

Exhibit C: Minho is madly in love with you and has kidnapped you to be his spouse!

Interesting and unbelievable. Why would someone like him need to kidnap you to keep you with him? With that face and this kind of money? You would have caved within seconds judging by how shallow your heart could be sometimes. Besides, why would someone like you intrigue him? No way. This option is off the chalkboard too.

Well, what remained was your last resort, I suppose. May I proudly present you—Exhibit D!

The door to the closet swung open, abruptly disrupting the deep-voiced narrator in your head and pulling you back into the real world… as real as it could get, at least. Snapping your head to the side, you were greeted with an unamused Minho by the doorway and your frown deepened at his unwelcoming presence.

“Why are you in my closet?” he asked, approaching you slowly.

You blinked at him and looked around. The clothes on the racks finally made themselves clearer to you, and for the first time you could see that those were men clothes. Or, at least, pieces you would never wear outside. This wasn’t your closet, but you’ve had enough to him to admit your wrongs, so yous scoffed instead.

“Is everything yours?” 

Minho raised a brow. “Besides you, yeah. I would say so.”

You closed your eyes to concentrate on holding down a fiery breath threatening to escape. Whether it was Minho or yourself it planned to head toward, exploding in the middle of a stranger’s house in an unfamiliar situation was the last thing that could help you. As much as you hated how Minho seemed to make perfect sense every time, you remained (as) calm (as you could be). 

“Whatever.” Classic comeback.  

“Whatever? No, this isn’t whatever,” Minho said, grabbing a fistful of a discarded topic and throwing it at your face. “Do we need to have another talk about boundaries?”

You furrowed your brows, but you weren’t confused this time. You were annoyed and in disbelief. His condescending tone scratched the part of your brain you learned to turn off during work hours, but since he wasn’t in charge of your finances, unlike your boss, you’ve had it up to the tip of your head with him. On second thought, you were better than this asshole! You would never agree to marry someone with this kind of shitty attitude! Exhibit C is back in the race!

“Did you kidnap me?” you asked with no reluctance.

Minho tilted his head at you, bewildered but not enough to lose his stoic expression. “Kidnap you? Why would I do that? You are the one head over heels for me ever since we got married.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you snorted loudly as you turned away from him. Then you pointed a finger at him, wanting to spat something with menace but you were stopped immediately by the diamond ring on your fourth finger.

Oh, that—that is heavy. That looked heavy and it felt heavy. How did you not feel it? You wanted to take it off and keep it in a glass box on display the second you laid your eyes on it.

“Did you force this on me?” you asked, pointing at the ring and discreetly feeling the rough diamond on your skin. Your eyes shifted slightly to glance at it and they widened on instinct. You couldn’t even begin to guess how expensive that piece of rock is and having it weighing down on your fourth finger felt like too much responsibility. “You freak! How much did you pay for this?”

Minho shook his head, continuously bewildered at the sudden questions fired towards him. “About five hundred–“

You held up your palm to shut him up. That number was all you needed to know. Judging from the way he was still trying to speak, the ring was definitely not just a mere five hundred dollars. And be it the word ‘thousand’ or ‘million,’ whichever comes out of his mouth would still make you fake barf and your heart pour blood. The only thing you could feel remotely glad about was the fact that he bought the ring.

“Also, for your information, I did not force the ring on you. We both agreed to get married. Besides, I didn’t need to force you to do anything,“ he replied. "Our parents did.”

"Our parents? What do you know about my parents–my mom and dad will never force me to marry anybody even though that is all they ever urge me to do these days!”

“[Name].”

For once, Minho’s deep and quiet voice was laced with something other than spite. His eyes were solemnly melancholic. They dropped like shadows as he gazed at you carefully. Without moving an inch, he spoke, “[Name], your parents have been dead for a year.”

Dead parents. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a trope you could work with. At least it has the capability of bringing your theory somewhere. Maybe on a path to insanity but still a route nonetheless.

Let me humbly do a recap of everything that went down. 

A big house. A rich man, a rich and handsome man, a rich and handsome man who hates you, a rich and handsome man who hates you because you two were stuck in an arranged marriage. Dead parents.

"Oh my god,” you gasped under your breath as the reality dawned upon your once clueless mind. Everything was so clear after you figured out all the key elements, it almost felt like you could calculate the physics of the parallel universe and the meaning of existence!

You are stuck in a drama!

After some wild stumbling about in Minho’s big mansion, all thanks to your pride preventing you from asking him the exact location of ‘your’ closet, you finally found the fashion wonderland you were looking for—your walk-in closet, that was somehow separated from Minho’s even though you two were supposedly holding hands in marriage. This degree of hated in an arranged marriage wasn’t uncommon, but you thought it hard to deal with when you’re stuck in the position.

Bursting through the door, the lights automatically turning on in here as well, you gave yourself no time to admire the inner structure of how the closet was built and decorated. Instead, you immediately went for the first mirror you could find, which was just hanging on the wall above a little table.

You heaved a short sigh when you recognized your own face and body in the mirror. That fact alone reinforced the drama theory you’ve got spinning in your head. If you were to not look like yourself, there would be a possibility that your soul got switched with someone else’s and you were actually still stuck in real life. However, the person you were looking at in the mirror was you in the flesh, therefore this was not a soul-switching experience but a teleportation experience.

You got stuck in a drama. Yeah, that was it. Either that, or you got transported to yourself in an alternative universe. To you, they meant the same thing. Anything that wasn’t your reality would be fake. That was your answer. But how did you get transported here? Flipping through the television department of your memory, not once could you remember yourself ever going through anything that happened to protagonists who were teleported somewhere else.

You weren’t almost hit by a car, you didn’t almost freeze to death, you didn’t almost drown in the ocean—oh there, wait a minute. There was a pattern there. The key to the sequence is not a near-death experience. The key to all of these is only the 'near’ of the experience, not necessarily the 'death’ part of it!

“But that makes no sense?” you mumbled to yourself as you tried your best to remember what you were doing before you woke up next to Minho, but it was to no avail. All you could remember was falling asleep on a phone call with your friend. “Everyone almost does something all the time. How do you determine which one is significant?”

Marching over to pick up a random pair of shoes from the shelf, you raised it high in mid-air and let go of it. Before it could hit the ground, you immediately caught the shoes again, then you looked around the place with the most paranoid eyes. “Oh, oops! I almost dropped these shoes!”

Nothing happened. The only thing that welcomed you were the static in the air and the realization of your stupidity.

Alright. Perhaps the ‘death’ part of it was, in fact, necessary after all.

Putting the shoes back, you puffed out some air to replace a frown that would inevitably help you gain more wrinkles than needed. Walking back to the table, you stared at yourself in the mirror and gave yourself a few pinches here and there. Both to make sure you were not dreaming and to give yourself some encouragement that things would turn out fine somehow.

One thing you did come to realize after the momentary idiotic trance you got stuck in was that while you were stuck in a drama (at least a universe that seemed to act on its principles), you were also taking the place of someone else’s life. Your position belonged to a character once. You just came in and took their place. You still looked like you, for some reason, but this position was not yours to freely maneuver.

Besides, whoever ‘you’ used to be must have been transported to your body in your world. Unfortunately, judging from the kind of life they’ve led thus far, you should pray against that case because your life wasn’t the kind of suffering they could handle. You didn’t think so. Working a full time job, not being married, and being dirt poor? Your life would suck for them. You may have to be ready to find a new job when you figure out how to go home. 

Nonetheless, you’ve got to be careful. You have no idea when you would magically disappear from this place, and you would hate to have someone pick up your pieces.

“Just live for now and don’t mess up,” you told yourself lazily, grimacing at the fact that you might have to comply with what Minho says from now on because, according to him, you were in love with him.

Now that the troubles were all set aside. It was finally time for you to bask in the big, extravagant closet of your dreams. You turned around and beamed at the clothes that lined up the walls and at the shoes all carefully placed in a row. This! This was much better than Minho’s closet, you knew that for certain!

Making your way to the other side of the room, you skipped with your bare feet happily. All that excitement only to have you trip on your own feet and fall forward. Your eyes widened in shock, your mouth hanging open to let out a small scream.

Your head banged against the wooden column that held up the clothing rack, and immediately you blacked out.

Opening your eyes was quite the scare for you.

Oh, how horrible it would be if you found yourself waking up next to a handsome man who happened to be your husband and also does not love you whatsoever but is extremely rich and is putting a roof over your head? You sniffed in distaste. You weren’t one for gold diggers. Money was never a big problem for you. You were poor, but you’ve got enough to get by. Loneliness and the lack of intimacy were the main issues! Not that you would outrightly acknowledge it, though.

The room you woke up in was different than the previous one. It was just as big as Minho’s bedroom but it had a more natural tone than Minho’s royal-like room. Holding your palm to your forehead, you winced in shock at the bumpy surface on your skin. You did remember tripping and falling head-on against the clothing rack but you did not think it would create that much damage. All you thought would happen was a small red spot and eternal suffering of you acknowledging how stupidly clumsy you were.

Aside from that, at least you gained a little information about yourself: you trip easy, you faint easy, and you scar easy. It was unlike your regular body; your threshold for pain and fatigue was high due to constant working, and you definitely did not use to trip on solid ground. Being teleported here has turned your body into a typical romantic drama protagonist. 

Your feet touched the cold tiles. Surprisingly, there were no fluffy slippers for your them to slip into. You got out of your bed and immediately went out to the hall in hopes to search for someone. There has got to be a soul working in this mansion. You could not have possibly smeared vaseline on your forehead and tucked yourself back into bed in a state of unconsciousness.

The atmosphere was eerie as you made your way down the hall. The sound of your bare feet tapping against the carpet could be heard in this quiet house and for once, you thought perhaps having such a giant home was not the best idea in the world. It has got you missing your small and cozy apartment where most things were within reach and sight. If only it didn’t take half of your pay check every month. 

“Oh, I see you’ve woken up!”

You flinched at the sudden voice, albeit it being very gentle and harmless. Turning around, you found a middle-aged lady dressed in casual clothes holding a basket of crumpled up laundry. Not wanting to act too suspicious and out of character, you gave her a small smile as you accessed her figure as quickly as you could.

She was not wearing one of those maid costumes, which was not surprising. You wouldn’t say you want to see an old lady in one either despite hoping to see an actual maid in a rich household just to experience that drama dream you’ve got stored in your head. But looking at the laundry basket she was holding, you were pretty sure she was only here to do the chores and she would leave once the day gets darker.

“Um… yeah, I have,” you replied to her as your hand reached out to softly touch the nasty bump on your forehead. You grimaced a little at the texture before you looked back at the lady, “Uh, is–is dinner ready?”

She nodded her head with a faint laugh, happy to know you haven’t lost your perception of time yet. Nudging her head to the end of the hallway, she said, “Mr.Lee went and bought home some takeout from your favorite restaurant after he got off work. They are in the kitchen if you are feeling hungry.”

You arched your brows pleasantly. Alright, that was very nice of him. Considering you weren’t holding any grudges against him yet, he did that our of sheer kindness, or responsibility—it didn’t matter. Free food is free food. You would thank him if you see him later but honestly, that would hugely depend on your mood and how he acts when you do see each other again, which you knew you would. 

“Okay. Thank you very much.” You nodded at her with gratitude, mirroring her hushed voice. “Ah, and thanks for fixing my head and tucking me to bed.”

“Of course, it is what I’m supposed to do.” She smiled. Your surprised look—from mistaking that she was the person who brought you back to bed—did not go unnoticed. Immediately, she added,“But Mr.Lee was the one who brought you back to your bed. That was not me.”

You blinked at her in bewilderment. The inside of your chest fluttered just a little at the idea of someone hoisting you up bridal-style and putting you back to bed. It didn’t cross your mind once that he might have laid you on his back instead. You were dramatizing the experience. You had to because Minho did not seem like the type to fit under the romantic category. His face? Definitely. His personality? No. 

Nonetheless, you were flustered at the idea of it. It was the first time someone has held you up like that since your father years and years ago.

“O–oh, that is–“ you cleared your throat and your mind, then you looked up at the lady with a smile–“um, is he home? I want to go thank him.”

“He is,” she nodded, “I believe he is just in his office room.”

Great. Location unlocked! All that remained would be how to get there.

“Thank you. I will just get going now.” You bowed slightly before you quickly spun on your heels and left the hallway.

After some more trials of opening doors that lead you to empty bathrooms and empty guest bedrooms, you were starting to hate this house more and more. At this point, you wouldn’t get a big home even if you’ve got all the money in the world. The hatred and annoyance have rooted too deep in your brain, you have automatically crossed your castle dreams off the bucket list.

Your feet tapped quickly against the carpet so your legs could take you down the hall and to the next doors quickly. Letting out a frustrated groan, you grabbed the door handle as soon as a new door was in reach and you twisted it open to reveal a rather embarrassing sight of Minho and a girl being all over him near the edge of his desk.

You couldn’t decipher whether this position was reciprocal. It was amazing that your brain could even function logically enough to think that perhaps Minho didn’t want to be stuck in this position considering how awkward the view was. You forgot for a moment you were looking at this from a spouse’s perspective, and panic surfaced when you dodged the girl’s annoyed eyes and instead looked straight into Minho’s shocked ones.

Your jaw dropped open slowly at the sight in front of you as if you were just looking at it for the first time. You were finally processing it, though. Then, for some stupid reason, you reached your hands up to your face and quickly smacked the heel of your palm to your eyes. Your back arched at the impact and you started wailing in (fake, but debatably genuine) pain. You disliked couples, also you thought it was funny to act out of the role you were destined to be: a wailing woman. 

The real dilemma here was if you wanted to confront them or act as if you haven’t seen anything. 

Unfortunately, confronting them may lose your status as Minho’s spouse, thus the roof over your head and the trust funds. It would be immensely entertaining to confront them, but you needed to keep everything else in mind. For now, pretending you didn’t see anything was the best response.

Minho and the girl were startled out their minds at your peculiar response. Minho’s instincts told him to stand up straight and approach you to check and see if the fall this morning was more serious than he assumed it to be. But before he could listen to his heart, your incoherent wailing started to turn into audible words.

“Oh! My eyes! I can’t feel my eyes! I can’t see!” You let your hands go free around the air and kept your eyes shut tightly to act blind. Your spun your torso about, almost dancing to a rhythm of a trot song, and your arms flailed closely beside your figure to avoid hitting the door frame. “I have not seen a thing! I’ve gone blind!” 

His lips quirked up in amusement, but the amusement was quickly diminished when the girl who just recently tried to lure him into a deceptive make-out session spoke.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked out loud, possibly glaring at you but you could not see (because your eyes were closed, not because you’ve actually gone blind. You’ve got me fooled!), nor do you care.

However, you did almost let a gasp past your lips because good lord, the audacity of this woman! Did she see no problem in seducing a married man? An unhappily married man but a married, ring on the finger, contract signed, vowed spoken man nonetheless! Does ‘through sickness and health’ mean nothing to people anymore?

As much as you didn’t care for Minho, the concept of adultery is and will always be preposterous! You were thinking in big words just so you could emphasis how much you hate the act of cheating!

“It seems like somebody is being unfaithful and I am trying to make sure I don’t make a memory of it,” you replied calmly with your eyes still shut and your body turned at the wrong person. It was hard to take you seriously. When there was only silence, you muttered to yourself, “God, I hope amnesia happens when I leave this world. This is not a good sight to remember for them.”

Minho furrowed his eyebrows at you after your answer. Surely, you wouldn’t accuse him of cheating? You barged in at the wrong time. You didn’t even try to understand the situation from his perspective. His arms were crossed in front of his chest to create a more dominant stance before he commanded, “[Name], open your eyes.”

“Did you not hear what I said–ah, you probably didn’t because I muttered.” You sniffed the tense air before you shook your head. “No. I am trying not to make a memory of this.”

“[Name], I said open your eyes,” Minho repeated louder once again. He marched over to you and, impulsively, gripped a stronghold of your chin to tilt your head up. “I said look at me!”

You snapped your eyes open at the forceful tug, a strangled noise bursting from your throat at his violent action. You weren’t scared, no, not at all. You were angry, annoyed, and actively seeking retaliation you would’t have engaged in back where you came from. 

Your hand reached out to grip his wrist and you squeezed tightly until Minho showed a sign of discomfort on his face. A smile almost crept their way to your face; all those years carrying bags of groceries with your mom while walking home was worth it! But the matter at hand called for a more serious demeanour. This experience concerned not just yourself but whoever was once in your place. The aftermath of your choices would change their life, and your call was to stand up for them.

Your brows furrowed and your eyes flashed with cruel disbelief as you glared at him. Shoving his hand away from you, you croaked out, “How dare you treat them like this?”

Minho looked confused. Them? What did you mean? Who were you referring to? Before he could open his mouth to ask, you took a step back and glared pointedly at him. There were droplets in your eyes that you were unable to hide completely. Nobody has ever treated you this roughly before, but you weren’t upset. Those were frustrated waters. The more visible part of your hooded eyes wore a deep-seated contempt that Minho has never seen from you before.

You felt like a completely different person to him.

“I can’t believe they love you,” you sneered. “How could anyone ever love you like this?” 

Like a bullet, your words pierced through him, hitting bull's eye on his board of insecurities. He was rendered speechless at your words. All he could do was cast his gaze down at the floor and think about them. You, taking the silence as an opportunity, glanced back at the girl who stood quietly behind Minho. She didn’t quite return your gaze, possibly shocked to hear such harsh and defensive words coming out of your mouth. Not once did you consider how she was feeling. She was practically invisible until her appeared in your sight. 

You rolled your eyes before you turned and left the room. All thoughts to thank him earlier vanishing in thin air, and it would take quite the journey before they come back to you.

You stomped to the living room and into the kitchen. The subtle change from the carpet floor to the marble tiles was magnified under the pressure of your feet. The cold didn’t even bother you that much, your mind was too occupied with the previous event involving Minho.

As soon as you walked into the open kitchen, you found a milk-colored paper bag sitting on the edge of the countertop with a name printed in the middle in a pretty, cursive font. Your eyes softened for a moment when you acknowledged that the bag contained the food Minho went and got for you, but the softness lasted only a millisecond as your mind repeatedly recalled the incident seconds ago.

Anger filled your eyes like an ocean. Who was he to do that? If he had let you go like a normal person and not pull that violent stunt on you, you would have never been this riled up. You didn’t care that he was cheating; it wasn’t like he was cheating on you per se. You cared that he thought it was okay to grab you (or ‘you’)!

Turning away from the takeout bag, you approached the refrigerator and opened it to search for some eggs and meat so you could cook a meal like you used to do when you finally run out of instant noodle packs to boil. After taking out the necessary ingredients, you searched through the cabinets to find a pan to use but it was to no avail. Everything was either bowls and plates or more salt and sugar.

A frustrated huff escaped your lips, your cheeks puffing out and you gritted your teeth before you slammed the cabinet door shut. You stood up from the ground with a curse under your lips and your hands on your hips. With light sweat on your forehead and your unsightly floral pajama set, [Name], you do look like someone’s grandparent at the moment.

Footsteps made you avert your attention from the hiding pan to where the sound came from. Stumbling into your sight was the girl you just saw, with Minho following shortly behind her. You met eyes with him first, and despite wanting to peel your eyes away from him, you held onto his gaze challengingly to make a point. Minho felt his hands tremble as his mind suffered a faint disassociation.

He was right. You were not the person he knew anymore.

Turning around to look at the eggs and frozen meat you set on the kitchen counter, you stared at it as if contemplating your next move, then you turned back to the two with a shrug. Your tone was beyond slurred and impolite. “Where is the pan?”

“What do you need it for?” Minho asked.

“To knock you out,” you deadpanned, then you visibly scoffed with an eye-roll. “For cooking. Have you never seen people use one before?”

“I bought the food already.”

“I know.” You made a beckoning gesture with your hand. “Tell me where the pan is.”

“You don’t even know how to cook,” the girl interjected, her brows furrowing slightly at your vindictive tone as she assumed your poor attitude here was to compensate for what you just saw of her and Minho.

“Are we friends? I don’t know you,” you said factually.

She laughed in disbelief. “You do know me. I’m Yuna.” 

“Nice to meet you, Yuna, but I’m afraid I won't try to remember,” you said, eyes scratching fire on her skin. She looked taken back by your gaze, which may be the reason why she didn’t retaliate. Glaring back at Minho, you waited for him to answer your question about the location of a cooking pan. You didn’t know if he simply refused to tell you anything or if he didn’t know either, but you snapped either way as your patience reached its limit.

Widening your eyes at him in disbelief, you exclaimed, “Oh my god, Minho! Just tell me where the fucking pan is so I can make myself dinner!”

Now it was Minho who looked startled. You narrowed your eyes at him then, trying to piece together exactly who you used to be before this soul-switching event happened. Judging from how shocked both him and Yuna were, you must have been one mellow and kind person. It was not to say you didn’t possess those traits either. You definitely did, but Minho has done nothing to deserve your goodness, and you would not be the bigger person and give it to him.

“I asked a simple question.” You rolled your eyes and waved your hands in front o your chest in a dismissive manner as you moved from your spot to head out of the kitchen. “I’ll ask someone else.”

Minho watched as you stomped out of the kitchen. When you brushed past him, he wanted to reach his hand out to stop you from leaving. For what reason? He could not conclude. He wanted to answer your question, which was that he could only guess where all the cooking utensils were because he’s not once tried to make dinner. He wanted to ask you to clarify a few things, starting from what happened to you. He wanted to urge you to calm down. Mostly, he wanted to apologize for what he did to you.

But his muscles were rigid and his heart hollowed when he turned to your leaving figure. Your words echoed in his head over and over again. How could anyone ever love you like this? How could anyone ever love you like this, Minho? How?

The sound of a door slamming could be heard all the way from where he stood. Minho licked his lower lip slowly in realization, a realization that relied on a mere assumption. It could explain your sudden change of attitude, at least. The thought jolted his mind awake and he turned around, preparing to leave the kitchen and go after you for answers.

Have you stopped loving him? Or, judging by those words, have you ever loved him?

“Hey, where’re you going?” Yuna asked when he noticed his urgency.

“I’m going to talk to them,” he replied.

“But they’re mad at you–“

“I know.”

“So don’t go. They wouldn’t want to talk to you anyway,” she said with a half-smile. 

“I can’t, Yuna. I need to talk to them about something important.” Minho carefully moved his hand out of her grasp. “Something is off about them, I can feel it..”

“You can wait a while, Minho.” She tugged onto his arm again. “You should let them cool off. How about we sit down and eat?”

Minho paused to consider the suggestion. You were angry. He could tell by the stomping and the glaring and the cursing. Since he has never seen you like this, there was no guessing to what intensity your anger could rise. You might start throwing sharp objects at him for all he knew. But somehow, that only made him want to ‘resolve’ the situation even more. It felt as if there was a clock hanging above your head, counting down each second of him stalling and not talking about what happened, and when the clock ticks zero it would be too late for him.

(It should have been too late for him ages ago, but ‘you’ had been patient, far too patient with him.)

“I can’t. I have to go talk to them now,” he replied and once again moved his arm away. This time, he quickly took a few steps away so he could be out of reach. He gave Yuna a short smile. “Go home, okay? Text me when you get back safely.”

Yuna watched with slumped shoulders as Minho quickly made his way up the stairs and disappeared into the hallway. Her lips pursed, confused and disappointed.

She has liked Minho for as long as she could remember now. As horrible as the arranged marriage was to her, Minho has never expressed a fondness for you and that he has never shown any form of attachment towards this arrangement. If anything, he has been nothing but spoiled and distant when it came to you. It was only because of that. That was the only reason why she reacted well with the marriage and that her love-struck mind deemed it moral to try and steal Minho away from you.

But why? Why was Minho so caught up now? 

Yuna ran a hand through her long, silky hair. She glanced around the kitchen, her eyes settling on the takeout dinner. She gulped nervously. Before she left the house, she grabbed the food with her.

You were too caught up in your thoughts to hear the doors to the closet opening. Your head was lowered to stare at the ground visible between your crossed legs. One of your hand was at the mercy of your nail-biting habit while the other one was clenched into a tight fist and resting on top of your ankle. You were hunched in the middle of your enormous closet, mumbling out your thoughts.

Your initial goal was to live this life of yours as invisibly as you could. You were not going to destroy this person’s life. You were not going to destroy their relationships and definitely not their marriage. For as long as you would be here, you would try to go along pretending like you were somebody else. When you finally leave this place, you would hand this life back to the original ‘you’ as if they never left!

Your goal was facing a bit of an intrusion—Lee Minho.

Without any attachment and responsibilities, it was easy to stand up to him. Doing it for the sake of a weaker person was even easier to do. Who was he to be so rough with his spouse? What was his problem? Not to mention that incident was not the only bad example you could raise, there were so many more things about him that were unlikely and unfathomable! You were considering whether you want to help ‘you’ do the deed and cut all ties with Minho.

He was not good for you, and the original you were probably too in love to see that. That must be why they stayed, considering there was a lack of evidence for any hostage or abusive scenarios. Therefore, you would be more than happy to help them get out of this situation, even though it might hurt them in the short run. To be extra cautious, you could write a explanation letter and conduct a plan for their temporary financial coverage if confirmed that Minho was their only source of security. 

You could do this. You could save a life! Hurray [Name], you’re finally doing something useful!

“What are you mumbling about?” Minho asked as he knelt on one knee in front of your hunched figure.

You snapped your head up and immediately, your thoughtful eyes turned into a glare. You rasped out a yell, “None of your business!”

His expression did not waver, so you scoffed. “What the hell are you doing here? You can’t be checking up on me.”

“Why can’t I be?” Minho tilted his head to the side.

“Because you are an asshole.” Yu rolled your eyes, finally having the sense to scoot away from him. You sat up straight, still glaring at him but the tension in your muscles has slightly relaxed upon seeing his soft, but still stoic, gaze. “Seriously, what do you want?”

“I’m checking up on you,” he replied. “What are you doing in the closet out of all places?”

“I love this closet. You wouldn’t know.” You shrugged and turned to the side, facing the light around the mirror on your table. “It is quiet. It helps me think.”

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asked, his eyes never leaving you as if he was trying to catch every detail of your movements.

You didn’t answer for a short minute, your eyes boring holes into the wooden desk. When you finally did, you have already made the difficult decision in your head, and you were completely ready to execute it.

“I am deciding if I have ever loved you. It seems like I haven’t,” you told him with a neutral expression as if you were spilling nothing but information that contained no emotional destruction within them. “Or maybe I did, but I certainly don’t now.”

Minho’s mind blanked out. There was his answer. The only thing that was circulating his head were your words, and he didn’t understand why they hurt him so much. He, too, knew he had been distant and cruel to you for most of the marriage. There was no reason for him or anybody else to believe he would ever be sad if the marriage breaks up somehow. But he was hurting. Hearing you confess your lack of endearment stung him like a needle to the skin.

Immediately putting on a facade, Minho raised an eyebrow and he leaned away a little. “Really? Well, what do you suggest we do then?”

You blinked at his cooperative response. This was going too well for your liking, but perhaps your fate had decided to finally be nice to you for once. Shrugging at him, you said, “What else can we do? Let’s talk divorce.”

His heart jumped at the word but his face controlled all that he could express. The jump was not hectic enough for him to burst out of his usual character yet. Heaving out a heavy sigh, Minho smirked with a laugh. “Yeah, right. Why would the people who forced us together agree to separate us?”

It was your turn to laugh now. Everything was going as planned. You should be suspicious of that, but you’d rather relish in the present. “Oh, Minho,” you mused. “There isn’t much you know about arranged marriages, do you?”

He furrowed his brows at you in confusion, and for once you finally let your guard down. Standing up, you urged him to do the same as you walked over to the door. “Come on. I’ll cook us some food and we’ll talk about it together.”

“Like I said, I already got food.” Minho rolled his eyes as he stood up and followed suit behind you, his heart still beating fast.

You glanced down at your slippers and hummed. Now that he’s somewhat agreed to separation, you decided you no longer have to hold a grudge against him. Having some good, expensive food and talking about the shining end to your marriage sounded like a very great end to this problem. Turning to look behind your shoulder, you nodded at him. “Alright, let’s see what you got.”

If all goes as you assumed, you were almost one hundred percent sure his mother hates your guts. Unfortunately, the way to a perfect divorce in these dramatic circumstances was always through the male protagonists’ snobby and obnoxious mother, but you’ve got that covered! You’ve consumed so much media, these archetypes of people were predictable to you. 

You waited anxiously at the extravagant coffee house. It was a place for flower teas in floral China cups and overpriced cupcakes stacked in the shape of a fountain. You felt heavily out of place even with the expensive clothes you were wearing, and oh boy, were you anxious about being seen in public when your insides were scrambled with feelings of not belonging. Nobody could read your thoughts, but what if they could?

The conversation you had with Minho last night was a never-ending cycle of you trying to explain divorce to him and him shooting down all the possibilities you pull out of your pocket. He was defending this marriage like he wanted to keep it, and strangely, you would not be surprised that he did. After all, Minho could very well be that male character who was just stoic on the outside but was actually very sensitive on the inside.

However, that was none of your businesses. Who Minho was on the inside didn’t matter to you whatsoever. It poses no value if all he ever does is hide that part of him and mask himself with a terrible facade. An asshole with a secretly good heart is just an asshole. You have made the goal to divorce him, and there was that.

"Oh! There you are!”

An auntie-like voice jolted you out of your nervous state of mind, and you moved your eyes to find an old lady pulling out the chair before you and sitting down. She wore minimal makeup on her face, just enough to make her wrinkly skin shine over her old age. Her clothes were tacky and have an expensive air to them, which was typical of most expensive clothes. You supposed you were in no place to judge. 

“I am so sorry for being late!” she said. “I hope you haven’t been here for too long.”

“No, I got here five minutes ago.” You shrugged dismissively, your eyes too focused on watching her movement.

She who sat before you was none other than Minho’s mother, or so you thought who would be the bitch of the century. But everything she showed was against your normal drama characterizations—no tense shoulders, no frown, no condescending gaze, and no slow talking with an old woman nasal tone.

Instead, her eyes were warm as they glanced at you as if you were a long lost child of hers. She was more polite than ever as she explained why she was late for this supposed divorce conference you planned. This was completely unexpected. You weren’t sure how to react now that the possibility of not being able to bring up a divorce has risen.

“Do you know what you want to order?”

You blinked a few times at her and glanced down at the menu. You haven’t gotten the time to look at it, but it felt like you would lose your appetite as soon as you look at the prices printed on the menu. Picking up the menu, you gave her a faint smile and opened the booklet with a thick velvet cover. You laughed a little at yourself. There were no prices labeled. Of course. Rich people need not know how much things cost. Those irresponsible midgets only pay.

“I will get the green tea cake. It is my favorite,” she mentioned, finally setting down the menu.

“Oh, really? Then I guess I should try that out too,” you quickly followed, not really bothering to decide what you feel like consuming as you were already too busy thinking of what to do with your plan.

“Okay great! Let me call the waiter over!”

You smiled at her blindly, still not paying any attention to your surroundings. Oh, you have caught yourself on another stump, [Name]. While still wanting a divorce—oh god, this word would not be leaving your mind anytime sooner—you were starting to think perhaps Minho’s sweet mother would not be the easiest way to signing the papers. She doesn’t seem to hate you at all, which only served as a disadvantage to you in this situation.

You hummed. There was that. But just because she really liked you wouldn’t mean you couldn’t talk to her about wanting to end a marriage with her son. Perhaps a more civilized conversation could be held where you two talk the arranged marriage over like actual adults, and she would most likely only convince you to rethink your decision more carefully without knowing you already did.

It was not the path you were hoping to cross but it would still be a path with the desired result at the end, so you supposed there was no harm in being honest about what you want.

“What is it that you want to talk to me about?”

Alas, a lot of things are easier said than done. I am pretty sure you knew that fairly well with your many years of experience on Earth.

“I… uh…” You clenched your fists and squinted your eyes uncomfortably. The way you kept reminding yourself to be honest did nothing to your feelings.

Minho’s mother tilted her head to the side as her forehead creased with confusion. It was an expression she has never seen you have before, an expression that looked as if you were holding something back because you have something bad to say. To her knowledge, you never needed to say anything bad enough that it punches your moral consciousness in the gut. Not to her, at least. Not even when it was about her son.

“Is it about Minho–“

“I want a divorce.”

The second your voice dropped, so did her expression. You couldn’t look at her, and the striking remorse was baffling you. None of this was your fault, nor have you spend enough time to develop a bond with Minho’s mother, so why should you feel bad about telling her you wanted to leave her son? These people were all strangers! Was this the power of innate empathy people kept yapping about needing to possess?

A look of realization was apparent in her overall troubled expression. Her eyes sparking a hint of light as it dawned on her that Minho has finally done something that reached and crossed the breaking point for you, and it has tempted you to properly ask for a divorce. After the sudden startlement came a wave of tranquility, as if she already knew this would happen sooner or later.

“We can’t do that.” That was all she told you.

“Minho already told me about everything when we discussed this yesterday,” you pressed on carefully. “Legally, I can.”

She gave you a faint look of surprise, possibly from hearing that you and Minho had already talked this over. Then she sighed with a shook of her head. "If you two do get a divorce, there would be no reason for my husband to continue sponsoring your father’s company and keep it going. Your father’s legacy will fall.”

You held back a witty remark at the fact that she was talking as if your father was some prophet who died saving the world and you were supposed to be in line for his succession. Both your father and her husband were both just the CEO of some really big company, you assumed. You didn’t even know what company it was! Cosmetic? Convenience store? Toilet seats? You’d say let it crumble, but for the sake of who would inhabit your being when you return to your world, you denied that approach.

“Why do I have to marry your son for your husband to sponsor my father’s company?” you asked instead. “Sponsorship doesn’t require marriage. It only requires money.”

“Money requires relations,” she said. “He has no reason to help your father when your family was facing bankruptcy until you and Minho got married.”

You pursed your lips together. “There is no relationship going on between me and Minho.”

“And nobody has to know that,” she said, looking at you pointedly. For the first time, the soft aura she exuded was replaced with something formal, more businesslike. “Nobody knows that your marriage is an unhappy one except for me, [Name]. You were the one who caved in and told me.”

Minho had the sense to at least pretend as if he liked you in public. That was rather unexpected even though ‘acting as if everything is okay in front of people’ has always been the first rule to these arranged marriages. And the former you, too, knew enough to not show Minho that they were both uncomfortable and unappreciated when they were with him. 

Your hand flew up to your chin, and your fingertips lingered against the aftertouch of Minho’s grip. Your memories had conveniently left out the part where you dug your nails into his skin until it hurt and you never tried to see if his wrist was okay.

“I know Minho can be a little insufferable sometimes, but I hope that you can remember how much you love him whenever those times come,” she leaned forward to speak, her tone much more sympathetic now. “Of course, I am not telling you to never get mad at him. I just hope that you can love him, always, even when you hate him.”

You blinked nervously at her. That was profoundly cheesy and unrealistic. It wasn’t impossible, though. You were sure the former you had mastered the art of hating and loving Minho as a husband. But you weren’t them, and while you didn’t outrightly refuse to fall in love with Minho, he has done absolutely nothing to gain your good interest. The condescending gazes, the potential cheating, the dull voice, the rules, and bad temper—you just couldn’t like him at the moment. And if he doesn’t come back around and change his attitude, you were afraid the impression would become too hard to budge.

“And if that has become too hard for you to deal with, at least do it for your parents’ sake.”

Oh, she pulled the ‘dead parents’ card on you, [Name]! Destroying a person’s love life, even though it was a terrible love life, was a kind of guilt you believed you would get over eventually. But their parents were a whole different story. Family relationship was always a pickle. You’d hate to open the cabinet and steal the bones of those dusty skeletons with you. You wouldn’t suffer real consequences, only those your conscience imposes upon you. 

You scrunched your nose up in dismay, feeling stubborn and wanting to act on it so badly, but the situation was starting to feel more and more hopeless as it went on. Biting your lower lip, you asked with a soft voice, not wanting to startle any unwanted suspicion. “Do I… do I even love him at all?”

The look she gave you was patient as if she understood your mixed feelings. She nodded her head. “You have always told me you do. Unless you are lying to me, I don’t see how you don’t love my son.”

You grimaced. No duh? She would think the former you was in love with her son unless it was found to be a lie. That sentence didn’t need to be said. Nevertheless, you glanced down at your hands and clenched them together. You felt like yourself, you looked like yourself, and you sounded like yourself. However, no matter from which part you look at, this wasn’t your life. This ‘rich husband and a bad arranged marriage’ life wasn’t yours. The ‘working overtime and dunking down ramen soup’ life was yours and where you were only qualified enough to live.

If divorcing Minho would come with a package that held more than just leaving a toxic relationship, you would rather not do it. Suffering all the other consequences wasn’t your choice to make. 

Seeing the amount of stress that engulfed your body when you finally finished with lunch, your driver took the liberty to drive you all the way to a shopping mall so you could enjoy yourself and cool off some steam. It was a very heartwarming gesture, and you didn’t forget to thank him before you left the car and waited for him to drive away.

The shopping mall was regular. It was the kind of mall you would come across if you joined a tour group to travel to another country. You also liked to call it the shopping mall where you only walk in and never buy anything because every store inside was either too expensive or not of your taste. Most likely both. Despite having more than a sufficient amount of money on your hands at the moment, you just could not shake off the lack of interest for any of these high-end brands.

Puffing air into your cheeks, you chewed on the boba you just bought from a store located at a rather invisible corner. It was the only item you were willing to spend money on, and thank god the store did not try to amp up the prices as Disneyland would with a bottle of tasteless water just because it was located somewhere lavish.

Your mind has wandered off once again, as it has been doing recently. With these events happening all at once, and with your drama-obsessed brain’s absolute calculation, there was one very important thing missing from your life right now: the best friend.

It could be a man or a woman. Depending on the gender, their personalities would vary greatly in the most predictable and distasteful way ever. The man would be great; handsome, caring, smart, and unfortunately a doormat for everyone to step over. The woman, which you had a suspicion may be a role filled by Yuna already, would be terrible; beautiful but jealous and shallow. From what you’ve experienced, your best friend would mostly likely be a man. Possibly extremely in love with you but somehow never got picked, and now his opportunity has vanished due to an arranged marriage.

“Yeah–where is my super hot best friend?” You stopped in the middle of the mall, eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction and lips jutted out into a thoughtful pout. You were dying to meet him, whoever he may be, all just to get a sense of relief that you’ve got somebody to lean on at a time like this.

(You wouldn’t fool me, though. I know you want to satisfy your second-lead syndrome.) 

Continuing to walk, your hearing slowly came back to reality and your ears began to pick up noises outside of those in your brain. A very familiar voice rang around your area and you paused once again to hear it more clearly.

“Come on, wouldn’t I look nice in this? Let’s go in, Minho!”

Your eyes rounded at the name and you pursed your lips together. How uncanny. You have never experienced such outrageous coincidence before. Out of all the shopping malls in this country, your husband has to be this particular one and at this particular spot. You squinted your eyes then, your straw sucking up nothing because it was pulled half-way into the air where there were no liquid. A continuous hallowing noise came through the suction, but you didn’t care. This was adding up to the scene of a misunderstanding. 

What should you do, you wondered. Make a scene? Complain? Cry about your cheating husband even though he probably wasn’t cheating? If only you were at a fancy restaurant! You’ve always wanted to throw a glass of wine at someone’s face!

“Walk away, [Name],” you muttered to yourself, even after all those excited thoughts, and you fastened your pace.

“Oh–hey! Hey, [Name], is that you?”

You almost choked on the boba in your mouth. Pressing your lips together, you snapped your head up with the most menacing glare you could muster to flash it at the new intruder, and immediately you came face to face with a man with the cutest grin you have ever seen. A strangled noise blew from your throat and came out of your pursed lips, almost out of your nostrils. It was an ugly sound but you could not care less as you beamed inwardly at the sight of the man approaching you. Chubby cheeks, nice smile, not very tall but muscular!

“Oh my god,” you whispered under your breath, “it’s you.”

“Yes, is it I,” he laughed at you. “Why? Did you miss me?”

“Definitely, you have no idea.” You nodded, still chewing on your boba.

He looked surprised for a moment as he tilted his head and that bright smile dimmed. His eyes turned into those of observant ones as he started to look you up and down, then he reached out to pinch your cheek gently while he hummed.

“[Name]…” he started slowly. “You look different. Did you do something–”

“Hands off, Seo Changbin.”

Hands off—what, oh my lord. You widened your eyes at the three simple yet demanding words, and you found your stupid heart leaping at them. Pursing your lips, you lowered your head to hide a smile. God, [Name], how low are your standards? How did that manage to get your heart racing?

Minho didn’t attempt to swat Changbin’s hand away from you, the latter did it on impulse upon seeing the unamused expression on Minho’s face. Raising an eyebrow, Changbin showed nothing more than a sarcastic smile as he leaned back on his weight and stared Minho down lazily from behind you.

“Minho, how wonderful to see you here,” Changbin greeted. His eyes darted to the side to find Yuna walking up to join the gathering, and his forehead creased with light anger for a second.

Shifting his gaze to you, he was surprised to find you sipping on your drink casually as your eyes darted between Yuna and Minho, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He raised an eyebrow at you and stood up straighter, completely confused by the lack of pain flickering in your eyes.

“Hey, Minho,” you greeted. “Hello to you too, Yuna.”

They looked as if they just got called out but despite the faintly rooted embarrassment, the two of them returned the greeting politely. The tension was high and thick, you couldn’t break it with just anything. Not even with a wave of Yuna’s perfectly manicured and sharp nails, which if you’ve had tried, they’re almost impossible to chip on purpose. 

“Well, if there is nothing important, I will be leaving.” You shrugged, not quite looking at Minho in the eyes. You couldn’t. Not after having lunch with his mother and after everything she has told you about him. Turning around, you smiled at Changbin. “I am hungry. Can we find somewhere to sit down and eat? Preferably a place with normal, human portion food.”

Changbin cleared his throat. Your remarks were weird. He discreetly threw a glance at Minho, not so much asking for permission but to access the sudden change of dynamic between you two. The man looked even more off-putting than you did, like he was confused and failing to pretend he understood the situation. It was hilarious. Changbin smirked to himself and nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You gave him a soft smile of gratitude, happy that he agreed with no trouble. You didn’t suspect he would anyway; he was supposed to be a pushover. When you turned to Minho again, he looked as stoic as he has always been. You shivered at his expression and gave him a grimace. “Stop frowning, Minho. Your face will get stuck like that.”

Changbin stifled a laugh while Yuna widened her eyes in displeasure. She opened her mouth to speak, but she found it hard to shoot down the truth. Minho does keep his expression on constant angry mode and, while she wouldn’t bluntly say it the way you just did, she also would not mind seeing Minho crack a smile now and then.

“How do you expect me to smile when my spouse is out with someone else?”

“Rethink your sentence.” You glanced between him and Yuna.

Minho noticed and  heaved a sigh as he closed his eyes. He explained, “I didn’t plan to come out with her. She dragged me out here.”

You felt bad, and with your world’s state of capitalism and experiences of borderline free labor, feeling bad for someone that wasn’t yourself could be considered a golden empathetic response. Pursing your lips and sucking in a big, unwilling breath, you settled into a leg shaking motion to replace stomping in public like a child. You stopped after a brief moment once you realized you were too occupied with getting to know Changbin to care.

“Well,” you said, gesturing towards the heartbroken girl and already turning away. “There is no harm in letting her drag you around for another hour. You’re gonna have fun! I’ll see you at some point!”

Waving those two a generous goodbye, you quickly beckoned for Changbin to follow you before Minho could get the chance to say something your pettiness has to respond to. After walking for a little, Changbin finally breathed out a puff of air as he placed his hand on his chest to release the awkward tension.

“That was weird,” he said. “But hey, you handled that well! I am really surprised… and confused, I guess?”

“Of course I handled that well. Who do you think I am?” You rolled your eyes.

He laughed. “I guess there isn’t anything for you to worry about. You two are happily married after all.”

You blinked at his response, confused for only a short moment before you quietly exhaled an 'oh.’ Minho’s mother was telling the truth, 'you’ really did not tell anyone else aside from her about how unhappy this marriage has been for you and Minho. Not even the best friend knew.

You looked at the ground. Damn, you were hoping you could ignite some feverish fire between you two. Changbin seemed like someone who you could have amazing chemistry with, as best friends and perhaps, as lovers. However, judging by the way he acted around Minho and how he didn’t seem to mind your marriage at all, you doubted his affection for you was any more than just very close friends. The best friend zone—a delicate place, with steel walls and whatnot. 

“Yeah, I really wouldn’t worry.” You smiled.

“Besides, if anything is to happen to Minho and Yuna then it would have ages ago.” Changbin shrugged. “Nothing ever did.”

You grimaced at his remark. Oh god, Yuna. You poor girl.

Minho looked up at the clock. He could feel his anxiousness increase as the clock ticked away the morning after midnight. Checking his phone again, it took him another glance at his zero missed calls and zero new texts to remember you had left your phone at home before you went outside this afternoon.

Changbin still has not read the single, semi-threatening text Minho sent before ten o'clock asking about your whereabouts and demanding him to send you home immediately. He did figure that a reply would be too generous of an act from Changbin. For one, Changbin hated Minho. For two, you were forcibly married to Minho, which only made the hatred go even deeper into the ground. At this point, Minho was one broken secret away from being torn to shreds by your best friend. 

He bit his lower lip as his eyes trailed over to the clock once again.

Where were you? You have never been home this late before. Not to mention your actions today at the shopping mall! It was nothing like what Minho thought you were capable of! You had never once ditched him to hang out with Changbin. He practically doesn’t exist whenever you so much as feel Minho’s presence, not because you were scared of him but because you genuinely did love him.

You did love him, did you not? He was sure you did. 

In the midst of his thoughts, the front door to the house conveniently swung open. You stepped into the living room and immediately, the old lady who you saw the other morning rushed up to you with a worried look on her face.

“Where have you been!” She lightly hit your arm as she scolded.

You gave her a faint laugh. Her harmless scolding was endearing to you. You hadn’t known you shared such an affectionate dynamic but you weren’t surprised, nor were you opposed to it.

“Changbin took me to a lot of places,” you replied. “Today was fun!”

“Oh, dear lord–and you left your phone at home too!” she said. “You got Minho worried sick–you got me worried sick! I was gonna go home but I wanted to make sure you will come back safely.”

To be frank, you had beeped her out for the most part of her words. Mildly focusing on cooing at her about how Changbin had taken very good care of you this whole day, and her looking as if you were chanting some forbidden spell because you were talking about another man, your mind lingered on the piece of information she gave you: you got Minho worried sick. 

Call it your calculative and distrusting nature, but you were having a hard time believing he did it out of care. He thought you unfaithful likely just as much as you thought him. You were okay with the feelings being mutual for now. 

“I’m sorry for coming back so late. I will make sure to bring my phone next time.”

“You make sure to come back home early next time!” she exclaimed. “Don’t forget your phone again!”

“Okay, I promise.” You nodded, pursing your lips into a grin.

She waved at your expression that mirrored that of an ignorant child. You were listening, you just weren’t really taking her seriously, in the most respectful and playful way possible.

“You kids,” she sighed and placed her wrinkly hand on your arm. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”

Your chest warmed and you instantly knew why. You missed your mom. She would probably pamper you like this too if you ever came home this late, and probably with a much longer and serious lecture. You wouldn’t know, though. You lived far and you were always working now that you have grown up. Once you were able to return to your world, you figured giving your parents a visit wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

“I did. I ate dinner,” you said. “I am really full.”

“Are you sure? I can cut you some apples if you want. There are fruits in the kitchen! Or maybe you want some oranges?”

“No, that’s okay.” You smiled at her gratefully. “I am full. I ate so much today.”

“Okay,” she said, albeit she appeared suspicious. “If there is nothing else then I am going to go home.”

“Now? It’s really late. Why don’t you stay here?” you suggested, turning around to look out the window by the door before turning back to her.

“No worries. The driver was waiting for you to come home too so I can ask for a free ride,” she laughed as she moved over to the front door. Before she left, she turned around to face you slightly, and she nagged, “Go tell Minho you’re back!”

You only gave her a forced smile in response. As soon as those doors closed, a sarcastic and exaggerated grimace appeared on your face. You turned around, walking into the house as you mumbled mean nothings under your breath about not believing that Minho was actually worried about your whereabouts. He’s definitely got better things to do, and it wasn’t as if he cared. Why should he worry? This has to be a dignity issue. 

Despite not wanting to talk to him, you found yourself walking to his office anyway. Clearing your mind and your throat, you pursed your lips together in dismay before you knocked on the door. Your eyes widened when it immediately swung open, the lack of waiting you needed to do startling you. Minho’s furrowed brows relaxed for a brief second at the acknowledgment that you were fine and back under the roof, but as usual, he returned to his annoyed state before you could catch the concern appearing in his eyes.

He thought twice about reaching over to grab your arm so he could pull you into the room; the emotional fragment in his chest still aching, even though it wasn’t his place to hurt over something he did to you. Hesitantly taking a step back, he opened the door wider and cleared his throat to put emphasis on his current, very annoyed mood. “We need to talk.”

That is never good. The words itself were fine, but the gloomy tone was never good. Despite never hearing that from anybody other than your parents, your muscles clenched at the simple idea of what that line contained, especially now that you were supposedly married. Taking a tentative step forward, you spared Minho a glance before you walked into the office and paused right in the middle of the room.

You grimaced at the memory of when you were here last time. It was not a good sight to see, not that you had many complaints about whatever really went down back then because you still, until this moment, have zero care of Minho’s love life outside of this failing marriage. The grimace on your face expanded when the door slammed shut. You turned around and eyed Minho with a surprised look.

He glared back at you, obviously angry, and you seemed to have an idea as to why that was. He walked near you, but not close enough to create too much intimidation, and he crossed his arms. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been out,” you said, calmly in hopes that it would rub off on him. “To malls and the streets. Nowhere too far away from here.”

“You were out for really long. Do you know what time it is?” He asked. “It’s way past midnight!”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that, really,” you said. “I wasn’t actively checking the time and, well, one thing led to another and by the time we finished chatting, it’s past twelve!”

Minho gulped down the competitiveness that arose when he heard that you have been out with Changbin for the entire day, having fun and chatting like a pair of best friends, which he often forget you were. It should be normal but Minho could not help the tinted jealousy that continued to pour out of his lips in the form of regrettable words. Not to mention, his feelings were magnified after the conversation you both had about a divorce.  

He has really gotten too used to receiving your undivided love and attention that, upon the vaguest chance of anybody stealing the throne away, he growls and attacks to make sure he keeps it to himself. Rolling his eyes, he scoffed out a laugh, the corner of his lips quirked up into an unamused smirk. His arms fell from his chest and landed on his side where they found a place to rest on his hips.

“Oh, right, I forgot you were having fun with Changbin.”

“Oh?” The questioning sound was inaudible. Your mind spun fast to understand what he meant with those petty words, and despite being quite entertained by his reaction, you still felt bitter at how unfairly he was treating you. “Yet, you are with Yuna today.”

“Like I said, she dragged me out–“

“You are a grown, not to mention a man. You have more than enough capability to refuse any unwanted situation,” you said. “All you had to do was tell her no. She would have listened to you considering how much she likes you.”

“What? You’re just going to be mad at me about that for the rest of your life?” Minho clicked his tongue in annoyance. He ran a hand through his hair, turning away to convince himself not to explode. “You know, I’ve got plenty of reasons to be mad at you about too!”

You shrugged. “Enlighten me.”

“You went to talk to my mom about getting a divorce,” he accused, his eyes sparklingly wide. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was so upset that he was about to cry.

A part of you was shocked that she told on you, but you wouldn’t put the blame on her for talking to her own son about his relationship. You just hoped she didn’t disclose in detail what you talked to her about. After all, you have really only known Minho for a few days. Your bad opinions of him, although true, were not ideals you wanted to weigh on his back for the rest of his life. A couple of days should not sum up his entire life.

However, in the heat of this situation, your logic was completely thrown out and you both were only aiming to hurt and blame each other as much as you could.  

“Huh… I see.” Your shoulder relaxed and your gaze softened as a realization dawned upon you. “You aren’t mad about me coming home late. You don’t care about that at all,” you breathed out a faint, bitter chuckle, “you’re just mad because I talked to your mom about getting a divorce and you got an earful today.”

“Oh, oh no. It is so much more than that.”

“What else are you mad about?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up as you desperately tried to defend yourself the same way Minho was trying to stand on his ground. “If this is about Changbin, I highly suggest you stop caring–“

“I have to care!” He raised his voice, taking a step towards you. He stopped when you took the same steps back. “We are married, and you just went running off with some other man for an entire day–”

“Let’s not act like you love me enough to care about who I am with, Minho,” you pointed out, furrowing your brows at him. “Even if we are married legally, emotionally, we are as connected as parallel lines.”

He paused at your pretentious yet still poetic line, wondering since when have you gotten the ability to talk with your chin up like that. Then he snapped back to the argument at hand, his head tilting to the side as he hardened his gaze at you. But he wasn’t that angry anymore. He was confused, or at least baffled. “You don’t think I care about you even a slightest bit?”

You heaved a sign. Well, let’s count off all the things he has done for you so far: putting you back to your bed after you fainted, buying you dinner, being a little possessive when Changbin was pinching your cheek, worrying about you being late. For sure, those were pretty heart-racing things to do, and it seemed the effect on your fragile feelings were magnified with his good-looks. But it would not be enough if he only does good things in the shadow. His pretty silhouette could never outrun the shadow that was his stone-cold facade, and he was over here chasing after the impossible sun.

“Maybe a little bit, but I don’t want to settle for a little bit of care,” you told him. “Especially when there is someone out there who is able to provide me with so much more straightforwardly.”

Minho laughed sardonically, rolling his eyes. “We just circle back to that insufferable best friend of yours–“

“No!” You snapped, clapping your hands together on impulse.

Your eyes were wide and teary now, you were really getting into the argument. It felt almost exhilarating; you have never fought with anyone like this before. Fighting over love and whatnot. It wasn’t what you hoped to do. You were really aiming for a much calmer conversation. But at the mention of Changbin, who has been nothing but patient and kind to you, you could not stop yourself from setting the record straight.

“This has nothing to do with Changbin. It has everything to do with you and your shitty attitude, Minho, starting from the first moment I met you until now!” You counted off your fingers, numbering the things he’s done. “You look at me like I’m beneath you. You talk to me like I’m not important at all. We don’t share a bed, we don’t share a closet. You set rules for me around the house. From the sound of it, I’m not even supposed to step into your room. Why is that, Minho? I am really curious about that, truly.”

You stopped talking, but you and him both knew there was more to say than all that you have spoken of.

“I have never complained about anything, have I? All I did is love you, and you took advantage of that to become a spoiled brat,” you said, your hands joined together for a moment before they released each other. Your fingers lingered on the ring, twisting it and turning it as you contemplated your next move.

Minho was speechless as he stared at the ground, but his head was positioned high enough for you to still see his expression. For the first time, he looked genuinely distressed. His fist clenched at his side and his lips trembling in realization. Of these past two days, of all the times before you were even here, of how he has treated you.

You breathed out a soft sigh after calming down. You were sure Minho must have good qualities in him that made ‘you’ fall in love with him in the first place. And, bouncing back to all the dramas you have watched, all characters like him are often too romantically incapable when it came to expressing their true feelings. It wasn’t like he didn’t love you, it was just that he didn’t know how to show it. People like him need a lot of time and comfort, which you were completely willing to give if he was willing to try.

“Look, Minho.” You volunteered to step up so you could be closer to him, closing the distance for an unreachable form of intimacy. You looked at him, an unknown feeling coming over you as you gently tipped his chin up with your fingertips. He looked at you, surprised, but he listened. “I am sure I loved you for a reason, but I can’t love you when you’re like this. I refuse to.”

“How could anyone ever love you like this?” Nobody can, Minho. Not when you couldn’t show the pile of gold locked up in your heart. What have you been so afraid of? Why wouldn’t you let it out?

Minho’s eyes watered and he bit his feelings back. “What do you want me to do?”

“If I tell you then there’s no meaning to it.” You shrugged as you let him go, and he missed the warmth of your touch. You reached for your own hand as you smiled politely at him. “You can hold onto this for me.”

You left the room after you handed him the object. The door closed behind him and Minho opened his hand. The wedding ring stood on his palm, shining bright and expensive. 

It looked as if it would cost him his entire heart.

[merakisphere]

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