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chahnniesroom · 5 months

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for better, for worse

pairing: lee minho x female reader

summary: an arranged marriage is anything but ideal. minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he's lacking, but you haven't exactly been the perfect wife either. a phone call from you leads to a shift in priorities.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: angst, mention of a car accident, mentioned death of a minor character

a/n: originally this was going to be part of a longer fic, but i will never write that longer fic, so i decided to post it! the name of this fic is what inspired me to create the till death do us part collection. i hope you enjoy!

part 2 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Minho had never really thought that he’d be married before the age of 30. Sure, he knew that his parents would likely expect it of him, but he prioritised work far too much to have a meaningful relationship with anyone. So it’s not exactly a surprise that when his parents announce that they’ve arranged a marriage with you, Minho doesn’t suddenly become an attentive and doting partner. In fact, even a year later, he still hasn’t gotten very close to you.

Minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he’s lacking, but you haven’t exactly been the perfect wife either. Behind closed doors, you seem openly resentful of this whole situation and do your best to avoid Minho altogether.

Honestly, Minho doesn’t blame you. If he thinks about it, which he tries not to, you have it even worse off than him. You’re younger by a couple years and had been in the process of rising through the ranks of your family’s company when you’d been forced into becoming a dutiful housewife instead of an executive.

You had tried at first, texting him good morning, staying up late to wait for him to get home from work, and making sure the staff always had fresh and healthy meals prepared. Minho feels guilty thinking of how often he had brushed you off, but he had just been promoted and a lot of the executives, your father included, were just waiting to see him make a mistake. The overwhelming pressure had led him to spend more nights than not at the office and when he did go home, his thoughts still revolved on the work he had left to do.

You haven’t done anything drastic to express your dissatisfaction yet, but it feels like it’s only a matter of time.

Tonight would be the perfect way to do so. The two of you are expected to be present for an event, one that Minho has been invited to speak at. His assistant, Jiyu, tells him that it’s the opportunity of a lifetime and stresses how important it is for everything to go according to plan.

Minho heads to the event straight from the office and isn’t surprised that you’re not there before him. Even 30 minutes after the event has officially started, he still doesn’t mind since it’s just been mingling so far, something that he knows you detest. It’s when they sit everybody down to start serving the meal that he starts getting impatient, his temper starting to make itself known.

You know that this night is important for Minho and he’s told you multiple times that he expects you to be there. He knew that you had been picked up on time since he’d even sent his personal driver, Jeonghoon, to get you and Jeonghoon had sent assurances that the two of you were on your way.

You're frustratingly convincing though, Minho has never been able to say no to you and he knows that you've charmed all the household staff as well.

He'd texted Jeonghoon once to check where you were, but hadn't gotten a reply and he just hopes that it's because traffic is bad and not because you're plotting something.

When Jiyu pesters Minho about the lack of your presence, he gives in and calls your cell phone. It rings for a while, and Minho is about to hang up when you finally answer.

“Minho!” you say, sounding delighted. Minho is instantly suspicious. “You’re calling me.”

“Where are you?” he demands coldly. “It’s late.”

“I-I tried to call,” you continue to babble. “This time, I was good, really. I remem-remembered to call Jiyu-ssi instead of your phone. She said you were busy and not to bother you. But they needed someone to come help and I couldn’t think of anyone else.”

“Y/n, are you- are you drunk?” he asks in disbelief. If he sounded cold before, his voice is absolutely frigid now. Someone happens to walk by and they look frightened by whatever expression is on his face based on the way that they scurry past while trying to avoid eye contact.

“No!” you deny vehemently, even though there’s still something odd about the tone of your voice. “I didn’t drink anything! They didn’t let me. They won’t let me do anything. They just gave me this thing and-”

“Where are you.”

“I’m at the hospital,” you say plainly.

“What?” Minho stands up from the table, uncaring of the way that everyone swivels to look at him. He had stayed quiet enough before to prevent eavesdropping, but forgets to keep his voice down reacting to your matter-of-fact response. “What happened?”

“We were driving to the hotel,” you say in a small voice. “I didn’t want to be late. I- I don’t know what happened. There was another car- they were in a rush too.” You stop to hiccup.

“Y/n-” Minho is at the entrance to the ballroom and doesn’t even wait for the staff to heave the doors open, opting to push through them himself. He knows he's making a scene, but he couldn’t care less about anybody else in the room at the moment.

“He’s gone,” you interrupt, sounding hollow. “Jeonghoon. They couldn’t even get him out of the car. I saw it. Him. What was left. There was so much blood.”

It feels like Minho’s stomach drops right to the floor.

“Y/n-”

He can barely hear your reply, instead the rush of his pulse in his ears drowns out any other sound. He's suddenly aware of how shaky his breathing has gotten, shallow gasps that barely provide any oxygen to his lungs.

“It doesn’t feel real,” you say, subdued. “They keep saying that I was really lucky, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Are you hurt?” Minho’s almost afraid to ask.

“Oh,” you sound surprised. “Me? I- Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t worry? Never mind, just tell me what hospital you’re at. I’m on my way.” Minho has forgotten that you're particularly skilled at deflecting questions, even ones that are direct.

“What? No! You can’t leave, you have your speech-”

“Y/n,” Minho says gently. You're starting to sound panicked and since he still doesn't know what your condition is, he doesn't want you to be any more stressed than you already are. “It’s okay, I’ve already excused myself.”

“I know tonight was really important to you,” you say miserably. “I ruined it. I’m sorry. Oh I- Someone’s here, I have to go now. Don't come, please. I’m fine, really. Stay at the event.”

The call ends abruptly and Minho is left staring at his phone.

“Minho-ssi,” Jiyu hisses from beside him. Her heels clack as she tries to keep up with him. Minho's already halfway across the lobby, but he can still see into the ballroom where a number of people are still staring after him. They must think he’s gone crazy. There’s a smile on Jiyu's face, but the tone of her voice is anything but friendly. “What are you doing? They're not finished serving dinner and you have to be on stage soon.”

Minho doesn’t even bother to answer, starting to dial for a car to come pick him up before he realises, dismayed, that he’s pulled up Jeonghoon’s number. He shakes his head for a moment before calling someone else.

Jiyu grabs at his elbow, pulling him to a stop. Even through the layers of his clothes, her nails are sharp pin pricks that dig into the flesh of his arm.

“Minho-ssi, you can’t just leave!”

Minho wrenches himself from her grasp and turns to scowl at her. She stumbles back at the force of his glare for a moment before reaching out again.

“Y/n’s in the hospital,” he explains. That should be enough explanation, but it still doesn’t seem to affect her. "I have to go."

“Tonight is critical if you want to win over enough people for the contract that you’re negotiating. Don’t waste any time worrying about her. If she's at the hospital, there’s nothing that you can do to help Y/n, she’s already being taken care of,” Jiyu says coolly. “Some things are more important.”

Minho stares at her for a long moment.

Jiyu has worked with Minho for a significant portion of his career. Her analytical and no-nonsense way of handling things is part of the reason that he’s been able to make it as far as he has. For the longest time, he had admired her ability to set aside her emotions to make logical, objective decisions.

Now he wonders if she’s just heartless.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho can see a car pull up to the doors and he makes his own decision.

“Yes," he agrees. Jiyu lets out a sigh of relief and reaches out to tug him back to the ballroom. Minho steps away to avoid her hand. "Some things- some people are more important. I didn't see that before and I won't make that mistake again. Jiyu-ssi, give everybody my apologies that I was not able to stay and then you may go home. Thank you for your service all these years, but I will not be needing you as my assistant any longer."

He doesn't look back.

part 2 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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girl-next-door-writes · 1 year

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For Better For Worse: From Now On

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: Seeing his wife in a new light, Mycroft is determined to make his marriage work, no matter what it is going to cost him.

Word Count: 1264 words

Series Masterlist

He woke early the next morning, his mind fizzing with everything he wanted to achieve. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and fell upon your sleeping form, causing him to pause. Your chest rose and fell with each deep breath, and you looked so peaceful, despite the way your lips had parted and the hint of drool in the corner of your mouth. To Mycroft, you were perfect, and he cursed himself for forgetting to remind you of that fact each and every day.

The reality of just how distant the two of you had become hit him hard, like a harsh winter wind, knocking the breath from his lungs. He had made you feel invisible in this marriage. So invisible that you’d had to seek out reassurance elsewhere, find the proof that you existed, that you mattered.

The two of you had been through a lot together, he had fallen so low at one point, and you had stood beside him each and every step of the way. As his world crumbled around him, the one constant was you and your support. How could he had taken that for granted? How could he have believed showing you how much he loved you could wait? Well, no more. He had a lot of making up to do and you were to be his sole focus. Last night had been a wake-up call, reminded him how easily he could lose you, really lose you, and he was determined to prevent such an outcome. Leaning over, he placed a tender kiss to your forehead before carefully extricating himself from the bedcovers and pulling on his robe.

Pottering about the kitchen, Mycroft smiled to himself as he remembered the first time he had ever made you breakfast. It was the first time you had spent the night together and he had been tired but elated the following morning. Uncertain what food you would prefer, he had provided a feast, far too much for any two people to consume. You had laughed lightly and wrapped your arms around him, shaking your head affectionately. The memory set off a blast of joy in his chest as he waited for the kettle to boil.

Now, after so many years together, he knew exactly what to prepare for you. Grabbing a tray, he paused as his eyes fell upon a small vase. Quickly, he shot out of the backdoor, still in his pajamas, and plucked a single bloom from the nearby flowerbed. He felt almost giddy when he placed it in the vase, positioning it on the tray alongside your breakfast and a glass of freshly squeezed juice. So many times he had promised to be better for you, well, today he was going to see that promise through. From this moment on, he would be the husband you deserved.

The tray shook slightly in his hands as he tried to contain his excitement. Mycroft couldn’t wait for you to wake up so he could show you that things would be different, that he would be different. Placing everything down on the bedside table, he practically skipped over to the radio, putting it on a low volume so you would wake to the soft music and a lovingly prepared breakfast.

Climbing onto the bed, he sat beside you, watching you sleep for a moment until his feelings got the better of him. Lightly, tenderly, he ran his fingers over your cheek, smiling down at you as your eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning, darling.”

For a fraction of a second, he saw the love and adoration in your eyes that used to be a constant, then it turned to confusion and suspicion. That look was like a knife to his chest and his smile faltered slightly.

“I made you breakfast, my love.”

“Why?” Your voice was thick with sleep and as you pushed yourself up to sit against the headboard, he could read the flickers of thought crossing your face. Had you missed an anniversary? It wasn’t your birthday. You weren’t pregnant. In your sleepy state, your mouth worked quicker than your brain and you asked, “Are you asking me for a divorce?”

“What? No! No. I-I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted that.” His features were soft as he looked at you, his vulnerability laid bare in a way that he hadn’t allowed you to see in a long time.

“Then why are you doing this?”

The question hung in the air between you, and Mycroft saw your walls drawing up, saw you anticipating the next attack.

“I haven’t been a very good husband, and I know one breakfast in bed will not rectify that, but it is a start, a gesture. I am sorry. I truly am, so very sorry.” His hand found yours, his fingers running over your wedding ring as if trying to remind himself that you were still here, that he hadn’t chased you away quite yet.

Mycroft Holmes rubbed shoulders with the most powerful men and women on the planet daily, he was intelligent and articulate, always five steps ahead, yet when it came to you, he was left speechless and floundering.

“I have taken the day off work. I was rather hoping we could spend it together, that is if you have no other plans. There is a new exhibit in the Natural History Museum, and I know how much you like the tower of London. Perhaps we could find a nice spot for lunch and then take in a matinee?”

“A matinee? Even if it’s a musical?” You raised an eyebrow and his lips quirked up at your teasing.

“I shall not only endure a musical, for you my dear, but I will also do my best to look like I am enjoying each and every moment and then discuss the performance at length with you over dinner.”

“Gosh, you really are trying. Who are you and what have you done with my husband?” Your eyes narrowed but the hint of a smile on your lips made his heart soar in a way it hadn’t for such a long time.

“I would like to think that this is the version of me that you married, not the-“

“Workaholic, absent, grumpy, argumentative, vicious…”

“Yes, yes, that version of me is definitely not my finest.” He had the good grace to look embarrassed about that, so much so that you appeared to take pity on him, and he felt your hand cup his cheek.

“Hello, Mycroft. I have missed you.” Your voice was soft and warm, it sent a cascade of butterflies off in his chest and his eyes met yours.

“I have missed you too. So very much.” He whispered, leaning forward and resting his forehead against yours. There was so much he wanted to say, so many promises he wanted to make, but he knew there would be time for all that. Right now, he just needed to focus on you, on reminding you why you fell in love with him. Sometimes, two people have to fall apart to realise how much they need to fall back together. Mycroft knew this would take work, that both of you would slip on occasion, that the days of arguing were not behind you yet, but this was a very good place to start. He needed to reconnect with you, with the one good thing in his life, the one person who had chosen to love him. From now on, he would take each day as a gift and attempt to find a better work/life balance.

#Mycroft Holmes #Mycroft Holmes x reader #For Better For Worse #gndw fic

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blackacre13 · 2 years

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For Better, For Worse

Chapter 5 Update: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34638106/chapters/99138744

Chapter 5: 2011: An Engagement Party Part Two

Summary:

“Baby,” Debbie sighed, trying to reach for the blonde as Lou turned away, disgusted and disappointed with herself for thinking things were different. That they could be different. That she deserved or could have any type of permanence. Any type of normalcy. Maybe it was Debbie. But maybe it was anyone. Maybe criminal, low-life, runaway Lou couldn’t ever run far enough to escape her past or pretend she was just someone in love, about to spend the rest of her life with her soulmate by her side. She hadn’t been coming up with dramatics or symbols for her own benefit in this warped duel against Debbie. She meant what she had said. That ring meant something to her. Showed things to her. It carried weight to it and she took that weight seriously. Maybe Debbie didn’t. And that was something she could barely admit to herself, let alone voice out loud so her partner might confirm her sinking suspicions that left her stomach in sour knots.

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daily-crabbys · 28 days

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This Friday's meme is: the perfect being

#meme fridays #cant grt any better than it already is #and worse is impossible bc its so perfect its simply couldn't be anything less

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troyandabedsnewapartment · 8 months

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(shaking my 14-year-old self) I was so mean to you but I love you, I love you, love you

#on childhood #is there a worse fate than being 14?#you were so small and I was so mean but now I’m hugging you hugging you hugging you #the world was already too cruel to you I should have been better #mine

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captainjonnitkessler · 3 months

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You know I used to think "tumblr's absolute refusal to actually engage with the Trolley Problem in favor of insisting that there must be a third, morally pure option that doesn't require them to make a hard decision and anyone who asks them to make a binary choice is just a short-sighted idiot is really fucking annoying, but I guess it's not actually doing any harm".

Anyway that was before we asked tumblr at large to decide between "guy aiding a genocide but making progress elsewhere" and "guy who would actively and enthusiastically participate in a genocide and would also make everything else much, much worse for everyone elsewhere" and the response was that there must be a third, morally pure option that doesn't require them to make a hard decision and that anyone who asks them to make a binary choice is a short-sighted idiot.

#there is not a third option. it is either trump OR biden #and one of those will be much MUCH worse for palestine #i'm really really sorry that these are the options. i wish they weren't.#but WHAT third option are you trying to take here? what on earth is your proposed outcome #that will actually make things better for palestine?#because letting trump win the election is NOT going to help them #i'm sorry but you need to set aside your feelings and take the option that will lead to less harm to palestine in the long run #you talk such a big game about how people need to be willing to make sacrifices to help palestine #but you yourself aren't even willing to hold your nose and vote to stop things from getting worse?#or did you think 'sacrifice' only meant not getting mcdonalds for a few months?#us politics

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redysetdare · 3 months

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Sometimes...characters being in a romantic relationship is worse.

#text #sometimes it's the most boring way to have characters interact #sometimes it's worse than the chemistry they have as literally any other kind of relationship #sometimes their platonic dynamic is better #sometimes their hostile dynamic is better #sometimes their dynamic is better if it's anything other than romance #because maybe them falling into generic romance is how you ruin their characters.#aro #aromantic #aroace #i only tag these because it feels relevant to why i feel this way

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writtenbyevie · 1 year

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do you ever not write for so long that you’re almost afraid to? like what if I’m dumb now

#what if I’ve forgotten how #better procrastinate and make it worse!!#writeblogging #writer’s block #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing memes #ao3 memes #fanfic memes #ao3 #fanfic #evie’s jeevies

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california-112 · 4 months

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Someone tell me why I feel a protective urge towards Dirk Bogarde's character every time his voice breaks

#genuine question btw #i am once again watching db films #hes just so gender i love him #the scientist speaks #for better for worse #is a sappy film but i like it anyway <3 #dirk bogarde

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conellu · 5 months

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Messaging me is fun I think

#i type the same way i speak #for better for worse #you must unlock this level of trust

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hansoeii · 5 months

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let time pass.

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chahnniesroom · 2 months

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for better, for worse | part 2

pairing: lee minho x female reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst, descriptions of a car accident, non-graphic descriptions of injury

a/n: this was a highly requested part 2! please please read part 1 before you read this, otherwise it will not make sense. thanks to everyone who commented on the first part, it really motivated me to finish this! i did minimal/basically no editing, so sorry if there's any mistakes!

part 1 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Traffic has slowed to a crawl and Minho tries his best to stay calm, but based on the way his driver keeps checking the rearview window to look at him, he’s not doing a good job.

They don’t even know the right hospital to go to. You had never specified in your call, so Minho had just looked up the closest one that was on the route to the hotel.

Honestly, he’s also shocked that he dropped everything to go to you. He just can’t shake the way that you had sounded on the phone. Scared, yes, but mostly… resigned.

You didn’t think that Minho would care, he realises with a jolt. You didn’t think that he would give up this work opportunity to go see you. He feels terrible, of course he does. At the end of the day, it’s not that he hates you, or even dislikes you, but just hates this whole situation.

He needs to talk to you. Make sure that you’re okay. Explain himself. Apologise.

But first, he has to get to you.

The longer they sit at a standstill, the antsier Minho gets. He can’t stop his leg from shaking and he has to rip off his tie because he feels like he can’t get enough air in.

“There was an accident,” the driver says, speaking for the first time since they left the hotel. They inch forward a little bit more until Minho can see one of the cars in question. It’s completely mangled, the front end is destroyed and there’s debris strewn along the street. It’s no wonder that the traffic is so bad, the site that has been closed off is almost an entire intersection.

“It looks awful,” Minho says, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him. He cranes his neck to try and see the other vehicle and-

It’s almost unrecognisable, but somehow, Minho knows that it’s his car that he’s looking at.

He doesn’t process anything until he’s out on the street, stumbling through the police tape. An officer approaches him, saying something in a calm voice, but Minho doesn’t even notice until they put a hand on his shoulder. He shoves it off immediately. Another officer grabs his arm, this time with more force.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t be here.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Minho fights against their attempts to restrain him. “It’s- I have to- my wife.” His voice sounds ruined, as wrecked as the vehicles in front of him.

They let him through.

Minho knows that you’re okay, that you were being treated, that you had been able to call and talk to him. But the damage is so extensive that he’s suddenly doubting himself. It seems impossible that anybody could survive this.

Before he can get close enough to really see inside the car, he stops in his tracks. It already looks so terrible, he can’t bear to any more details that would no doubt haunt him in his dreams.

“Do you know where they took her?” he manages to ask.

“Sir?” The officer closest to him steps closer to hear him better.

“The person that was a passenger. What hospital did they take her to?”

The officer names the closest hospital to the site, the one that Minho had guessed previously. Minho thanks him and spins on his heel, rushing back to where his current driver has been idling on the side. They make it there in record time.

The hospital staff redirect Minho to the intensive care unit when he arrives, giving him sympathetic glances as they do so. It’s on the second floor and Minho doesn’t have the patience to wait for the elevator, opting to run up the stairs instead.

The nurse at the desk in the intensive care unit looks up as Minho approaches. He must look like a mess, but she must be used to this level of dishevelment from visitors based on her lack of reaction.

“I’m looking for Lee Y/n,” Minho pants.

“What’s your relation to the patient?” she asks.

“I’m her husband,” Minho says and for the first time, the title feels natural.

“One moment, please.” The nurse takes her time, typing on her keyboard and clicking her mouse. Minho has to resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she understands the urgency of the situation. “She’s currently in room 103.”

Minho immediately starts walking in that direction before she calls out.

“Sorry sir, but her current conditions means that only one visitor is allowed in at a time. You’ll have to wait.”

“What do you mean?” Minho demands. “There’s already someone here? What’s her condition?”

“Yes, Y/n-nim has a visitor with her at the moment.”

“Who.”

“I’m sorry, I was not the attending nurse when he arrived. I don’t know who it is.”

“Can you get them to leave?”

“Pardon me?” The nurse blinks up at him dumbly.

“Leave. I need to see Y/n, she’s my wife! Why can’t I-”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down, otherwise I’m going to have to call security to escort you off the premises,” the nurse says slowly. Minho closes his mouth abruptly and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to take deep breaths.

“Okay, okay, I’m calm. Please can I see her?” Minho pleads. “Can you talk to whoever the other visitor is, tell them that I’m here? I need to know if she’s okay.” The nurse purses her lips together, then stands. Minho almost feels dizzy with relief.

“I will inform Y/n-nim’s doctor and the visitor about your arrival, but that is all. You will have to wait for them to leave before you can enter.”

“Thank you,” Minho says.

He trails after her for a moment until they get to the room that you are staying in. After a pointed glance from the nurse, Minho drops into one of the chairs that line the hallway. She enters the room, closing the door behind her. A moment later, the nurse exits, alone.

“I let them know that you were here, sir,” she says. She leaves, walking back to her station before Minho can get a word in.

Minho sits and waits and tries not to worry and fails. He spends his time wracking his brain on who could be in the room with you and why they would refuse to let him in. He can’t think of who would be informed and have enough time to arrive ahead of him, not when he knows that your parents are currently out of the country.

The door finally opens and out steps Kim Seungmin, your childhood best friend and one of Minho’s least favourite people on the planet. He slows to a stop in front of Minho and takes a moment to study him. Seungmin’s eyes are red and swollen like he’s been crying, but his expression is a careful mask of indifference.

“Minho-ssi,” Seungmin says politely. “I didn’t think I would see you here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Minho bristles. “I’m her husband.”

“Hmm,” Seungmin says, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he considers his next words. “That’s never seemed to matter before.”

Minho hates Kim Seungmin.

“I-”

“Take care of her, Minho-ssi.” Seungmin moves closer until he’s practically breathing the same air as Minho. His tone is no longer condescending, just sad. “She’s already hurting. Don’t make things worse.” He side-steps around MInho and continues down the hall. Minho stares after him until he disappears around a corner.

Minho hates Kim Seungmin, but really, Minho just hates himself. Hates that Seungmin has a spot in your life that Minho will never have.

He had been impatient before, but now Minho feels nervous about seeing you. He’s treated you poorly in the past, maybe you wouldn’t even want to see him. Not like you would want to see Seungmin.

He takes a deep breath, then pushes the door open.

You’re awake, but your eyes look hazy, gaze drifting around the room until they lock onto Minho. Your brows furrow then jump in surprise.

“Minho-ssi? What-” You scramble to sit upright, letting out a hiss of pain the second that you move. The doctor, who Minho hadn’t even noticed, rushes forward, urging you to lie back down without success.

“Please, Y/n-nim,” the doctor says. “You need to rest right now.”

“But-”

“Y/n,” Minho says. Your gaze snaps to him. He hadn’t even realised he has made his way to your bedside until he reaches forward a hand and it touches your shoulder. He leads you back to rest against your pillows and this time, you go willingly.

Now that you’re calmer, the doctor stands. Minho glances over, but immediately turns his attention back to you. He can talk to the doctor later, right now he wants to make sure that you’re okay. Behind him, he hears footsteps leaving the room and the click of the door closing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“But, the speech-”

“I was worried about you. I needed to see you with my own eyes,” Minho says quietly. You close your mouth slowly, unable to think of a response.

There’s countless cuts and scratches littering your skin, bandages peeking out from beneath your clothes, bruises blossoming in the remaining skin, and that’s just what he can see at a glance. Almost nothing has been left unscathed. At your side, there’s a number of screens that are each monitoring something and a cluster of IV drips lead back to your arm.

Minho’s afraid to touch, afraid to hurt you even more.

He ghosts his hand across your cheek before shifting slightly to push back some hair that’s fallen over your face. You watch with wide eyes, not saying a word, although your cheeks slowly flush under his attention.

“I’m sorry,” Minho says eventually, but doesn’t feel like enough. “I know I haven’t been a good husband.”

You open your mouth in protest, but Minho bulldozes on, determined to make things clear even if his heart is hammering in his chest and his words are coming out shaky.

“I’ve been distant, negligent, too focused on work. I know that this situation has been… difficult. That for both of us, it wasn’t what we expected for our futures, but it doesn’t excuse the way that I’ve behaved. I know that even though it wasn’t my intention to, I hurt you.” He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts. You stay quiet, clearly sensing that he hasn't finished his train of thought. “Y/n, I know there’s nothing that I can do to make up for the hurt that I caused. I know I can’t take back the pain you went through. But I promise, from now on, I’ll put you first.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Okay?” Minho asks.

“We can start over, make things right. I know I haven’t done my best in this relationship either, but I want to try again.”

“Thank you,” he says in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry that it took this to make me come to my senses.” He reaches out, grasps your hand in his, careful of all the little cuts.

Minho holds your hand and he doesn’t let go, even when you drift off to sleep.

part 1 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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girl-next-door-writes · 1 year

Text

For Better For Worse: Secret Singer

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: Mycroft suspects his wife is having an affair and so distances himself even more in a bid to protect himself. An intended evening of indiscretion on his part reveals what a fool he has been.

Word Count: 1517 words

A/N: I was sent in this request and I felt it fit perfectly right here in this little series.

Series Masterlist

Mycroft played the movie in his mind once more. His eyes closed, fingers pressing against his temples as his elbows rested on his desk, the stillness of his office allowing him to drift into the memory. Without the reality of his heart pounding in his chest, without the fear and panic holding onto him so tightly, he hoped to find something he may have originally missed.

You had entered the bedroom, padded across the carpet, and flicked on the bedside lamp, still unaware of his presence. Mycroft had scrambled to his feet, launched himself into the room as if scared you were little more than an apparition, and froze beside the bed. You had been surprised to see him; he had seen that flash in your eyes before concern took over. Of course, he knew he must have been a sight, but his worry turned to anger. How dare you make him panic so. How dare you be absent from your home without any indication of where you were! You had crossed over to him, your face so soft and anxious, but before you could say anything he had grabbed you by the shoulders and demanded to know where you had been. In hindsight, he knew that was entirely the wrong approach, but his body was still firmly in fight or flight mode and his control had slipped.

Whatever softness had been evident in your features dissipated, leaving only the stone-cold indifference which had become the normal expression between the two of you. You had shrugged him off, retreating towards the bathroom with the explanation that you had been ‘out with friends’. No elaboration, just a simple statement. His eyes had scanned you then, found evidence that you had been in a bar somewhere, the smell of alcohol and smoke on your clothes. Your lipstick had been rubbed off, potentially by someone else but there was no definitive proof of that there. It was clear you had made an effort with your appearance, and his heart had hurt at that realization. When was the last time you had made an effort for him? Then again, when did he make any effort for you?

Opening his eyes, he glanced at the file on his desk. Was it wrong of him to have his wife’s movements monitored? Probably. Perhaps that was why he had only asked for a report of when you were home and when you were not, which now sat in front of him. Seeing it in black and white was sobering indeed. You spent most evenings out until the late hours, not that he would have realised as he had holed himself up in his office. He had come to the conclusion that you had met someone else. You hid your phone from him, even taking it with you into the bathroom. When you returned each evening, you immediately took a shower and placed your clothes into the washing machine. These were all clear indicators that you were having an affair. There were moments he felt that was his fault, where he acknowledged his failings as a husband, but more often than not the sting of betrayal fueled a deep rage within him.

His fingers found their way to a business card that had been left on his desk. An exclusive new ‘gentleman’s’ club which had been opened offering discreet services. A colleague had passed it to him as an ill-advised joke and usually Mycroft would have tossed it away, and yet…

The club was exclusive, members signed an nda, anonymity was assured. He could go and take a look, surely. Just have one drink. He wasn’t planning on crossing any lines, but should the opportunity arise perhaps he would not decline.

Getting to his feet, he slipped the card into his pocket and turned his phone off. He did not want anyone to be able to track him, did not wish to be disturbed. Picking up his jacket, he felt a nervous energy building within him, an excited anticipation he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe this was exactly what he needed.

The entrance to the club set the entire tone, and Mycroft was suitably impressed. In the style of a 1920’s speakeasy, the club was accessed through a secret passageway in the back of an unsuspecting takeaway. Once through, Mycroft was led through to the main club. The 1920’s theme continued here with a bar running the back length of the room. Dimly lit booths lining two adjacent walls provided extra privacy for patrons and comfortable brown leather chairs were arranged around small round tables lit by candles; a heady smell of smoke and whiskey filled the air. On the far side of the room was a stage, red velvet curtains framing a beautifully lit and scantily clad girl who was obviously well versed in the art of burlesque. Allowing the owner to lead him to one of the dimly lit booths, he scanned the room cautiously, not wishing to be recognized.

Once seated, two menus were produced. One a drink menu and the other detailing services which could be procured on the premises. Swallowing thickly, Mycroft placed the second menu to one side and concentrated on his drink order, knowing it would be foolish of him to consider other offers, no matter how confidential this place claimed to be.

By the time he was enjoying his second drink, he felt more relaxed, more sure that he was hidden here in the darkness of the booth. Besides, every man here had their attention glued to the stage.

“Our next act is not on the menu I’m afraid gents.” The MC announced as the curtains closed behind him, the stagehands obviously clearing the space. “She has a very strict look but don’t touch policy, what can I say, her husband is one lucky guy. She does take song requests though, so feel free to slip one to your server and we’ll add them to her repertoire. Now, without any more of my rambling, because I know that this is the woman you’re here to see, our sweet songbird, Calliope.”

Mycroft became aware of several men getting to their feet and applauding, their attention fixed upon the stage as the curtains parted and a single spotlight fell upon a microphone and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Unblinking, he leaned forward, as if in a trance. His eyes took in each and every detail of the perfectly styled femme fatale and a hush fell on the room.

The deep rich tone of a double bass resonated, mixing with a solid drum beat and Mycroft felt his heart rise up into his throat.

“Now, you say you're lonely, you cried the whole night through. Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river, I cried a river over you.”

The familiarity of the voice had his mouth running dry, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the stage, even though he was well aware of the way the men around him were also captivated with the goddess before them. The feelings, the emotion behind each lyric was like tiny razor cuts to his soul and he knew he was lost.

“And, now, you say you're sorry, for being so untrue. Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river, I cried a river over you”

It felt as if you were singing directly to him, he had hurt you so badly and now here you were surrounded by men who would give you the world, if only for one night, and he couldn’t blame you. Up on that stage you looked completely present in that moment, clearly remembering who you were and what you were worth. The look on your face right now as you sang was one of bliss, a look that he used to be able to elicit. There was no way he could ever admit he knew your secret because then he would have to admit he had come to this place, and you would assume he was looking for something he certainly wasn’t getting from you of late, but as your song came to an end he felt as if the whole world receded, leaving just the two of you, until the room erupted with applause.

Mycroft Holmes had never felt more of a complete idiot than he did right now, in a room surrounded by men who adored his wife. The MC had said that he was lucky, and he certainly was because you were married to him. Unfortunately, right now, that meant you were possibly the unluckiest woman on the planet.

He waited until the end of your set, then snuck out as the calls for an encore echoed around the room. Slipping his phone from his pocket, he switched it on. Ignoring all the missed calls and messages, he simply sent one text to Anthea telling her, in no uncertain terms, that she was to cancel everything in his diary for the following day. He had something far more important to attend to.

#Mycroft Holmes #Mycroft Holmes x reader #For Better For Worse #gndw fic

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