#stray kids marriage

[stayfortwominutes]

📝the proof is in the pudding | lee know

disclaimers; written from third person perspective, petnames, food, mentions of an absent parent. no depictions of the members' personalities, actions or thoughts reflect their true character.

pairing; lee know x female reader ft. their daughter.

synopsis; minho will always show you that love is not earnt, it is simply given.

content; fluff, comfort, married/established relationship, slight angst, slice of life | word count; 1.7 k

“no m-mowe.” the shrill cry that escaped from the little girl alarmed minho as he rushed into the kitchen to find the source of distress.

“no more?” minho repeats. the child turned to face him, her hand slid down the frame of the refrigerator; petite figure illuminated by the light that cast her disappointed silhouette onto the tiled floor below. she met his eyes with her bottom lip pouted and quivering.

"awe, princess." minho lovingly cooed as he attempted to soothe his daughter, minhee. her chubby cheeks were puffed out as crystal droplets threatened to overflow from her glassy eyes. her father shuffled over with his arms outstretched as he leaned down to scoop the child up. 

with minhee perched on his left forearm and against his hip, minho strutted out to the living room where y/n lay dumbfounded on the couch.

"d-daddy, i want p-pudding," minhee muttered hoarsely, spluttering a little as she choked back her sobs. 

the dazed woman slowly sat upright as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. only moments ago, she was drifting off, contently resting on minho's shoulder as he enveloped her with a warm arm; before he abruptly dashed off the couch to tend to their child. with his eyebrows furrowed and a sulking minhee in his arms, minho bounced gently from side-to-side on the spot.

“bunny, how about we go out for a stroll to collect some puddings?” his tone soft and laced with honey. it was not unusual to hear minho express himself in this manner after he had become a father. in fact, the softer sides of him were on display more often, but exclusively for his sweethearts.

“mummy, pudding pweeeease?” minhee further pleaded while flailing her tiny, determined fists in the air; the loose vowels amplifying her loveable manner.

y/n chuckled to herself, raking her fingers through her unruly, dishevelled locks. the clock on the wall read eight forty-five, and the family had no plans other than settling in for a peaceful saturday evening.

“how can i say no to both my babies?” minhee and minho exchanged glances, their eyes twinkling at the prospect of the delicious treat. y/n made her way over to the pair, pinching her daughter’s cheeks lightly as a hushed joyous squeal emitted from minhee, before reaching up and pecking her husband’s nose. “we’ll have to hurry, only fifteen minutes before the shop closes!” 

a few brief minutes later and the family of three were ambling their merry way to the nearest convenience store in hopes of retrieving their prized puddings. a light breeze that occasionally picked up was a pleasant relief from the awful humidity of the summer night. y/n and minho stood on either side of minhee, the trio forming a chain as they interlocked their hands together.

“daddy and i will have vanilla pudding, mummy what one do you want?” the small girl piped up, her cheerful voice carrying through the empty street.

“hmm, what flavour do you recommend?” y/n replied, smiling down at minhee, swinging their intertwined hands back and forth. “maybe you can try a different one and we can all share?” minho cheekily chimed in.

“your dad is telling me to get something different so you can enjoy mine and still eat yours too.”

dropping her daughter’s hand, y/n stood still to cross her arms over her chest. 

minho and minhee stopped in their tracks, and gazed at each other, “see i told you, she would figure it out. quick let’s go before she can stop us!” he swiftly lifted his daughter onto his back and jogged down the road. the sound of harmonious giggles erupted from the mischievous duo. y/n sighed, the sides of her mouth naturally upturned in response to their innocent antics. noticing she was a distance behind, up ahead minho had turned around, nodding to usher her along.

with their puddings in hand, the family were set to return home, but minhee in her phase of intense curiosity, insisted they visit the nearby playground. y/n and minho could not resist their bundle of joy, and happily obliged.

“promise we will eat our puddings first, then ten minutes on the swing, alright?” y/n bargained. the family of three sat on a bench, all humming in enjoyment as they stomached their sweet puddings.

“it’s the last bite, open. ah,” minho demonstrated, his bunny teeth making an appearance, as he held the petite plastic spoon before minhee’s lips. the little girl mimicked his actions, her front teeth adorably similar to her father’s. 

y/n sat to the side, admiring the exchange between her husband and child. a warmth tickling the bottom of her heart. lost in her thoughts, minho’s pudding spoon dug into his wife’s cup. y/n glared playfully at her husband, her failed attempt to swat his hand away cost her remaining bites of pudding.

“ooh, caramel!” he teased, poking his tongue out as he finished the small portion she had left over.

feeling kittenish, y/n wrapped her arms around her daughter, who was sat between the couple. “mimi,” y/n began whining, “daddy is mean, he took my pudding~” minhee shifted in her place, a tiny hand patting against her mother’s hip in consolation. “bad daddy, mummy is sad. you should give her a kiss to make it better!”

hues of red painted y/n’s cheeks as the tips of minho’s ears grew hot. 

sheepishly leaning over, her hand deftly obscuring the child’s eyes as she pressed a peck to her husband’s lips, brazenly grazing his bottom lip with her tongue. pulling away and adjusting herself to relax back into the bench, y/n chuckles, “hmm, you’re right, the caramel is good. i'm all better now.” 

minho was greatly flustered from his wife’s bold display of affection in front of their child. he quickly shot up from his seat with his left hand extended to minhee, “sh-shall we get to the swings, princess?” 

y/n watched as her husband and daughter skipped together hand-in-hand to the swing set. her gaze wistful as she observes the pair, the sound of their mirthful laughter dances with the wind that disturbs the thick trees. the rustling of their leaves almost drowns out the wailing of the crickets. perhaps it was the faint tinge of petrichor that lingered in the evening air which ignited the tainted memories she had long believed were buried deep in the forsaken trenches of her mind. 

in front of her, minho earnestly basked in the moment, blissfully engaging with his daughter. a permanent smile etched onto their faces as the apples of their cheeks bloomed under the glow of the array of streetlamps littering the surrounding park area. y/n leaned forward, resting her elbow on her thigh whilst she placed her chin against her palm. the sight before her eyes fills her with a lonesome sense of longing, yet at the same time the contradicting feeling of solace.

as a child she lacked an adequate father figure, and for so long she was lost in her own sense of misdirection, untrusting of men and fearful of commitment. when minho entered her life, she was apprehensive, conflicted as to whether he could accept the myriad of flaws that decorated her person.

a light scoff instinctively fell from her lips, that thought banished from her mind as she stared down at the diamond ring on her left-hand finger. she could not deny his honest, blithe soul was bewitching.

minho sweeps his little girl off of her feet to rest her head against his shoulder, then turns to rejoin his wife at the bench. he instantaneously recognises the vacant look in his wife’s eyes, her absent gaze directed to her hand, and he makes a mental note to hold her in his arms extra tight when they get into bed.

“let’s go now, our princess is falling asleep.” he muses as his chin juts to point at the koala clinging to his upper torso. y/n stands, slipping her hand into minho’s.

minho places a faint peck on his daughter’s forehead, cautious to stir her in her dozing state. “goodnight, bub.” he whispered affectionately, then softly closed the door to tiptoe back to the couple’s bedroom.

the moonlight spills in through the sheer curtains to dimly light the room where the pair lay together. minho engulfs her in a warm embrace, their limbs entangled under the covers. 

“thank you for being apart of my life. thank you for giving me something to look forward to in life, pumpkin.” y/n breathes out shakily, snuggling herself further into minho’s chest. he has an inkling as to what spurs his wife’s sudden heartfelt confession.

with her eyes still closed, y/n’s mind continues to ruminate, continuing down the spiral of her earlier train of thought. her hands encircling minho’s waist bundle tightly into his shirt. the tense hold on his clothes has him slightly shrinking away, as he takes a hold of his wife’s chin to bring her eye’s level with his. “bun, is something bothering you?” 

y/n doesn’t reply, her fragmented mind unable to form a coherent sentence. exhaling with all her might, she begins with her eyes still tightly shut, “no, it’s nothing like that. it-it’s just… seeing you treat our minhee so well, i feel so grateful. you’re a father to her in the ways i needed a father most.” 

the hum of the air conditioning fills the room. y/n tentatively opens her eyes, thinking her words were foolish.

“i am treating her with the love she deserves, and that’s the same love you deserve, bunny. pure and unconditional.” minho reaches to tenderly tuck a loose strand of hair behind y/n’s ear. he inches closer to press a loving kiss to his wife’s lips, filled with both reassurance and passion.

when they separate, he feels a droplet catch on his unclothed bicep. he fondly caresses y/n’s cheek, wiping stray tears that stagger down the side of her face. placing his forehead against her’s, minho gently shushes her, patting her back to calm the outpour of raw emotion that overcomes her. his wife relishes in his comforting touch, his affections effortlessly melt all her anxiety and tension into nothingness.

minho was the only man who didn't take pieces of her heart, to leave her a shell of the person she used to be. he only gave her more things about herself, and the world to love.

consider reading more: masterlist

note; i was overwhelmed and am so grateful for all the support i received in the polling to choose this fic, and for the attention my other writing pieces have received. i am little worried this kind of plot and more serious writing may disappoint a few. but, thank you to everyone who gave me a small corner of the internet where i belong. i appreciate any reblogs and constructive criticisms you may have of my work 💖 © stayfortwominutes ; august 20, 2023.

[fizzydrink698]

consort vi | minho

pairing: lee minho x reader

word count: 17.1k

genre: historical au, arranged marriage au, enemies-to-lovers

warnings: period-typical sexism, a boatload of family issues, a rapidly increasing amount of sexual tension, like reader is starting to go the tiniest bit feral about it

series masterlist | one | two | three | four | five

summary:

Minho paused, the lingering traces of cheer disappearing before your eyes. The shift in his mood was almost tangible, and it felt as if you had made some sort of misstep in a dance, thrown yourself and your partner out of rhythm.

His gaze flickered upwards, so very briefly, to look at you, before moving downwards. Down to your notes, down to where the space between your bodies was at its narrowest, barely a few fingers’ width between your skirts and his thigh. He took a breath.

An uneasy sleep must have reclaimed you in the night, because you awakened to soft morning light streaming through the windows – and chambers entirely devoid of Minho.

You sat up, unsteady, the beginnings of a headache already forming. Your thoughts were scattered, muffled as if wrapped in cotton, barely intelligible under the dull throbbing.

An empty bedchamber. Did that disappoint you? The sheets beside you seemed undisturbed, indicating that he hadn’t joined you at any point in the night, hadn’t risen from the couch he’d been sleeping on last night when – 

Embarrassment – hot, ugly flashes of it – flared within you, so violent that you physically shuddered in an effort to suppress it. You wouldn’t be so careless again, risking something so mortifying and so vulnerable as being caught in a position like that.

A tiny voice in your mind uttered thanks for Minho’s order to keep servants out of his chambers without specific request. You didn’t want to imagine having to untangle these awful thoughts in front of an audience waiting to dress you for the morning. 

The more you dwelled on the situation, the more you could feel something in your chest twist. Shame, perhaps. You couldn’t help but picture last night again and again, your awful thoughts painting over your memories, imagining Minho’s eyes open instead of closed, imagining the curl of his lip as he watched you in disdain, maybe even in disgust–

No.

You felt your expression harden, breath expelling from you in one sharp burst. You hadn’t realised how much anger you could summon at merely an imagined Minho. Already, even at just the thought of him, you found yourself itching to rebuke him, to challenge the contempt you had imagined yourself.

There was a danger that you could spend the whole day in this bed, imagining all the ways in which you could argue with Minho.

So, instead, you forced yourself out of bed, determined to focus on the rest of your day and leave last night firmly in the past.

It was strange to realise just how quiet these chambers were. They were so far removed from the bustling of the palace’s lower floors that even now, as scores of nobles and servants alike rose from their beds and began their days, you could almost mistake the palace for being empty.

The spring morning air was no longer a shock of cold, but pleasantly mild. Perhaps you should make use of the weather today, you thought. It would be good to get some fresh air.

And then, you came to a sudden halt – as a flash of orange caught your attention out of the corner of your eye.

You turned your head, startled, to find a tabby cat perched on the low table of Minho’s chambers, staring you down.

This was not the pampered sort of housecat you had seen in the houses of your mother’s friends during your youth. While this cat seemed well-fed, there were tell-tale signs of the fights it must have gotten into. There was a pea-sized chunk missing from its left ear, and a faint scar on its little orange snout.

Perhaps this was a kitchen mouser? But how had it wandered so far into the palace, all the way into Minho’s chambers? How had it gotten past those heavy wooden doors, not to mention the guards stationed nearby?

You dared to take a step towards it – to no response. The cat continued to stare. Its tail twitched from one side to the other, slowly, almost lazily.

It didn’t move as you approached, instead continuing to eye you with an expression so distinctly unimpressed for such a tiny face.

Of course, the second you lifted your hand towards it, it jumped away from you in the blink of an eye. There was no panic to its retreat, just a vague sense of disdain as it withdrew from your reach.

For one brief second, you were bizarrely reminded of Minho.

To your own surprise, laughter bubbled up in your chest, slipping out between your lips. It lifted a weight off of your chest, leaving you feeling just a little lighter as you observed the way the cat shot you what could only be described as the feline equivalent of a scowl before it padded over to the bed and disappeared beneath it.

Deciding against following the cat and disturbing its hiding place, you chose to head for the door and request breakfast be served outside.

It seemed only right that the lingering worries of the previous night’s events would disappear in the light of a warm spring day.

There was something so calming about the palace grounds in the morning. At your request, a table and chair had been set up at the base of a hill, just by the long winding steps back up to the palace itself, in perfect position for you to gaze out at the huge expanses of land in front of you.

Morning dew budded on the still blades of grass. Clouds slowly drifted across the sky above, the sun hiding behind them, only reappearing at just the moment the air grew too chilly. In the distance, a light layer of fog lingered amongst the trees of the royal forest, retreating further and further with each moment.

There was nothing but peace and quiet.

You breathed deeply, savouring the morning air, as you reached for the last slice of bread. Beside it, in a tiny porcelain dish, sat a little pat of creamy butter. You scraped the last of it up with your knife to carefully spread onto the bread.

Your plans for the day were the same as always. Studying, mostly. You were eager to crack open the most recent council records you could find, already making plans to note down the stances of each member, the factions that might have formed, anything that might be useful.

How soon would Minho talk to his father? How much time did you have to prepare? You should have pressed for more details.

You could ask him at dinner this evening, you realised. It was still such a strange idea, to think that you and Minho could talk to each other so…often, now.

Because you shared a bedchamber, a voice in your mind – one that sounded suspiciously like your mother – reminded you. You should be doing so much more than just talking.

A mouthful of bread lodged itself in your throat mid-swallow, making you cough and splutter as you reached for your tea.

Not that you were particularly eager for that, of course. Last night had been a brief moment of insanity, a sudden break from rational thought, brought on by returning to the bed that held so many strong memories. It had infected your dreams, and even seeped into your sleep-addled actions in the dead of night, but now you had recovered.

Now, once again, you were just as uninterested as he was. Moving to his chambers was good enough to mend your image as a successful, stable pairing. It didn’t matter what happened behind closed doors, because you had gotten what you wanted.

But before you could make an effort to divert your thoughts back towards the day ahead, the peace of the morning was broken.

You watched as a group of palace guards marched into sight, descending the palace steps – and you stilled when you saw the person they were accompanying.

Her Majesty, the Queen.

You sat up a little straighter, as your eyes met across the wide-open space of the palace lawns. She always seemed so perfectly put together, her long dark hair twisted and braided neatly into a bun, the soft and sweeping fabrics of her dress somehow spotless even when brushing against the ground.

In her fine features, there was so much of Felix. You almost wanted to look away.

Instead, you followed protocol to the letter, rising to your feet and bowing your head at her arrival. “Your Majesty.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she replied, and there was a genuine soft note of surprise to her voice that reinforced her words. “If you’re finished with your meal, would you like to accompany me across the grounds?”

You blinked, lifting your head in shock. You’d barely spoken to this woman in weeks. You’d half-expected her to ignore you. You’d half-given up on the affection the two of you had grown for each other during your childhood.

“Y-yes,” you replied, and cleared your throat. “Yes, I’d love to.”

She gave you a smile – one so deeply familiar that it made your heart ache for just a second – and inclined her head, silently offering you the place by her side.

You moved quickly, almost without thinking, barely retaining the grace expected for a lady of your position, as you tried to join her before she could change her mind.

Before the two of you could start walking, however, she first turned to glance at the guards behind her. With a firm, clear voice of a queen, she told them. “I trust I’m accompanied by guards possessing the respect of allowing two ladies some privacy while they talk. Am I not?”

The nearest guard’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he hurried to nod at her. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.”

“Delightful to hear. The usual twelve paces behind will suffice,” she said, her voice so casual that the comment could almost be described as offhand, before she finally set off. You had to quicken your steps slightly to catch up with her.

And, sure enough, the guards waited until you were twelve paces ahead before they followed – at the perfect distance to remain out of earshot.

This was the woman you remembered from your childhood. Always polite, always charming, and just a little cleverer than she seemed.

You fell into step beside her, searching for something to say to start the conversation. “I heard a delegation from the Lakelands are on their way.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding with a warm smile. “Most of the delegates only came to their position after I left, but I know a handful. Among them is a prince I last saw as a young boy. I look forward to seeing the man he’s now grown to be.”

“That will be nice,” you remarked, looking for something else to say. Something clever, or funny, or charming. It used to be so much easier to talk to her. “Do you miss the Lakelands?”

“Occasionally. Especially in the winter. I’ve never developed a taste for the cold that sets in here,” she said, but there was no trace of sadness in her voice. Nothing wistful. “But what about you? Are you keeping well?”

“Yes,” you replied – but it felt like a half-truth at best. “As well as can be.”

“I’m sure you’ve had so many pleasantries asked about your marriage,” she said. “That’s usually all people can think to talk about, with women like us.”

Her words struck something in you, hooking something strange and raw and tugging it out into the open.

“That’s usually the topic of conversation, yes.”

Her lips twitched, the briefest flicker of a smile. “Then we’ll speak about something else. Are you still keeping to your studies?”

 “Yes!” you exclaimed, unable to keep your excitement from rushing out. “Practically every day. Mostly, I’ve been focusing on my histories and geography, but I like to brush up on my languages every so often.”

“You did always love studying your histories,” the Queen nodded, and for the first time in your conversation, you picked up on the slightest hint of sadness in her tone.

It sparked a vaguely familiar feeling. An old desire to cheer her, the feeling so ingrained that it felt like slipping on an old favourite coat.

“My new tutor has helped quite splendidly,” you said, with a smile just a touch forced. “I hadn’t realised how much more I could learn with someone following me in my interests, instead of just telling me what I should be interested in.” 

The Queen smiled back at you, and hers seemed entirely genuine. “There seems so much to catch up on. I’ve been meaning to talk to you sooner.”

Her words, as light and carefree as she had offered them, managed to hit something deep within you. Your expression faltered, as you felt the words dig into you, like claws gripping your flesh, piercing you.

You blurted out your only thought. “Why didn’t you?”

The question came out in a rush, an outpouring of emotion that you had tried so hard to keep dammed. You watched the way she paused, caught off-guard by your sudden harsh words.

You swallowed, trying frantically to recover some sense of manners. “I mean, I…it’s just I’ve been…I’ve been so alone since…”

“…I know.”

Her gaze grew so soft, as she watched you sadly. There were moments, occasionally, when her eyes were so expressive, just as Felix’s were.

For a moment, you pictured what it must have been like for her, all those years ago. Newly married to a stranger, not just alone but alone in an entirely different kingdom. A kingdom that her father and her father’s father and his father before that had been at war with. A kingdom with a people who mistrusted her, who still mourned for her husband’s first wife, the beloved wife, the wife she must constantly be compared to in public and in private.

You wondered how long it took her to learn to hide those expressive eyes. You wondered if it saddened her to look upon her son, and see those same bright eyes shining back.

“I missed you,” you confessed. “I miss how it used to be.”

“So do I, sweetling,” she murmured. There were only two people in this world the Queen called ‘sweetling’. One was standing in front of her. The other was half a kingdom away, quiet and aching by the coast. “But that’s precisely why I’ve stayed away.”

“What?” You asked, sharp in your confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“There are whispers at court,” she began, before pausing. You detected the faintest of eye-rolls as she continued. “There always are. Right now, they are centred on you.”

“Me?” You repeated. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“Oh, the subjects never do,” she said, her tone sharpening just a touch. You knew she’d had her fair share of experience with court rumours. “It’s no fun for them if the rumour gets dragged into daylight and exposed for the nonsense that it is. Better to whisper in secret, and give their empty brains something to spin from nothing.”

“What are they saying?” You asked. You’d half-expected something like this to happen, but you’d always thought your first reaction would be worry, or fear – and yet, right now, the news filled you with nothing but anger.

“They’re harmless, for now. Idle gossip. But if any fuel is added to them, they could prove dangerous–”

“What are they saying?” You repeated, cutting her off. You needed to hear it. You already had an inkling, but you needed it in words.

She sighed. “…You and Felix. I’m afraid my son will always be a subject for scandal in your future.”

Felix.

You turned away, eyes searching for the horizon, for something to fix on in the distance.

You hated that this didn’t surprise you. You hated that your paranoia, your constant insecurity about how you were perceived, about how your issues with Minho were perceived, that constant nagging feeling of your marriage being forced under a magnifying glass, was partially justified.

“Anything in particular?” You finally managed to ask when your voice returned to you.

“The stories change every week. Nothing has truly taken hold, which is a good thing,” the queen reassured you. “But until you and Minho…well, when your marriage seemed on shakier ground, I thought it was wise to keep my distance. I thought it would make things easier for you.”

Easier.

Right.

A lump was forming in your throat. You did your best to swallow it down.

“I thought you were angry at me,” you admitted. “For marrying Minho, instead of your son.”

“You did marry my son.”

There was such strong feeling in her voice that it forced your gaze back to her. The queen’s jaw was set, her mouth curved downwards slightly. Years and years of learned authority, of power however scant it might be, radiated through her as she stood firm.

“Minho is my son. In every way that counts.”

You stared, silent, as the faintest hint of guilt began to warm your cheeks.

The queen continued to walk, her gaze softening as she fell back into old memories. “He was so tiny when I entered the palace. I helped him take his first steps. I helped him learn his letters, I selected his tutors and I watched him grow.”

She slowed her steps, as you reached the edge of the forest that surrounded the palace. The two of you would have to turn back soon, but you took a moment to observe the quiet of the trees, the way that sunlight filtered through the newly-grown leaves.

“I might not be called his mother, but he is my son,” she finished, quietly. “And I’m very proud of him.”

She blinked rapidly a few times, clearing her throat, and turned to flash you the briefest of knowing smiles. “As mule-headed as he can be sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh – albeit quietly, softly, as the emotion of the conversation still kept its grip on you. 

There was a pull in you – that familiar one, the one that urged you to please others, the one that pushed you to say exactly the perfect thing – to praise Minho to the Queen. To call him a good man. You knew she would want to hear it, she would want to hear how happy you had turned out in spite of it all, that by pure serendipity, your marriage to Minho was just as splendid and happy as the marriage with Felix you had been awaiting your whole life.

But the words stuck in your throat. You practically choked on them. Not just because they were untrue.

Because for a second – for such a brief, unthinking second – you had wanted them to be true, just as badly as she did.

Something cold began to take hold of you. It started in your gut, unfurling his long icy fingers, grabbing and twisting and squeezing as it slowly dragged the rest of you into its grip.

Betrayal. In that moment, you felt – you knew – you had betrayed Felix.

Did it show on your face? The queen was watching you now, and you couldn’t imagine the expression you must have had.

You swallowed, trying with all you had to shove that awful pain away.

You needed to say something. Anything.

“Minho…he’s always…he never seems to care when people believe the worst in him,” you said, the words stumbling out of you, as if your mind was two steps behind your mouth. “It’s almost like he prefers it. I don’t understand it.”

The queen took in your words. After one long pause, in which her eyes studied you so intensely that it felt they were about to burn through you, she turned to look up at the palace on the hill. Even from this distance, it seemed to loom over you, waiting so impatiently for you to return.

“This place…” she trailed off. Her jaw tightened - and in that one instant, as her eyes flashed, you saw the teenage girl that had first stepped foot into this court, so far from home and facing such a nest of vipers. “It pulls something out of the people here. A way to protect themselves. My husband already had his ingrained when I came here. I felt it take hold within myself. I watched it form in Minho, that desire to push people away. And you…” she turned to you, briefly, and you blinked at the twist of amusement in her lips. “What opposites you and he are. How perfectly you mirror.”

You stared. Her words were vague, cryptic…and yet, you couldn’t help feel as if you had been insulted. You opened your mouth to protest, but the queen had already turned away back towards the palace.

“You can’t live in a place like this without growing a few thorns,” the queen sighed. “Like the roses in my gardens, I suppose. The ones without thorns are the first to be eaten.”

There was something layered in her words, something sad, something resigned.

You realised then that of all the members of the royal family she had just mentioned, there was one obvious name left unsaid.

“Let us return,” she said, finally. “Before those guards grow too curious and drift too close.”

Not only did Minho keep his promise of returning for dinner again that evening, he arrived even earlier than you.

You almost stopped at the door, thrown by the sight of him at the table, as perfectly poised as he always was, flicking through a sheaf of papers by the side of his plate. He looked up at your arrival, eyes meeting yours, and something caught in your chest.

You hadn’t realised how strange it would be to see him in person after last night, how…affecting.

Clearing your throat, you gave him a tight smile and made your way to your seat across from him – unfortunately for you, as it gave you a clear unobstructed view of Minho at a time when you very much wished for anything but that.

You reached for the decanter in front of you, eager to pour yourself a drink to deal with this building lump in your throat. To your surprise, you found it to be filled with water, not wine.

“How was your day?” you asked, finally speaking, hoping to sound calm and collected.

Minho eyed you carefully, as if you’d offered some sort of complex riddle, and not a feeble attempt at small-talk. “…Slow. Until the Lakelander delegation arrives, there’s nothing urgent to take care of. I’ve been looking over budget proposals for the harvest season.”

The harvest season was months away. In fact, you were almost certain that the fields had only just been sown at all. That truly did seem like a slow day. “I see.”

You knew you should try to continue the conversation, to ask him more about his work. Instead, you let your eyes drop to the plate of food in front of you, words dying on your tongue as you tried and failed to push down the memories of last night.

It felt so…deeply indecent, to sit across from Minho, and pretend you hadn’t touched yourself just a few feet away from him. And it was only made more indecent by the fact that he didn’t know.

It was all you could think about when you looked at him. You knew a secret, and he didn’t.

For dinner, the kitchens had prepared some sort of fish beautifully. Perfectly cooked, tender and soft and practically melting in your mouth.

You barely tasted it. You just kept eating, preoccupied, eyes trained on your plate. You were certain that if you looked up at Minho for too long, you would give yourself away.

In fact, the longer you sat there, the more uncertain you became.

Were you acting unnaturally? Were you too quiet, too reluctant to make conversation?

But, then again, what exactly did acting ‘naturally’ in Minho’s presence entail? You might have finally found yourselves on better terms, but…

“Something on your mind?”

Your eyes jerked up to meet his, caught off-guard.

How long had Minho been observing you? It looked like he hadn’t even touched his food yet, one hand resting on top of his papers, his other arm propped up on the table, hand curled under his chin as he looked at you.

You made an effort to swallow down the food in your mouth, despite how dry your throat had become, and reached for your water with all the nonchalance you could muster. “Not particularly. I was just…”

Think of something, think of anything.

“Wondering about those budget proposals. The harvest season must be months away. Was there really nothing else more pressing?”

Minho was quiet for a second, just long enough to spark the tiniest flicker of nerves in the pit of your gut, before he let out a sigh. “My father likes to drip-feed me responsibilities, one at a time. If there is anything else more urgent, I won’t know until my next meeting with him. And that won’t be for several days.”

There was an edge of frustration in his voice, something long-suffering, as if this were the topic of multiple arguments in the past, arguments that never seemed to resolve themselves in his favour.

He reached for his water, taking a sip, before his gaze returned to you. “That will also be when I talk to him about you joining the council.”

For a brief moment, all thoughts about the previous night and your embarrassing secret disappeared from your mind entirely. You leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you think his response will be?”

Minho tilted his head slightly in thought – and it filled you with surprise at the fact that you recognised this subtle shift in Minho’s body language, that at some point you had come to learn how to read him, even slightly – and replied. “…I won’t mince words–”

“Do you ever?” You retorted, almost without thinking.

Minho’s lips twitched, fighting a smile, but continued without acknowledging your mildest of jabs. “It will be a hard sell. My father is not a revolutionary. A large part of his popularity has come from his upholding of tradition. But he’s been dragging his feet on filling this council seat for months now, and for good reason. It’s a political minefield, and you are the best compromise. I hope he’ll see that.”

Minho was right. Your appointment to the council, however perfect a resolution to the infighting between your father and the blue-blooded nobility, would not be an easy sell at all. “I hope so too.”

The rest of your dinner passed in relative quiet, but the little calm you managed to gain in that time soon evaporated when you exited the dining room – and found yourself confronted yet again with the question of sleeping arrangements.

Minho’s bed was now the site of two of your most scandalous transgressions. Both of which involved Minho, both of which rendered you almost completely unable to look him in the eye whenever you thought of them.

In contrast to your internal strife, however, Minho seemed perfectly at ease.

He transported his sheaf of papers from the dining table to the couch, seating himself comfortably and setting them down on the low table in front of him.

Actually, perhaps ‘stack’ of papers might be more accurate a description than ‘sheaf’. Just how much work went into preparing these budget proposals? Had he done so little in his office all day to bring so much work to do in his chambers? Or was this a far more demanding responsibility than you had assumed?

All evidence seemed to point to the latter, as Minho worked silently throughout the evening, brow furrowed just a hint in concentration. He didn’t look up once, not when you rose to start preparing for bed, not when you returned in your nightclothes, not even when you wished him good night. He returned the words with a quiet murmur, clearly too enwrapped with whatever he was working on.

He was so engrossed, he didn’t see the way you hesitated by the bed.

Should you invite him over? He might have had work to do, but this would be yet another night that you went to bed without him. You were sharing a bedchamber now, surely the two of you should…

At least once, you should…

You tried to decide on the words of the invitation, of how to phrase it. A suggestion that he should bring his papers to bed, if he had so much work still to do? That was a reasonable question, wasn’t it? If he refused, you could press him on it, demand to know why it was beginning to seem as if he were still avoiding you…

“Yes?”

You blinked, emerging from your thoughts, to find Minho had glanced over to you. You likely made a strange sight, hovering by the bed, still yet to get under its covers.

The words were on the tip of your tongue, carefully crafted, ready to ask.

And then, traitorously, you thought of last night again.

Minho had been on the other side of the room, able to sleep through it, but if he’d been next to you… 

You pictured it. You pictured jostling him awake in your sleep, the embarrassing sounds you might make. What you might do.

An awful, awful wave of embarrassment crashed through you because what if you tried to grab at him in your sleep?

You swallowed, turning away without even attempting to reply to Minho, and slipped under the bedcovers without another word.

In the morning, you woke to find that Minho had already risen long before you. The bedchamber was empty, and again the sheets by your side were untouched.

When the third night elapsed in just the same way, and the fourth, it became clear that this couldn’t be mere coincidence. Minho didn’t just happen to be so enthralled in his work that he fell asleep on the couch four nights in a row.

He was refusing to sleep beside you. You might have forced his hand in letting you share his chambers, but apparently he would not let that extend to his actual bed.

You were half-convinced he still held that early contempt for you, that he was still stubbornly maintaining that unconquerable distance between the two of you out of disdain.

And yet, he still sat with you at every dinner. He talked with you about his day, about your studies, telling stories about a particular odious noble that had done something to irk him, or listening to you talk passionately about a particular historical figure or event that had come up in your research. He’d even teased you once, when you confessed that you didn’t have the patience to read through the handful of art history books that Seungmin had added to your list.

The two of you were very slowly developing some odd sense of…well, perhaps friendship was still too strong a choice of word, but at least an understanding around each other that definitely hadn’t been present in the first few weeks of your marriage.

Nowhere else had this become so apparent than on your fifth evening in Minho’s bedchambers.

For a change of scenery, you had decided to spend the afternoon catching up on your research in these chambers, taking lunch there with your books, enjoying the little pocket of quiet in which Minho’s bedchambers were nestled within the palace.

To your surprise, and delight, the cat was back.

Initially, it was just as sullen as you remembered. It eyed you from across the room, perched on the low table yet again, sat as tall and imposing as it could make itself.

That was, until you called for a plate of kippers to be brought to you.

Despite its surly appearance, the cat barely needed convincing before it wandered over to you and the plate of fish, taking each offered kipper from your hand without hesitation. After three fish, it allowed you the softest of pets between its ears. After six, it drew closer, jumping from the table to the seat next to you, a little more relaxed as it took yet another fish from your hand.

To your delight, once the plate was empty, the cat did not abandon you immediately. In fact, it curled up near you – not quite close enough to be within easy reach, but enough that you could lean over and give it slow and gentle strokes as you continued to read. It even began to purr, just a little, whenever you scratched just beneath the base of its ears.

The more attention you gave the cat, the more you realised just how cared for it seemed to be. How comfortable it was with being touched, how well-fed it was, how soft its fur was. Even in a palace, this was not at all typical for a kitchen mouser.

“Someone spoils you, don’t they?” You murmured, giving the cat more strokes. “I can see why, you’re lovely. So cute.”

The cat, while not acknowledging your words, leaned its head up into your hand a little, chasing after those little scratches.

You were close to abandoning your studies entirely for the day, ready to devote your full attention to this adorable little creature, when the bedchamber doors swung open.

The cat jolted a little, jumping from its place on the couch – but to your relief, did not run out of the room. Instead, it lingered by the low table, ready to disappear under it, and stared down the sudden arrival.

Minho, mouth still parted slightly in whatever greeting he’d been about to give you, was silent as his gaze flickered between you and the orange cat eyeing him from the floor.

“We have a visitor,” you told Minho, solemnly, gesturing to the cat.

Minho nodded, briefly, still looking between you and the cat. “Yes. Yes, she seems to like it in here.”

“‘She’?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Minho’s expression immediately smoothed into the perfect neutral, refusing to give even the slightest bit of emotion away. “…I assume.”

“Mm. Well, she seems to be a sweetheart.”

“Does she?” Minho repeated, glancing at the cat again, who seemed to have now relaxed. She began to approach Minho’s feet, sniffing familiarly at his boots.

“I may have had to bribe her with a plate of kippers,” you admitted, increasingly amused by the way the cat began to weave her way between Minho’s legs, but managed not to let it show too obviously in your face. “She seems very well-fed, for a kitchen mouser.”

Minho made a non-committal sound in response, not meeting your eyes. “…Yes, well, I imagine people must toss her dinner scraps here and there.”

“I suppose so. But who would be so soft-hearted in this palace, to feed a kitchen cat from their own plate?” You wondered aloud.

Minho’s face was a mask at this point, unmoving, perfectly calculated. He made his way to one of his armchairs, attempting to ignore the way the cat followed him happily, jumping up and perching herself on the arm of his chair.

You continued. “In fact, I wonder what a mouser would be doing here, so far away from the kitchens. That’s quite a distance for a cat to wander unprompted.”

“I suppose so,” Minho stated, perfectly neutral, even as the cat moved from the arm of the chair to seat herself in his lap.

You continued to stare at him, wordless, eyebrow raised – and finally, he relented.

“I might have given her some scraps, once or twice,” he admitted, even as the cat nuzzled into his hand from where she rested nearby. “I suppose she can’t help it if she isn’t good at mousing, and goes hungry.”

“True,” you allowed, thoroughly unconvinced by his façade. “And do you know if this failed mouser has a name?”

“…I think I’ve heard someone call her Soonie,” Minho said, and finally let his hand drift over to Soonie and begin to give her gentle scratching behind her ears. She purred loudly enough that you could hear her from where you sat, utterly content to receive affection from someone she was clearly very familiar with. “Somewhere. At some point.”

“How odd. Not many kitchen mousers have names.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, noncommittal, but when his eyes dropped down to glance at Soonie, he couldn’t hide the slightest of smiles.

You took in the sight, this cold and prickly prince melting as he pet the scruffy little tabby cat. Minho was still in his usual daily prince attire, all high-necked and formal. His legs were clad in those familiar riding leathers that you never let yourself look at for too long, so you moved your attention instead to his jacket. Instead of a royal scarlet, this one was a dark blue, the fabric glinting in the candlelight from the clusters of beading embroidered within it. It suited him, you forced yourself to admit, far more than red did.

In fact, you tried to remember the last time Minho had worn the colour red, but nothing recent sprang to mind. Perhaps…

“I’m meeting with my father tomorrow,” Minho told you, and immediately your attention was captured.

Tomorrow.

The word sparked something in your gut – not quite dread, or alarm, but something akin to that. Urgency.

You swallowed back your excitement, remaining as calm and neutral as you could. “And you’ll talk to him about the council?”

“That’s the plan,” Minho replied, enigmatic.

You paused, and a quiet fell over the room. It wasn’t as if Minho was expecting you to reply – in fact, as Soonie settled completely in his lap, chin dropping to rest on his knee, he was looking down and away from you.

But something still just…tugged at you. Just a little bit.

Your eyes darted down to the book in your hands, and as nonchalantly as you could, you spoke. “…Thank you.”

You saw Minho move out of the corner of your eye, head raising to look at you.

“…I’m just doing what I’m supposed to,” Minho said, his voice detached and light. “One of my duties is to recommend the most capable candidate I can find. Don’t think of it as a favour.”

His words rendered you speechless, heart beginning to pound in your ears.

Most capable.

You were the daughter of a rich, powerful man. You had been given many compliments throughout your lifetime.

None of them had ever caused the same kind of lump to form in your throat as you felt now. None had caused this kind of strange heat to bloom behind your eyes, this way your heart swelled.

Most capable.

And just like that, you were spurred into action. If you had only one night left to prepare yourself and construct the perfect defence to prove why you deserved to be on the council, you would take full advantage of it.

You began combing through the papers you had with you, reading voraciously, consuming every piece of information available to you. You did this throughout dinner, chewing absently as you turned pages and scrawled notes. You were so devoted to your studies, you made your way through two full cups of tea before realising, upon looking up, that it was Minho who poured it for you each time.

Your eyes met, just as he held the teapot over your cup to pour a third time, and your gaze held long enough to note the flicker of amusement in his before he looked away.

When dinner was over, you retreated back to the couch with more reading to finish. Minho did the same, taking up the same spot he did every evening, that familiar pile of paperwork set in front of him. There was a strangely companionable silence as the two of you worked into the night.

You almost forgot he was there, despite the sounds of his writing and the crisp sounds of paper-shuffling, slipping into a quiet rhythm of reading and re-reading until words began to blur together.

As the candles burned low, and the hours grew later and later, you felt your concentration start to slip. Your eyes would close, just for a few moments, and the will to open them again slowly began to elude you. Exhaustion crept up on you, an old friend, and you found yourself repeating paragraphs, reading over the same sentence again and again and unable to take in its meaning.

Your eyes closed again, and you vaguely remembered telling yourself it would be just for a moment.

Sleep found you instead.

Blissful, calm. Warmth from the fire. Papers slipping from your hand, but never landing on the floor. You felt safe, wrapped in the quiet.

Something brushed your arm. Soft. Fur. Soonie?

Your eyes opened, bleary, only to find grey instead of orange. The wrongness of it jolted you, your hand darting out to grab at something pale and moving.

Skin.

A hand. Soft.

Except for a callus on the edge of a knuckle on the middle finger. You recognised it, for you had your own on the very same finger. It was where the pen sat whenever you wrote.

Your gaze wandered, still sleep-fogged, and there was no surprise when you saw the hand attached to a Minho.

Your grip on him relaxed, fingers slipping from his, and you barely mumbled a half-formed thought. “Your hand matches mine.”

Your eyes closed again, just as Minho stilled, and you drifted back to sleep.

You woke up, neck aching, still upright on the couch. Your books and papers lay scattered around you, from where you’d been too tired to put them away properly. Morning light streamed in from the windows, and despite the ashes in the fireplace indicating that it had long since burned out, you found yourself unusually warm.

Ah. You had fallen asleep in the previous day’s clothes – and with very familiar furs draped over you.

There was a brief flash of a memory, of Minho’s hand pulling the furs over you. You dimly recalled saying something, perhaps, but the details escaped you. You pushed the furs off of you, your movements unusually gentle as you handled the blanket, as if it commandeered an unthinking respect from you. Sentiment, maybe.

As always, Minho had risen before you and left your chambers, but today this observation filled you with equal parts excitement and nerves.

Were they discussing it right at this moment? Did their meetings take place in the mornings? Or in the afternoons? Would other items be brought up first?

It was maddening, to have so many questions and no way to pursue the answers.

With a night’s worth of sweat sticking to your skin, you made up a bath for yourself, even heating the water entirely on your own. The only oils in Minho’s bathroom were lavender, suited for relaxation in the evenings rather than energising in the mornings, but you made do. 

The water was a touch cooler than how you usually liked it, but you didn’t have the patience to heat more water. Instead, you stripped and climbed into the bath with as much grace as you could muster and set about cleaning yourself.

This wasn’t the first time you had bathed entirely without servants – in fact, since you had moved into Minho’s chambers, the only times a servant had been permitted to enter was to bring them dinner each evening.

You found yourself becoming…amenable to that arrangement. It gave Minho’s chambers a sense of quiet, a private solace, that could not be found anywhere else in the palace.

Perhaps that was why it was so jarring, almost invading, when you heard knocking from afar, the sound of a door swinging open, and a woman’s voice ringing out hesitantly. “Your Highness?”

You startled, upsetting the water, letting some of it slosh over the side of the bath and onto the floor. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

Footsteps approached – timid, rushed – and the voice drew closer. “You’ve been summoned, Your Highness. By the king.”

Your stomach dropped, your breath cut short.

“He…said it was urgent, Your Highness, but I can let them know you’re still bathing–”

“No,” you blurted out, quickly, sharply. You got out of the bath hastily, dripping water all over the floor. “Help me change into something quickly, and I’ll go now.” 

There was only one reason you would be summoned by the king on this particular day, and from the sounds of it, it wasn’t to congratulate you on your new position on the council.

You needed to stand your ground, to explain your reasoning in the face of his refusal. And if there was any chance of persuading him to grant you the position, to ignore the concerns of your gender…

Well, telling the king that he needed to wait to discuss urgent business until the princess finished drying her hair was not the kind of image you wanted to present to him.

And so, you were laced into a dress with impressive dexterity by your maid, the luscious fabric increasingly dampened from your dripping hair. Was it an uncomfortable sensation? Absolutely, but it was difficult to dwell on it when all you could think of was why you were be summoned, what could have happened between the king and Minho to warrant such an urgent demand for your presence.

Discussions must not have gone as smoothly as Minho intended – but not so disastrously as to be dismissed out of hand.

As you slipped on a pair of shoes, your maid gave one last attempt to persuade you to wait. “Your Highness, are you sure…”

 You turned, smiling politely at her. “Yes. I’m sure it will dry soon enough. Thank you for all your help.”

She returned your smile, somewhat nervously, eyes darting to the dishevelled aspects of your appearance, but seemed a little more assured. Marginally. Barely.

Before she could protest again, you marched straight for the door.

Of course, as was so often the case with grand gestures, there were certain factors you didn’t think through entirely.

The palace halls were unforgivingly cold, especially as your hair continued to slowly drip water down your neck, soaking into the back of your gown. It made every step uncomfortable, as every little drop of water that landed on the nape of your neck was another reprimanding shock of chill.

You made sure to stand tall, proud.

If your head was bowed, if your shoulders were slouched and your steps more resembling a scurry than a stride, you would have made a pitiable sight. It would look as if you were caught off-guard, as if you were panicked, incapable, scared.

But with your chin held high, with your shoulders back and a confidence steeling you, this was intentional. This was a statement. An image fit for songs, for stories, a princess devoted to her role and to the orders of her king.

As you drew closer to the king’s chambers, navigating through the ever-narrowing hallways, you felt your chest begin to tighten. You realised you might genuinely hate it here, this deep within the very depths of the palace, its cold little stone heart. A king might be well-defended here, the walls witness to nearly a thousand years of history, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were descending into a tomb.

And then, you heard the voices.

The last time you had been summoned by the king, you remembered catching a snippet of conversation at the very doorstep of his chambers. That was how close you had to get before Minho’s and the king’s voices could be heard through the thick wooden door.

But now? You heard them in the corridor - because they were loud.

Not quite a screaming match between father and son, but–

“–talk of duty, but what’s your solution, Father? Burying your head in the sand, that tried and tested trick?”

You almost stumbled, shock rendering you clumsy, because did Minho just say that to the king?

“Caution, boy, is not ignorance. How do you mistake the two? You’re well-versed in the latter.”

The two guards in front of you exchanged a glance. You noted that they did not share your horror. In fact, you could almost mistake it as…resigned.

“Was it age that turned your belly yellow? Is that my fate too? Cowardice?”

“I will not be lectured by a son still wet-around-the-ears on age.”

Not just resigned.

Long-suffering.

They’d heard this all before. Frequently, by the looks of things.

And then, as if that knowledge had unlocked something, had lifted the veil over your eyes, you could hear it. The hint of familiarity, the ease with which the two hurled insults at each other.

This was not the first time Minho and his father had quarrelled. In fact, you’d wager this wasn’t the first time this week.

The argument paused when the guards knocked at the door, announcing your arrival. As the doors swung open, you caught sight of Minho and his father – not a hair out of place, not even a flush of anger to their cheeks – glaring at each other with familial exasperation.

Minho looked away first, turning to look at you – and paused.

His Majesty followed his gaze, and you watched those regal eyes blink in surprise at your appearance.

You must have made a sight, your gown on its way to being ruined, your hair still slick and dishevelled, trying hard not to shiver in the cold of these chambers.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted, not even the slightest bit affected, and bowed low. You straightened up before offering Minho’s greeting. “Husband.”

“My dear,” the king spoke, just the slightest bit alarmed. “If my summons caught you at an inopportune time, I assure you it’s perfectly reasonable to delay answering until you’re presentable. Don’t concern yourself so thoroughly.”

You smiled brightly. The picture of obedience, of devotion. “I hated the thought of keeping you both waiting. I imagine I know what this conversation is about.”

The king’s gaze flickered between you and Minho at this, a frown soon beginning to form. Still, there was a subtle note of surprise in his voice when he spoke again. “I see. The two of you are conspirators in this…”

“Proposal?” you supplied, gently.

“Attack?” Minho offered, bitterly.

“…Folly,” the king said, finally, turning back to you.

You dipped your head, keeping your voice soft and sweet. “I’m sorry to hear that you see it that way. I believe it to be a fair compromise, to ease the tensions at court.”

“Yes, Minho said the same thing,” the king sighed, dismissive. “Both of you are blind to the same issue. Any conflicts that your position on the council might resolve are outnumbered by the discord it would certainly cause.”

Minho sighed, eyes darting up to the ceiling. You wondered how many times he had heard that argument this morning. “And yet, a good king prioritises the future of his kingdom above all else, is that not so?”

The king shot Minho a look. It didn’t take much to realise that those were likely the king’s own words that had come out of Minho’s mouth, not his own.

“Son–”

“Talk to her,” Minho interrupted, gesturing to you in pure exasperation. “Listen to her. Ask her anything. She’s more than qualified to be on the council.”

After a moment’s hesitation, in which it looked as if the king was debating whether to indulge his oldest son or nip this matter in the bud entirely, he turned to you.

“…Very well,” he said, giving in. You watched as he made his way to the splendid-looking chair behind a monstrosity of a writing desk, sinking into it. For a brief moment, you thought you caught something of a grimace in his expression.

Exhaustion? Perhaps. It must have been tiring work, running a kingdom. Let alone arguing with Minho too. You had first-hand knowledge of how that could drain your energy.  

The king’s eyes became fixed on you, almost pinning you to the floor, as he spoke. “Suppose you were on the council, and a message was received, warning of a great army about to invade. What would you advise?”

Your brow furrowed as you considered the question. You needed to remain calm, measured, and use every scrap of information you had studied.

“Which border is the army advancing toward?” you asked, thoughtful.

The king’s face remained unchanged. “The one we share with the Lakelands.”

Interesting. No cardinal direction given – you assumed that must have been on purpose – but still plenty of information to form an answer. The Lakelands were in the north, and under treaty with your kingdom.

“I would advise you to send missives to Lords Kim and Geum in the north with instructions to muster their forces and man our security garrisons along the border. I would also–”

“Which garrisons?” the king interrupted, gently but firmly.

“Yalrock and Banna. Yalrock is the largest garrison on the northern border, Banna is strategically advantageous because of its position on the river plains. You’d be forcing the army to march along the mountain passes instead.”

The king’s expression remained cold, neutral – and you realised, in that moment, exactly where Minho might have learned the same habit. “Continue.”

“I would also advise you to send word to our allies in the hills and across the Sunrise Sea, informing them that the Lakelands have broken our treaty pact.”

“Broken the pact?” the king repeated. “I never said the Lakelanders were the ones invading.”

“The treaty pact also forbids the harbouring of any forces with aggressive intent towards treaty members. In this scenario, the Lakelanders would be doing just this – unless they themselves were invaded by this army too, which I doubt if we received no summons for aid or word from our ambassador there,” you said. Was this too much detail? Were you rambling? You did your best to keep your words steady, unrushed. “Therefore, the treaty would be broken.”

From out of the corner of your eye, you caught Minho watching you, a hint of a smile on his face.

The king, while perhaps a touch surprised at your answer, pressed on anyway with another question, changing the subject entirely.

“…Suppose Lord Sun’s lands are failing to produce the amount of grain demanded of them. How would you advise me?”

“I would be confused,” you admitted, “because Lord Sun’s lands produce fish, not grain.”

“And why is that?”

“Because his lands are in the east, along the coast. The land there isn’t arable.”

“Why?”

“The weather is too hot in the summer, too dry. There isn’t enough freshwater for crop-growing.”

The quickness of your answer was rewarded with the smallest – almost unthinking – of nods from the king. He paused once more, and spoke again. “Suppose I wanted to–”

“Another question?” Minho interjected, sighing, as he wandered across the room and took a seat by the window. He rested his head against his hand, elbow planted into the plush armrest of his chair. 

The king shot him a look, either for the interruption, or for the flippant tone Minho had used, or perhaps even for the way he was lounging in the presence of his king, but he made no move to reprimand him. Instead, he turned back to you. “Suppose I wanted to offer a gift to the Lakelander delegation when they arrive next month to renew the treaty. A personal one, not a grand spectacle of an offering. What would you suggest?”

You paused. This wasn’t a question that could be answered with any of your recent studies of war or economics or geography. This was a question of hospitality, knowledge you needed as a queen, not as a councillor.

It took a moment, longer than it took with the first two questions, but soon there was an answer in your mind. “When the last Lakelander delegation came to this country to sign the treaty, one of the gifts they gave Your Majesty were wild rose seeds. Wild roses that were native to the Lakelands, difficult to grow in this climate, meant to symbolise a new peace and the care needed to maintain it. Her Majesty, the queen, still grows these roses in her private gardens, does she not?”

The answer to your question did not come from the king, but from Minho. “She does.”

“Then, I would suggest a bouquet of these roses. It would be symbolic of the care this kingdom has taken to nurture this new relationship with the Lakelands, a sign that we do not take their gifts for granted.”

The king eyed you carefully for a moment, silent. “…You weren’t present at the first signing of the treaty, were you? You’re too young for that.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t present, Your Majesty,” you replied. “But the queen graciously allowed me to play in her gardens when I was a child, and taught me the origins of those roses.”

Not quite. The queen allowed you and Felix to play in those gardens. She told you the origins of the roses when Felix tried to pick some for you, and accidentally cut open his palm on the sharp thorns of their stems. You remembered him, tears in his eyes, sniffling as Her Majesty held the both of you close and warned him gently that these roses were wild, were Lakelanders just like her and a little like him, and because of that, they were fiercely protective.

You remembered sitting and watching the two of them exchange smiles, and silently wishing that you were a Lakelander too. You wanted to be protective. You wanted to be like the roses, like them.

“Any more questions, Father?” Minho asked, jolting you from your memories. “Or has she proven our point? Impressively?”

And again, just as they had last night, Minho’s words stirred something within you. A kind of warmth, filling your chest.

The king regarded the both of you, silently, before sighing. “Your education is…indeed, as Minho says, impressive.”

Your heart soared, mind so entirely filled with elation that you almost missed his next words.

“But I’m afraid that still does not change the obvious. I did not secure decades of unprecedented peace under my reign by breaking with tradition. A woman sitting on the council is not tradition.”

You swallowed, heart sinking just as sharply as it had risen just moments ago.

“…There is precedent,” you pointed out, softly. “I found records of Princess Jiyoon on the royal council, less than two centuries ago.”

“That is true,” the king conceded, before tilting his head slightly. After a moment of consideration, he pushed himself out of his chair with the same half-grimace glimpsed earlier, and crossed the room towards a bookcase stuffed with leather-bound volumes. His hands hovered over them, fingertips brushing their spines, until he found the one he was searching for and pulled it from its stack with ease.

He made his way back to the two of you, opening the volume and thumbing through the pages as he walked, before offering the volume to you.

You took it, uncertainly, and looked down at what exactly he had handed to you.

Council records – but unlike the ones you had studied with Seungmin, you were shocked at just how much more detail this version contained. You supposed that made sense. The records in the library were likely censored, or edited for public consumption. These were private, a king’s own personal records, passed down from ruler to heir most likely.

Jiyoon’s name was there, listed amongst the other councillors, but these records included a strange symbol next to her name.

You frowned, and the king spoke again.

“I imagine you found no records of any contributions she made, correct? No votes cast, no motions brought to attention?”

“…No,” you admitted, reluctantly, looking up at him as dread began to curl in the pit of your stomach.

“There is a reason for that. Jiyoon filled a particular role. If you scour through the legal treatise of the time – dry reading, all of it, but it is there – you’ll find it. Jiyoon was not granted the role of an adviser, but of an observer. A silent one, there only to watch the council proceedings so that she could better educate her heirs in service of her husband. That is the precedent that Jiyoon set.”

Silent. Heirs. Husband.

Of course.

Of course. You should have known. That was what it always came down to. Centuries of royal women, millennia of royal women, and it was always the same.

Silent. Heirs. Husband.

You should have known. You should have known not to get your hopes up.

“What are you saying?” you heard Minho ask, dimly, as these thoughts repeated endlessly in your mind.

“The observer is required to be silent. She cannot vote, she cannot dissent, she cannot speak even when called upon to do so in session. She observes.”

Minho made a sound of disdain, maybe even disgust. “Then, what’s the point? Why have that great of a mind on your council if she can’t even use it? What a waste.”

“Perhaps, but that is the precedent you argue for. If you seek a compromise, that would be it.”

“A compromise? What–”

“I would accept it,” you interrupted, quietly. Your eyes were trained on the floor, voice barely above a murmur. Your brain still thundered with those three words, again and again. Silent. Heirs. Husband. “If Your Majesty were so gracious as to offer this role, I would accept it.”

You didn’t have to look at Minho to know the way his mouth was parted in surprise, astonished and outraged in equal measure. You could sense it in his tone when he spoke. “You can’t be serious.”

You raised your eyes to look at the king, purposefully avoiding Minho’s stare.

“I hope His Majesty knows that I don’t ask for this council seat out of personal ambition,” you said, softly, lying through your teeth to your king. “You said Jiyoon took the role as a duty to her husband and her children. If anyone objected to my position on the council, I would ask you say the same of me.”

“…You would take the council seat in service of Minho,” the king said, and even he sounded sceptical. You weren’t sure what that said about your marriage, but it wasn’t exactly promising.

“And our future children. We both take that duty very seriously.”

“Do you?” the king questioned, sharply, pointedly, but surprisingly it wasn’t you he was addressing – it was Minho.

You might have tensed at such an insinuation, but Minho practically bristled.

“Don’t,” Minho warned his father, straightening up in his seat. No, more than warned, he practically spat out the word. “I thought we agreed.”

Agreed? Agreed what?

You glanced between Minho and his father, sensing a tension that remained unspoken as the two eyed each other, jaws both set.

You were clearly missing something vital to this exchange, some secret piece of information – and, as always, the idea chafed at you.

And then, with a quiet and cold anger that you hadn’t heard in weeks, Minho told his father. “You owe me this.”

The king’s expression twisted. It was guilt, you realised. “Minho–”

“You owe me something.”

Another pause.

And then, finally, the king broke this staring contest with his son to look at you. “…The role requires complete silence. If I decided to grant you the seat on these conditions, and you flout them immediately, I will not look kindly on it. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you replied, solemnly.

“…Very well,” the king said, eventually. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

You did it.

It was a hollow victory, yes, but a victory nonetheless.

You couldn’t quite muster happiness about it, or even gratitude, but there was a sense of achievement.

You nodded, quietly, and curtsied low before the king. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

When you lifted your head again, you found the king glancing between your face and Minho’s before he spoke again.

“You do have quite the mind,” the king said, gaze still shifting between the two of you. “You might not be able to speak in the council room but…well, you share bedchambers now. Whatever you might discuss in there is your own private business. Is it not?”

Within days, news of your appointment to the council spread across the palace like wildfire.

You expected this, to some extent. Precedent or not, observer or not, this was still an undeniably shocking development. You knew there would be whispers about it, gossip passed around, growing and contorting with each telling and retelling.

All of this, and still you did not expect the conversation you happened upon one evening as you took a shortcut through one of the palace courtyards on your way back from a tutoring session with Seungmin.

The sun had just descended below the horizon, casting the square into shadow wherever the dim glow of torchlight did not quite reach. You caught snatches of voices as you walked, whenever you passed doors to parlours, to sitting rooms, to the dozens upon dozens of meeting places for the elite that resided within the court. Some of these doors were cracked open to enjoy the fresh air brought by the open-air courtyard on their doorstep, unaware of any passers-by.

And then, one particular comment caught your attention.

“Perhaps the poor girl is simply bored,” a haughty voice said, with a hint of laughter. “That council room might be a dreary place, but I’d wager it’s a damn sight better than her bedchambers.”

You froze, half within shadow, half without.

There was only one person that comment could possibly be referring to.

Immediately, you slipped behind one of the stone pillars lining the courtyard, heart pounding.

Finally, after all this talk of rumours, of whisperings at court behind your back, you finally had the chance to listen for yourself.

“Careful, Park,” another voice cautioned, although sounding more amused than concerned.

“A prince too scared to share a bed with his wife for weeks after the wedding,” the first voice – Park – scoffed. “What, did he hope no one would notice?”

A third voice chimed in, low and gleeful. “You want to hear something good? My wife heard a maid talking the other day. They change the sheets of that marriage bed every day. And they’re always pristine.”

Your face heated, something approaching bile threatening to burn the back of your throat. There was something about hearing your privacy be so…violated, and said so casually. Your bedsheets? They all talked about your bedsheets?

“You know my theory,” the third voice spoke again. 

“Your wife’s theory,” Park corrected, sounding dismissive.

“It makes sense. She’s saving herself for the other brother. Traded one for the other before, maybe she’s waiting to trade back when he comes home.”

Felix.

Traded one for the other. Is that how they saw it? Is that how they all saw it?

“He’s not coming back,” Park scoffed. “Not for a long time. Not unless His Highness fancies looking down and wondering why all his children have the Lakelander look to them.”

Your heart stopped. You felt the blood in your veins freeze, matching the ice­-cold anger settling into your bones.

“Gods be good, close the door before you say horseshit like that. Moron.”

This was more than fury.

This was wrath.

You stepped out of the shadows, just at the right moment to lock eyes with Lord Park as he stood by the doors, his too-late hand stilled on the handle.

“Good evening, Lord Park,” you said, voice so syrupy-sweet and cloying, and watched the blood drain from his face as he stared back at you in horror. You craned your neck to peek over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the two other men with him. “Oh, I see Lords Song and Ryu have joined you. How nice.”

“Y-Your Highness,” Park stammered, and there was genuine fear in his eyes.

He knew what you had heard. He knew the words that had come out of his mouth, and how close those words danced along the line of treason. It would take you only one conversation with Minho, or with the king, and his career would be done. His family. His fortunes. Possibly even his life.

You smiled brightly at him. “I look forward to seeing you next week at the council. I’ve heard you’re quite the contrarian. You’ve voted to reject the last, what is it, seven bills put forward by my husband?”

Park didn’t answer. Perhaps it was more accurate to say Park couldn’t answer. You wondered what could possibly be going through his head at that moment. You wondered if he had ever felt this afraid in his entire pampered little life.

You tilted your head slightly, eyeing him. “Perhaps from next week, you might find yourself second-guessing a decision like that. Don’t you think so?”

Park’s face, still pale, twisted into something approaching realisation. He seemed to grasp exactly what you were hinting at – the threat that remained unspoken.

“…Y-yes, Your Highness,” Park agreed, nodding erratically.

“And your companions? Perhaps they’ll have similar changes of heart?”

From behind Park, his friends stammered their assent, just as rattled.

You beamed.

“Perfect. Have a nice night.”

You attended your first council meeting the very next week, finally taking that last empty council seat that had remained vacant for so long.

Sixty-two members attended the session in total.

You felt sixty-one pairs of eyes on you throughout.

You recognised quite a few of the faces in this meeting. Lord Young, as delightful as ever, sat just a few seats removed from the royal family – a position of great honour, especially for a man with neither blood nor marriage ties to the crown.

Lord Park had also made an appearance, and blanched the moment your eyes met his.

Good.

You paid the stares little notice, attention completely and utterly captivated by the debates that took place. Every idea proposed, every motion considered and accepted and denied, every opinion volleyed back and forth, you noted down.

You might have been silent, but you wrote feverishly. Pages and pages of scrawls, near indecipherable as you worked to keep pace with the spoken word of the other council members.

Minho was seated next to you. Of course he was – he served as a visible explanation for your presence there at all. To be useful to him, to educate his heirs and better his legacy. In the eyes of everyone else, your seat on the council was essentially just an extension of Minho’s.

You weren’t sure what to expect of him during these council meetings. You knew just how seriously he took his position as heir, and his duty to the kingdom – but you also remembered that carriage journey home from Lord Young’s orchards, the disdain he had for politicking, his derision in his voice when he talked of strings attached.

It turned out that in council meetings, Minho kept up the same perfect princely mask he always did in public. Never once raising his voice, never slipping into anger or mockery. Exemplary behaviour from the first second of the meeting to the last.

Except for one moment, when an old lord from the Tan family had loudly proclaimed an argument so poorly constructed, with parts so moronic that you made sure to underline his exact wording for its stupidity, that you heard the quietest of noises from Minho. When you glanced up at him, he was watching the debate with apparent rapt attention. If you weren’t sat so close to him, you would have missed the slightest way his jaw clenched, as if to fight a look of disdain as he watched Lord Tan blather on.

Minho proposed only one new bill – investment in a new mill, to be built in one of the kingdom’s slowly-dwindling rural villages, in the hopes of creating employment opportunities. You paused your notetaking to watch each council member cast their votes for or against the bill.

Most supported it. Some rejected it. Your eyes sought out Lord Park again, and you watched as he reluctantly raised his hand in favour of the bill, gaze nervously flickering towards you as he did so.

What an astonishing change of heart from the man. Who could have predicted?

Still, despite it all, the council meeting ended without incident. The issues tabled for the next meeting were fairly standard: a new maritime trade deal with a kingdom across the Sunrise Sea, preparations for next year’s census, the ongoing reports from the Lakelander delegation slowly making its way to the palace. You made note of it all, jotting down your own thoughts on each matter when you were able to, and kept the notes closely guarded on your person.

You made sure to take them straight to your bedchambers as soon as the meeting finished, intending to lock them away in your desk until dinner that evening, when you could discuss them with Minho.

To your surprise, instead of making his way back to his office to spend the rest of the working day, Minho followed you back to your shared chambers. You tried and failed not to focus on his footsteps, how they matched your pace precisely, echoing along the empty corridors.

The slightest sense of frustration sparked within you. If you had to be watched by gossiping onlookers, why couldn’t they at least see this? Minho ignoring his usual duties to accompany you back to your bedchambers? Let them whisper about that, sordid or not, that could at least be useful.

You pushed away the thought with one last scoff at your own poor luck, reaching your chambers without so much as a single pair of prying eyes to witness you.

“So,” Minho said, as the doors swung shut behind the two of you. “How did you find it?”

Frustrating. Exhausting. Borderline insulting.

“Informative,” you replied, collapsing into a seat. Your hands ached from how feverishly you had written throughout the meeting, and you began to clench and unclench your fists in the hopes of relieving the pain. “I made a few notes.”

“I noticed,” Minho commented, eyebrow raising as he appraised the pile of papers at your side. “They look…detailed.”

“They are,” you confirmed, picking the papers up and beginning to flick through them. “If I can’t speak my mind in that room, writing will just have to do.”

For now, you added internally. You refused to accept that this silent role would last forever.

“Can I…read them?” Minho asked, and his question came out hesitantly, almost cautiously.

You looked up, surprised. You weren’t sure how much use these notes would be – you were both just at the very same meeting after all – but there was something about the request that was almost…endearing.

Minho. Endearing.

Hell had truly frozen over.

“Of course,” you replied, holding the notes up.

Minho paused for a moment before, slowly making his way towards you. When he sat next to you, he was close enough that his jacket sleeve brushed your bare arm.

You cleared your throat, focusing your attention on anything but how close he was. “These pages are about the logging site proposals, this one was on the Lakelanders’ progress, this…oh, this page is actually about Lord Tan.”

“Lord Tan?” Minho repeated, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes. He’s…” you trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to phrase it. “…He’s a blithering idiot, honestly.”

Minho, to your surprise, laughed. Openly, loudly, with a note of genuine delight. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have thought him capable of producing such a sound.

“Do you know how many hours of my life I have wasted listening to that old man ramble incoherently?” he asked. “There were moments I was driven half to madness. But he was my father’s first real supporter when he became crown prince, so he’s adamant on keeping the man around.”

You watched as Minho turned the page over, half-smiling to himself.

“He’s a sentimental old fool like that, sometimes,” Minho said, too lightly to really be considered critical – or treasonous.

“Who was your first supporter?” You asked, curiously.

Minho paused, the lingering traces of cheer disappearing before your eyes. The shift in his mood was almost tangible, and it felt as if you had made some sort of misstep in a dance, thrown yourself and your partner out of rhythm.

His gaze flickered upwards, so very briefly, to look at you, before moving downwards. Down to your notes, down to where the space between your bodies was at its narrowest, barely a few fingers’ width between your skirts and his thigh. He took a breath.

“…Felix,” Minho said, softly, discreetly shifting away as he held your notes out to return them. “He was the only one to never doubt me. Not even for a second.”

Yes. Yes, that sounded like Felix.

You took back your notes, and tried not to notice how Minho avoided your touch as your notes exchanged hands.

A new silence fell between you.

Stifling.

Deafening.

You tried to take a deep breath, and stood up, making your way over to your desk to lock away your writings from prying eyes.

From behind you, Minho’s voice brought you to a halt.

“We haven’t talked about Felix,” he noted. “…And we probably should. At some point.”

He said it so plainly, so devoid of nuance or emotion. As if it were a mere observation, a comment about the weather and nothing more. As if his words didn’t strike something deep and vulnerable within you, like fingers clumsily probing a freshly-formed bruise.

You hated his apparent nonchalance. You despised it, and you envied it because you might never be able to do the same. To speak Felix’s name as if it meant nothing to you.

To speak his name as if…

To speak…

You…

Realisation – cold, violent realisation – hit you at once.

You had not. Not once. In months.

It had been months. And you had not spoken Felix’s name.

Not since your wedding day.

Others had. Countless others had. They murmured it gently and sweetly like Her Majesty, or they crowed it before you mockingly like those noblemen, or they threw it at you, cold and cryptic and horrifically empty like Minho.

They dragged him out of your memories where you kept him locked away.

Away, where he was safest to you. Safest from you. Safest for you.

“…No. We haven’t,” you said, and the words were quiet. Pained. Final.

The two of you did not speak again that day.

Soon enough, your father found you.

Your mother, all those weeks ago when she summoned you for that painfully awkward afternoon tea, had at least shown you the decorum your new status demanded and sent you a formal request.

Your father, a proud man, a pragmatic man, had no patience for such etiquette.

You were in the library, sat with Seungmin and poring over budgetary records with tired and bleary eyes, when he came marching in. He was flanked by two panicked guards, too fearful of your father’s status to lay their hands on him, too mindful of their duty to let him wander freely.

They fixed you with beseeching looks. “Your Highness, we – no one told us…y-your father…”

“Desires to speak with his daughter,” your father finished, in a tone you’d never heard from him before. “Urgently.”

Usually, your father was calm, collected, never one to show even a hint of vulnerability.

Now, here, he was impatient. Almost rattled.

You rose to your feet, so thrown off-kilter by the situation that you were a touch unsteady. After a moment, you nodded to your guards. “Very well. Please leave us.”

They did just that – and so did a third guard who had been sat just a few paces away from you and Seungmin.

Your father’s eyes darted to your tutor. “Him too.”

Seungmin, however, stayed seated. Slowly, he laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the table in front of him, returning your father’s glare with an unimpressed stare.

“It takes a bold man to order around a princess,” Seungmin remarked. Gently, as always, but firmly.

Your father’s expression hardened. He opened his mouth to speak back, but you cut him off at the pass.

“He’s right, Father,” you said. You couldn’t quite shake the nerves from your voice. You supposed that was only natural, after a lifetime of loyally following his orders and keeping your mouth shut in the process. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Mother?”

Your father stared at you for a moment, almost…bewildered. He recovered quickly enough. “Your mother is fine, which is more than I can say for the state of your…of…” he gritted his teeth, swallowing back whatever he desperately wished to say, and instead cut straight to the point. “You took a seat on the council?”

His question, and the venom behind it, almost took you aback.

Still, you lifted your head, trying to stand firm. “Yes, I did.”

“How could you be so…foolish?” your father demanded to know, anger giving way to frustration. “I could have protectedyou there.”

It took you mere moments to read between his words.

You didn’t take a seat on the council.

You took his seat.

“Could you?” you said, swallowing. “Or would you have protected your own interests?”

Your father’s eyes blazed at the accusation. You knew the look. Your own temper was a family trait – and it certainly didn’t come from your mother.

He thundered his response. “You are my daughter! My interests are your interests!”

“Are they?” You shot back, your voice rising to match his.

“We are family, we are blood–”

“And what have I done, except increase our family’s legacy?” you interrupted him. “I did that, I secured our first council seat.”

“And what seat is that?” he replied, incensed. “A mute councillor, never to vote, never to speak?”

Your face burned, as you tried to think of a rebuttal to his questions. Something began to twist in the pit of your stomach.

Your father sighed, fixing you with a stern look. “Let me be frank, girl, if you’re so eager to play politics. Your position is not secure.”

You swallowed. “I know–”

“No, you do not,” he snapped, briefly raising his voice, before dropping his voice to a more controlled volume. “You inspired the love of the people, but what else? I know half a dozen lords are plotting your annulment, and another dozen with their own girls waiting in the wings. What will you do with that council seat, when a proposal comes to terminate your marriage? Watch silently when they vote to cast you aside?”

You stared at him, as that twisting sensation in your gut finally earned a name: dread. You tried to respond. “Royal marriages are a king’s prerogative, they can’t–”

“Yes, they can,” your father said, simply. “Any silver-tongued politician could convince the king that your marriage is a matter of the state. Perhaps if you were married to the younger prince, you’d be safe, but you’re married to the heir–”

At those words, coming out of your father’s mouth of all people’s, your vision turned red. Your response, when it came, hung heavy in the air.

“And whose fault is that?”

Your father’s eyes widened, and he hissed. “Mind your tongue.”

“I did,” you said, your voice cracking. Before you could top yourself, words began tumbling out of your mouth, every secret silent thought that had festered in the darkest, most vulnerable corners of your mind, spilling to the surface. “I was happy and content and loved, and I still bit my tongue and let you scheme to take it away. I married the right brother for you, are you still not satisfied?”

In an instant, your father stormed his way towards you, eyes blazing as he loomed over you. “Be careful, girl.”

For a moment, you thought he was threatening you. Your own father.

And then you watched his body crumple slightly, panic and concern finally bleeding through all that pomp and anger. “Especially about…that. Him.”

You watched him take a deep breath, rendered speechless. You had never – not once, in all your life – seen your father like this.

He seemed almost…scared.

“If there are plots to annul your marriage, there are plots for something far darker. Annulment would be catastrophic, but bearable. But any whispers of adultery, of treason? To see you executed…”

Gently, he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. And for a moment, you were four years old again, showing your father your very first letters, beaming as he called you his little princess, long before the rest of the kingdom was obliged to.

“You are my child. My only child. Doubt my intentions, if you must, but do not doubt my love.”

You were stunned into silence. His words should have been touching, and you supposed on some level that they still were. But you felt almost numb as you absorbed them. Was it shock, hearing your father speak of his emotions so plainly? Perhaps.

There was a small part of you that whispered if this was all just too little, too late.

Your father dropped his hand and stepped away from you, silence filling the air between the two of you.

Then, he paused, and turned his attention to something behind you.

For a moment, you felt confusion, turning to follow his glare – before embarrassment consumed you.

Seungmin, of course, had been sitting there the whole time.

“And you,” your father interjected, his voice cold and bordering on menacing, pointing at your tutor. “If you breathe a word of this–” 

Seungmin, despite showing the very clear signs of awkwardness one would expect from someone who had just witnessed such an intense and private family dispute, managed to keep calm as he replied with unfailing honesty.

“I am no fool. This position keeps my family fed, and will see my sisters marry well. I am only here at Her Highness’s request, and if the princess goes, this job goes with her,” Seungmin said, fiercely. “…And if nothing else, I know about your reputation, sir. I would rather like my tongue to remain inside my head.”

Your eyes widened.

That was a bold insinuation on Seungmin’s part. Tongue mutilation had been outlawed years ago, deemed too brutal a punishment when death was a surer way to guarantee silence.

You half-expected your father to deny this with bluster and offence. And yet, all he did was eye Seungmin silently, before nodding once and turning to the door.

As he approached it, your father spoke one final time to you.

“Keep your wits about you. You’ve made a dangerously bold move, and your enemies will use it against you,” he warned, before finally leaving, letting the heavy door slam shut behind him.

The echo of it reverberated across the library, as you stared after him with far more questions than answers.

It was Seungmin who first broke the silence, clearing his throat with just a touch of unease. “…Well, I imagine you’re no longer in quite the right mindset for last year’s harvest calculations. Would you like to finish our sessions early today, Your Highness?”

You didn’t speak. You barely looked at him, in fact, as you silently sank back into your chair.

Seungmin waited a moment or so longer, beginning to tap nervously on the smooth wooden surface of the table in front of him. “…Your Highness?”

“I…” you trailed off, as you realised the incriminating words that had fallen from your own lips just moments ago, and your head jerked towards Seungmin in panic. “Don’t… I don’t know how much you report to Minho about our lessons. But…please don’t tell him what I said about being…you know, about…”

“Biting your tongue?” Seungmin supplied for you, but his tone was heavy, knowing. He knew that wasn’t the offending part of your outburst.

“Yes,” you replied in the same tone, and when your eyes met, you knew you had an understanding. “He’s a smart man, I’m sure it’s nothing he doesn’t already know, but…it just seems cruel. I think. To hear it directly.”

Seungmin observed you for a moment, brow furrowing just a touch. He opened his mouth as if to say something, hesitated, before speaking anyway. “Actually, you should know that I don’t ‘report’ anything to Minho. Sometimes, he asks questions about what we study, and I answer them. Nothing more.”

You blinked, and before you could stop yourself, your curiosity won out. “What kind of questions?”

Seungmin eyed you again, and for a split-second, you could have sworn something akin to amusement quirked the corner of his mouth. Whatever it was, it disappeared in an instant, as he replied. “He asks about what interests you. Once, he asked about a book he’d seen you reading, and took a copy for his own use.”

“Oh.”

Whatever you were expected, it wasn’t that. A strange, unbidden feeling began to spread in your chest, warm for just a moment before common sense returned and drove it away.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense. Minho sometimes takes an interest in my education. Perhaps he wants to test me on it, make it a competition or something.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Seungmin said, perfectly politely. “Or something, indeed.”

Soon after that, the first move was made against you.

Details were leaked about the maritime trade deal discussed in the council meeting. Confidential details that were now freely gossiped about, within the palace and without. No one could say for sure who was the source of those leaks, but the evidence was damning.

Before you joined the council, there hadn’t been a single leak in years. And now, after you attended your first meeting, sensitive information was being bandied about within days.

There was only one simple conclusion to be drawn about the identity of the leaker.

You.

Your father was right. Whoever your enemies were, they’d been scheming, and they did use your position on the council against you.

Perhaps the library would have been a better place to take a breath, dwell on the knowledge a little longer, turn it over in your mind alone to work out the whos and whys and how to press forward.

But your feet drew you to your chambers, through the doors, and even once inside they refused to let you sit idle. You paced, backwards and forwards, going over the situation, the accusations about to be levelled at you, the defences you might need, the evidence you had and did not have to prove your innocence.

You paced and paced, and thought and thought, until your head spun and your feet threatened to leave its imprints in the stone beneath you, until it became clear to you exactly what you were doing.

You hadn’t chosen these chambers for silent contemplation.

You were waiting here.

Because when you imagined defending yourself, you didn’t picture a faceless mob before which to protest your innocence. You didn’t picture the king, and his councillors, and the lords scheming behind your back.

You pictured Minho. His expression flickering between accusing, betrayed, angry, cold, pitying, wounded. It was him you wanted to convince before any others, as illogical as it was.

It was hurt, perhaps, maybe, at the idea that Minho thought you would betray his trust. You knew how he’d pushed hard for your position on the council. You would never throw it back in his face like this, and you needed to make sure he knew that.

You questioned just when Minho’s good opinion of you had become so…important.

Eventually, the chamber doors opened, and your words came spilling out at the mere sight of Minho in the doorway.

“I didn’t do it,” you declared. You wished you could be calmer. You feared that the panic in your voice would mislabel you guilty.

Minho, blinking in surprise for a moment at your sudden outburst, regarded you calmly. “Ominous words to hear when entering a room.”

“I’m not the leak,” you clarified, with little patience for his cleverness. “And don’t pretend you haven’t heard about it. I know the information being spread, and I know fingers are pointing in my direction. With some reason, I suppose, but it was not me.”

“You seem agitated,” Minho remarked, maddeningly, all but ignoring your words as his hands moved to begin undoing the fastenings of his jacket. It was some sort of rigid construction, high-necked and broad-shouldered, and perhaps once the imposing princely sight of him in it might have intimidated you. Now, there was a familiarity to the sight – and a bizarre comfort that came along with it, perhaps. “Usually I’m the one to spark it. It’s actually quite bemusing when something else is the source.” 

You stared at him for a second. Off-guard, waiting for any kind of actual response to what you were saying. When none came, irritation sparked in your chest. “Minho–”

“You’re innocent,” Minho said simply, halting you in your tracks. “I know. I told my father as much.”

It took you a moment to register exactly what he said, your head too full of practised arguments to leave much room for the recognition that Minho didn’t need to hear them.

He believed you without them.

It felt as if you had been barrelling towards something at high speed, a runaway horse, only to come to a sudden jarring stop. Air left your lungs in one unconscious breath, like a weight that had crushed your chest had been lifted.

“…Good,” you said, haltingly, and then relief struck you with such a violence that your eyes began to sting with tears.

At the sight of them, Minho’s expression shifted instantly from flippancy to something bordering on horror.

Frustrated, and more than a little mortified, you wiped them away impatiently. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

Minho opened his mouth, about to speak–

“No,” you interrupted, pointing at him, embarrassment warm in your cheeks. “This is just a serious allegation to be faced with, and I’m…relieved that I don’t have to waste my time defending myself.”

You managed to regain your composure, with no more tears threatening to make an appearance and humiliate you further. Taking a deep breath, you refused to look at Minho, refused to know if he believed your words or if that damned expression still lingered on his face.

“People are talking,” you said, finally.

“…People always talk. We’ve discussed this before.”

“It’s different now. I thought it was just idle gossip before, but…” you trailed off. “My father came to me a few days ago. He believes some of the nobles are scheming to dissolve our marriage. Free you up to marry a daughter of their own, and have me removed.”

Or worse.

You hadn’t fully comprehended what your father had hinted to you that day, not until now. You could see it all now. The image of your execution, a hundred smirking noblemen awaiting it, ready to thrust their own girls into your role. Perhaps to perish after you. Their scheming would not end with your death. They would simply turn on each other, try again and again, a dozen dead brides falsely accused and outmanoeuvred and doomed from the start.

And then, you snapped out of your dark thoughts when you realised that Minho had closed the distance between you, standing almost toe-to-toe.

His eyes sought your gaze, and held it.

“They can’t do that,” Minho said, firmly, gently. Certain. “We are married, and nothing can change that now.”

“It could. It would be easy, really,” you argued. “There’s no real proof of our consummation. You could say it never happened, and our marriage could be annulled by day’s end.”

“I would not,” Minho said, firmly. “Believe what you will about me, but I would never break off our marriage with a lie like that. Those are a craven’s actions, not mine. I swear it.”

Perhaps to your surprise, you found that you believed him. Minho could be called a great many things – indeed, you have called Minho a great many things – but ‘craven’ was not one of them.

Minho’s lips set into a grim, serious line. “Is that what concerns you? That I would set you aside?”

Would he?

Even after so many years around Minho, after weeks of being married, you still could not guess his true intentions.

“…I don’t know,” you confessed.

Something small flashed in Minho’s eyes. It looked like hurt.

“You have done a lot for me these past few weeks. More than I ever expected. More than I could ever ask for, truthfully. I think…I hope that we are friends, or at least something approaching it,” you told him, because it was true, and the lastthing you wanted was to destroy this budding trust you had developed between the two of you. Still, he deserved total honesty. “But I know you didn’t want this marriage, Minho.”

Minho was silent for a moment. You knew he couldn’t refute it, and he didn’t try to.

Instead, to your surprise, his hands lifted to rest gently on your shoulders. You could feel their weight on you, and how warm it was. Solid. Grounding.

He held you there and when he finally spoke, his tone was serious – grave, almost.

“…The night before Felix left for the coast, he came to me,” Minho admitted. “He made me swear – on my life, on his, on my mother, on my crown, on everything I have ever valued – that I would protect you from harm.”

Your lips parted in shock.

Felix.

“I love my brother, more than anything. He was once my only friend, in all the world. The very best of me,” Minho said, words beginning to pour out of him, as if finally freeing thoughts he had kept buried deep inside for months, perhaps even years. “I didn’t tell him how much he meant to me, not really. And now…”

Minho swallowed, eyes closing for a brief second, before meeting your stare again with a quiet intensity.

“He will never forgive me for marrying you. Never. The least I can do is honour the last thing – the only thing – he has ever asked of me.”

You didn’t know what to say.

A sudden realisation hit you. A small piece of an inscrutable puzzle, revealed.

“Is that what you meant, when you told your father he owed you something? For making you marry me?”

Minho swallowed, pausing for a second, and answered.

“Yes, in short. My father and I have had our squabbles but this marriage…it was the first true fight we had. The first time he’s ever had to order me to do something as a king, not asked me as a father. We haven’t seen many things eye-to-eye since. He doesn’t…understand,” he said, and then, almost to himself, “but he doesn’t need to. I know I’m doing what is right.”

There was a terrible sadness in his eyes, a shocking vulnerability. It was almost alien to see such an expression on Minho’s face, to glimpse beyond the walls he so skilfully kept up.

Unthinkingly, you surged forward and wrapped your arms around him.

He stilled in your hold, tense with surprise. You ignored it, squeezing him tightly, pressing your face into his chest. It was an awkward embrace, perhaps. The hard edges of the embroidery on his jacket dug into your cheek, stitching rough against your soft skin, and Minho’s movements were stiff and unpractised as he returned the hug.

But it didn’t need to be perfect. It only needed to prove the one thing you intended to show him.

Trust.

That night, when dinner was cleared, Minho retreated to his couch and paperwork. You left to change into your sleepclothes in private, as usual, and returned to slip quietly into bed.

There, however, you fidgeted and fumbled with exactly what to say before finally, bravely, breaking the silence. “…You can sleep in the bed. Next to me. If you were…unsure about it.”

Minho’s stare in response was indecipherable. But he nodded once, and when he finished whatever report he had picked up from the pile of papers, he disappeared to the bathroom and reappeared dressed for bed.

White linens. Thin, soft. You remembered them from your wedding night.

It was enough to make your breath hitch – and, embarrassed, you rolled to your side to avoid looking at Minho, lest you stared too openly at him.

You heard him pull back the covers on his side, and felt the weight of him sink into the mattress. He seemed to keep his distance, as not a single part of you touched, and yet you were painfully aware of his presence there.

Silence fell over the two of you, interrupted only by quiet breaths in tandem.

Something squeezed gently in the pit of your stomach. You recognised it as something like anticipation, which was bizarre, as you knew nothing was going to happen.

Nothing would happen.

…And yet, you supposed it would be easy for Minho to shift closer towards you. You could imagine him reaching over, and setting his warm hand on the curve of your hip.

Would he turn you, so you were facing him? Perhaps, but you could also see him keeping your back to him. Letting you hide your face, a small mercy, because he would probably know how embarrassed you would be.

Your eyes drifted shut.

It would be easy for him to press his face into the back of your neck, his mouth into the crook where your neck and shoulder met.

And perhaps he would whisper, soothingly, as his hand travelled lower, seeking the hem of your nightgown, sliding it up your thighs and…

No.

Your eyes snapped open as you scolded yourself, a mixture of excitement and shame heating your face. You banished every remotely inappropriate thought from your mind, turning to lie on your back and stare up at the ceiling.

You wondered, briefly, if Minho was looking up at the same thing too. You refused to glance over at him to check. The thought of seeing his face after all…that that had been swirling in your thoughts? Absolutely not.

It took far longer than usual to fall asleep in the deafening silence, but eventually you managed to.

The next morning, you awoke and realised, for the very first time, you had woken up before Minho. He was sleeping peacefully, unaware that the two of you must have turned to face each other in the night, bodies still a careful distance apart.

With one exception – Minho’s left arm lay outstretched, the knuckles of his hand just barely kissing the delicate skin of your wrist.

You stared at where your hands touched, skin-on-skin.

And you did not move your hand away.

[hyunpic]

DAILY HYUNJIN GIFS UNTIL HIS BDAY: love you and all your little things - hyunpic & hyuncam

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭— 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐅

Please check Intro about me ;) , my masterlist :) , Requests (& Rules) ^^

I'm currently in my writer's era, so I wanted to publish this Fanfic I've been writing for the past few weeks. I've always had POVs and ideas for stories in my head but I stored them away in my notes app or my diary. But this one, I wanted to share. (I publish on Wattpad as well but my reach over there SUCKS.)

Consider giving this story a read and tell me what you think of it. Leave your comments and feedback, I always appreciate it. I'm still a beginner, so there might be some errors here and there. If you spot any please tell me and I'll correct them.

I'll try to upload weekly or whenever I finish writing a new chapter.

WARNING ⚠️ This story is for matured readers since there's smut, mention of alcohol and strong language.

Ready? Let's get in.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Description:

𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆...

He knew that this marriage was under his agreement that it's only valid for a year. But once their contract ends and Aria tells him she is carrying his child, his protectiveness, possessiveness over her increased a ton more. He didn't want this marriage to last more than he wanted but now he can't live without her.

Bang Chan x fem/OC - Arranged marriage. Mature content. Cold Husband. Billionaire. DUAL POVS

TW ❗❗: Pregnancy (I know not everyone enjoys this trope but I can assure that once you read it you will understand the plot. Do consider giving it a chance)

This story contains mature content such as mentions of alcohol, sex and strong language. 🔞

Note: Underlined chapters are already published and non underlined ones are upcoming. Ones marked in red contains smut. At the end of each chapter, the next one is linked.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬:

Chapter 1 || Chapter 13

Chapter 2 || Chapter 14

Chapter 3 || Chapter 15

Chapter 4 || Chapter 16

Chapter 5 || Chapter 17

Chapter 6 || Chapter 18

Chapter 7 || Chapter 19

Chapter 8 || Chapter 20

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ, ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ, ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴇᴅʙᴀᴄᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ.

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3. New tags will be included in the upcoming chapters, but please note that I won't be updating the taglists in previous chapters.

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[straylightdream]

collateral damage

part one: you’ll never leave me

feat: artist!hwang hyunjin x f.reader

↳ “He was left out in a sea of debit drowning. His only chance at surviving was marrying you. ”

arranged marriage au

warnings: mentions violence and death, gambling and drinking, dealing with past heartbreak and angst, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving) body worship, mentions of pregnancy. More warning to come in each chapters.

an: this is a part of my arranged marriage series I’m working on. I’m going to post this in short chapters and then when it’s finish post it all together.

series masterlist

𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. Please fill out this form.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

A young talented artist with the world at his fingertips, had one major flaw. He loves to gamble. That wouldn’t be an issue if he kept winning, the real problem is he kept losing. Each loss pushes him further and further underwater. He was left out in a sea of debit drowning.

A rough night at a poker game left him tied to an overpriced Italian leather chair fearing this was the end of the line for him. With a blackeye and a busted lip, he was waiting for the end to come. The door to the dark office opens and the one man he feared most walks into the room with a bodyguard on each side.

“Hwang Hyunjin, why do we keep meeting like this?” The man dressed in an extremely expensive black Dior suit walks in front of him.

Hyunjin winces looking up at him slowly. The man had a wicked grin playing across his lips. Hyunjin’s eyes travel to the gun the man holds in his hand. He doesn’t respond, he just stares at him. He knew whatever happened to him was his own fault. He was the one who couldn’t stop gambling. He would be his own undoing.

“Answer him,” one of the guards shouted, kicking Hyunjin's already broken rib. Hyunjin gasps in pain, closing his eyes trying to stay with it. The beating he took before being tied up was already taking a toll on him.

“I don’t know Sir,” he finally says, groaning in pain.

“Hyunjin, you're such a promising artist, with such a nasty habit for losing money,” the man in the suit walks towards him. “You know how much money you owe me right?” he crouches down so he’s eye level with Hyunjin.

“A lot Sir,” he groans.

The man reaches forward, grabbing Hyunjin’s jaw tightly. “You have no way to pay me back,” he growls. The look on the man’s face let Hyunjin know death was closer than he expected.

“I’ll figure it out sir,” Hyunjin had been trying to figure out for a while how to crawl his way out of debt. Every option he could think of still left him drastically short on money.

“I’m feeling overly generous today. I have a one way ticket out, you either take it or you have twenty-fours to figure out how you’re gonna pay me,” he lifts Hyunjin’s chin so he’s looking at him. “Every single god damn penny you owe me.”

“What is it sir?” No matter what it was he knew he had to take it, because there's no way he could get all the money he owed him in twenty-four hours. He’s as good as dead if he doesn’t take the offer.

“Marry my daughter, and all is forgiven,” he releases Hyunjin's jaw before gently smacking his cheek lightly.

Hyunjin’s eyes grow wide as he tries to process what he was just offered. He didn’t even know the man in front of him had a family let alone a daughter.

“How old is she?” he asks without really thinking of anything else.

“She’s your age,” he lets out a laugh.

“When will I marry her?” It didn’t matter who she was. He had no choice but to marry her. His life was hanging on the line.

“Is that a yes Hwang Hyunjin,” he walks away from him and takes a seat at his expensive oak desk. “If you’re wise you’ll marry her.”

“Yeah, I’ll marry her,” he had never even seen her, but she’s his only chance of surviving.

-

Laying in bed you’re awoken at four in the morning to your fathers phone call. Frantically you answer the phone worried something is wrong. Your father simply tells you to open the front door. Walking through your house in a robe wrapped tightly around your body you open the door to find your father and two of his guards standing on the other side.

For the longest time your father went out of his way to protect you from the evils of his job, but as you got older you saw what his job was truly like. You always tried to distance yourself from him, and had even tried to run away once but you were quickly found less then a week later.

“Hello darling,” your father says casually.

“Dad, what’s going on?” you say completely confused.

“I’ve brought you something,” one of his guards Minhyuk pulls a man with dark hair that reaches his shoulder in front of him. The boy immediately winces in pain, grabbing his side.

“What?”

“Darling, say hello to Hwang Hyunjin, your soon to be husband,” your father says as Minhyuk pushes the boy towards you. He can barely stand on his feet and you catch him before he falls.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you hold the boy up as you look at your father completely confused about what he is even talking about.

“He has a large debit to pay me, and that can only be paid by marrying you,” your father says too casually. As if forcing you into an arranged marriage is completely normal. “If you don’t want to marry him it’s fine. Tae will take care of him.”

Your heart sinks knowing exactly what will happen if you tell your father no. You literally hold this man’s life you’ve never met before in your hands. If you say no, Hyunjin most likely won’t even see the sun come up.

“Why?” you can’t help the tears that are threatening to fall as you stare at a man who has been clearly beaten by one of your father’s men.

“You’ll never leave me again, if you have him with you.” The older you get the tighter the grip your father fights to hold on your life. He tries to be in control in any possible way he can. You can’t do anything without him having a say. Your father made sure that when you opened your flower shop he had full control over the building, and clearly this is his way of having control of your romantic life.

“I’ll marry him,” you look at the beautiful man and see a guilt ridden expression on his face. Hyunjin is nothing more than a pawn in your father's game that is your life.

“I’ll have Yeji plan your wedding this week. Expect an extravagant wedding in two weeks. Oh and Hyunjin, and my darling daughter if you try anything funny to try to get out of this. Just know Hyunjin, I have no problem permanently removing you from this or any situation ever.”

Minhyuk pulls the door shut and you’re left standing there holding up a boy you’ve never met before. He steps away from you and stumbles over to the couch. You rush over to him, dropping to your knees trying to examine the damage your father left behind.

“I’m so sorry,” you say as you start to cry.

“Why are you sorry?” he groans, reaching up to brush away the dried blood from his lip.

“He’s just using you to make sure I can’t leave again,” reaching you to rest your hand on his cheek. You finally take a good look at him and realize how handsome he is.

“We’ll figure this out. I guess we’re a team now,” Hyunjin sighs. He reaches up resting hand on yours.

-

You realize your apartment isn’t really set up to have a second person living in it. You live in a one bedroom apartment with nowhere to put a second bed.

“My place only has one room,” you look into his warm eyes.

“That’s fine I can sleep on the couch,” he groans holding his side.

“I should probably clean up your cut,” you stand up holding your hand out. You don’t even know this man that is supposed to be your husband, but all you know is you want to help him.

Rushing off to your bathroom you pull out a first aid kit. You pause for a moment and look into the mirror at the site of your tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes. You knew your father went out of his way to control your life but you never thought he would arrange for you to marry a man you’ve never met. You couldn’t help but suddenly feel completely trapped by your father and he was making Hyunjin a pawn in his game.

Regarding taglist:

If you aren’t interacting with my writing outside of liking the new post I’m gonna have to remove your name from the taglist. You will also be removed if I try to tag you and your blog is listed as "invisible". If you've changed your URL and didn't let me know I will also be removing your name. I’m sorry for the inconvenience but my interactions outside or likes feels like it’s nonexistent right now. All of my taglist are still open though. If you request to be added to one via this form, I kindly ask for interactions in the form and feedback and reblogs. To be quite honest, those really encourage my writing.

[sistertotheknowitall]

Alfred was just getting home from errands.

He enters the kitchen to a child eating cereal on the counter, apparently he didn’t like the perfectly appropriate bar stools at said counter. No one would question the fact that he was raised in the circus. Because if Afried’s eyes are not suddenly failing him then Richard Grayson, son of the flying Grayson, was in Wayne manor. The poor boy had been the center of Gothams attention for the last month. The tragic death of his parents leaving the child orphaned.

And he was in Wayne manor.

Alfred: Master Bruce-

Bruce: He’s already here!

Alfred: *sigh*

Bruce: I’ve already started the adoption process.

Alfred:

Bruce: I TOLD HIM HE LIVES HERE NOW!

Alfred:

Bruce: 🥺

Alfred: *exhausted* I will speak to the lawyers.

17 years later

Alfred:

Bruce:

Damian:

Bruce: Al-

Alfred: No. Just let him go pick a room.

When Duke moves in two years later, Alfred doesn’t even pause. At least Selena gave him warning for the next three.

[minminbunny]

Arranged Marriage AU - Chairman's Son! Han Jisung/Fanfic Author Fem! Reader

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

"Must I really go?" you whined, scrolling through your draft. He scoffed, "It's been two days, you need fresh air," Jisung chastised. You opened your window, "I can get fresh air from here," you said, walking back to your seat. Jisung chuckled, "Not so fast, you know we have to attend this dinner as a couple," he said, crossing his arms. "It's not like you need your wife to be at every event" you grumbled, moving to put on your headphones when he held your wrist. "It's going to be a book discuss. Come on, be a good girl for me and read a book," he said, stroking your hair.

NSFW BELOW CUT

"Fuck you and your stupid mouth," you whimpered, gripping his shoulders. Jisung chuckled, licking your ear, "Aww, but your sensitive body loves my voice," he whispered, sending shivers down your spine. You puffed your cheeks, glaring up at him. "Tsk, tsk. You shouldn't glare at the man with his cock in you cunt, babygirl," Jisung cooed, rolling his hips as slow as possible. "So fucking annoying," you grumbled, clenching hard around his throbbing hot shaft. Jisung tossed his head back, pleasure buzzing in his ears, "You're going to pay for that," he growled, tilting his head. You gulped at his sadistic look, "I'm so-," you said before choking on your words when he bucked his hips to the hilt. Jisung chuckled, gripping your love handles, "That's it, baby. No more speaking. Just take my cock like a good book whore," he groaned, fucking your dripping cunt deep and through.

[minsungincorrectquotes]

*at Minsung's wedding* Minho: I'm going to get the wedding cake Jisung: And I'm going to check on the ring bear Minho: Minho: You mean ring bearer, right? Jisung: .... Minho: Please tell me you did not bring a bear to our wedding

[wnbnny]

to the boy of golden sunlight- hwang hyunjin(h.hj)

summary: your love lasts forever, through the boundaries of time.

warning: angst if you squint??, fluff, and that's it you're good to go:)

to the boy of golden sunlight, i love you.

you would quietly whisper in the night, willing the breeze to carry the words to your lover miles away from you.

to the boy of golden sunlight, i love you.

hyunjin had always thought you were the most beautiful being on earth. if he was your sunlight, you were his moon. calm and quiet, just like the waves crashing against the shore on a calm summer's night. the calmness to his passion, the muse to his inner poet. you two balanced each other out perfectly.

so when you would have little arguments with him, he would do everything to get you back. he couldn't lose you, not now, not ever.

you loved him too, in your own quiet way. you loved everything about him, from the way his eyes would crinkle up into thin creases when he smiled to the way he would kiss you goodbye every single morning without fail. you loved him with all his imperfections, loved him even through every argument you had with him, no matter how big or small.

"hi hyun," you giggled softly when he wrapped his arms around you in one fluid motion, nuzzling his face into your neck and pressing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"had a good day at work?"

hyunjin worked as the proud owner of his own art gallery, having taken interest in art when he was young and dreaming of being an artist or art curator . recently, his studio had begun to rise in popularity, leading to quite a number of famous art curators taking interest in him, so he was always extra busy these days working with clients and whatnot.

"mmm," he hummed, turning you around from where you were cooking at the kitchen to press a soft peck to your lips.

"hyun, i'm cooking, the food will burn," you laughed, turning around and trying to ignore the irresistible pout on his face as best you could.

"aside from one grumpy old art director that kept bugging me to sell one art piece to him , it went well," he sighed. "i've got even more meetings with clients lined up tomorrow, i don't think i even have time to finish that painting of you i'm doing by the end of the week." he frowned, eyebrows creasing slightly.

"well, i'm always available anytime you need to rant," you smiled, finishing up the pasta you had made and putting the pot in the sink to wash.

hyunjin stared, arms finally disentangling from you after back-hugging you for so long. then something clicked in him.

"marry me."

"what?" you stilled in your movements, turning around to look at the man you had called your lover for years.

"marry me." hyunjin stated, taking your hand.

as the soft glow of the lamp cast shadows and hazy light over the shared apartment you two owned, he had never felt more at home, more comfortable, more relaxed, more in love than he had ever been before. right then and there in that moment, he knew he wanted to marry you. wanted to hold you forever, wanted to call you his. he would always love you, now and forever. and he didn't need gaudy displays of affection, no grand gestures, for him to know that you loved him too.

"i'll get a ring soon, flowers, anything you want. but marry me one day." it came out so simply, so softly in the quiet and comfort of your home, his home too.

"i love you," he whispered, thumb brushing gently over the knuckles of your hand as he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

"i'll marry you," you sniffed, tears dripping down your face. "my boy of golden sunlight."

[cjsoleil]

Love That I Like You (Seungmin x Reader)

Summary: Having just run away from her arranged marriage, Y/N is stuck walking around with a empty stomach and heels that hurt her feet. On the way, she meets a well dressed man who is more than kind to her. Little to her knowledge, he knows her better than she thinks.

Authors note: If you couldn’t tell, Seungmin is my bias.

People whisper and stare at Y/N as she walks down the sidewalk, but she doesn’t pay them any mind. She tries to focus on keeping the pristine white gown she is wearing clean, so she can sell it on eBay later. Or maybe she’ll keep it and wear the wedding dress around the house like pajamas.

Really, she didn’t plan on the day going like this. She has been preparing for her wedding day for months, since it was arranged by her grandparents' insistence. Sure, she was bothered by the idea at first, but eventually accepted the lack of control she had over her own life. Thinking back, that is as sad as it sounds. She never met her fiancé before, and refused to look at any pictures of him out of pure spite.

“It doesn’t matter what he looks like.” She would say, “I might as well keep him a surprise, just like our proposal.” Her grandparents always got upset when she acted like that, but never commented on it. They were just happy she wasn’t fighting too hard against the marriage. The wedding was just a business arrangement for her grandparents, and her fiancé’s parents' companies. It was all explained to her, but she never bothered to listen to the details.

Anyways, Y/N has got a classic case of cold feet and is now wandering the streets while looking for something to eat. She hasn’t eaten all day and is obviously missing her dinner plans. A place to rest her feet would be nice as well. She’s been walking for well over an hour, not wanting to be dragged back to the chapel. But these heels are not made for long strolls, and she finds herself tripping over air in them. The autumn wind brings goosebumps to her bare arms and has already blown her vail out of her hair. She didn’t bother to try to catch it.

After a few more minutes of walking, Y/N comes across a convenience store. She’s just about to go inside when she realizes her problem.

“Damn it.” She practically huffs when it hits her that she has no money on her person. She left her phone in the car and her purse is at her apartment. Sitting down at one of the tiny tables outside the store, Y/N puts her head in her hands and sighs.

‘I could play the left at the altar card’ she thinks, ‘Who wouldn’t feed a crying bride?’ Just as Y/N is about to make herself cry, she feels a tap on her shoulder.

“Excuse me.” The soft voice makes her look up to see a young man in his early twenties. He has big eyes, short and soft looking brown hair and a somewhat awkward look on his face. Y/N must say, he is such a cutie. He holds up a piece of white fabric, a vail, “I believe this is yours?”

“How’d you know?” She smiles and takes the veil.

“Lucky guess.” He seems to hesitate for a moment, before asking, “Is there something wrong?”

“Not really. I’m just hungry.” The man nods before looking at the store.

“Let’s go then.” Y/N shakes her head with a laugh,”I’ll pay.”

“That’s sweet, but you don’t-“ he’s already walking into the store, making her follow.

Looking at the man now, Y/N can see that the man is dressed pretty formally. A white button down with black dress pants and dress shoes.

“Hey, where are you on your way back from?” Y/N asks as she picks up an instant ramen package, her other hand still holding her veil, “Cause you're dressed so nicely.” She snickers a little when she sees the man’s ears turn red.

“Thank you. I had a… business meeting. Plans fell through.”

“I can relate.” Y/N had only picked up the ramen, but the man bought much more food for the two of them, despite her insistence that she didn’t need much.

“You are my saviour.” Y/N tells him as they eat at one of the small tables the store has, “Thank you- Oh, I don’t even know your name. I’m Y/N.”

“Seungmin.” Y/N lets out a small laugh.

“Funny, that was my fiancé’s name too.” She pauses, “That makes me sound horrible. I promise, I didn’t leave because I cheated or because of something bad.” Seungmin nods and takes a sip of his coffee.

“It’s none of my business.” Y/N appreciates that, but can still see the curiosity in his eyes.

“It was arranged. I don’t know anything about the guy, except that he has good taste in engagement rings. It’s a shame I’ll have to give it back.” She looks down at the ring. It’s pretty simple, the diamond itself is small and the band itself is sparkly, “but enough about me, you said you had a business meeting? What do you do?”

“I work for my family’s business.” He says.

“Oh, how is-“

“I hate it.”

“Ah.” Y/N nods, a little taken aback by his answer, “So, why don’t you quit?”

“Why didn’t you say no to your wedding?”

“Touché.”

Y/N smiles when she finishes eating, nodding her head to Seungmin.

“Thank you very much for feeding me. I'll get out of your hair.” As she stands, Y/N winces. Damn, these heels are killing her.

“Are you alright?” She waves off his question.

“I’m fine.” She says bye again but after a few moments, she notices Seungmin following her, “Are you following me?” The question is asked without a hint of anger or annoyance, clear by the smile on her face. Seungmin smiles and shrugs.

“I don’t have much else to do.” Now, any other person, Y/N would have told the guy to beat it. But Seungmin is super cute and nice. Plus if the man who bought her food wants to hang around, who is she to object to it?

“Well, I’m just wandering for a while. I don’t want to hear whatever spiel my family has prepared for when I get back to my place.”

“Let’s go shopping.” Y/N looks over to Seungmin, tilting her head, “Unless you want to wear that day.”

“Maybe I do. This-“ she gestures to herself, “- is going to be the new trend.” She can’t conceal her own laughter as Seungmin shakes his head at her, smiling to himself.

“You’re right. Should I buy one?”

“You can have mine, I don’t really like it anyways.”

“You look beautiful in it.” His words are said so quietly, she barely hears them. But she does, and blood rushes to her face. The dress is pretty, yes, modern. But that’s not what Y/N dreamed of her wedding dress being. She wants something like a princess gown, tulle and sparkle.

They soon end up in a clothes store, and after seeing Y/N wince again, Seungmin forced her to sit down on a cushioned bench in the store as he went to get her clothes. She didn’t try to fight him on it, since he is the one paying. In less than ten minutes, Seungmin comes back to her and hands her a bag.

“What’s your shoe size?”

“Um, seven.” Seungmin nods.

“Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.” Before she can respond, Seungmin is walking away from her. Y/N shakes her head with a smile before she goes to the bathroom to change. Seungmin has cute taste, he got her a pink pleated skort, a white shirt and has even remembered to buy her a bra, which almost makes her die of embarrassment. After getting out of the dress and getting into the clothes, she folds up the dress, though she’s pretty sure you're not supposed to do that, and puts it in the large bag. She puts the veil in there as well.

Back at the bench she was at, she sees Seungmin waiting there with a bag.

“Seungmin, you're doing too much for me.” Y/N tells him, but he only smiles.

“It’s fine.”

“Really Seungmin. I have shoes, just go return these-“

“Sit down.” She does and Seungmin kneels right after.

“What-“ he takes the shoe box out of the bag, before he holds Y/N’s right ankle in his hand and begins to take off her heel. That renders Y/N speechless as she watches Seungmin put a nice but comfortable sandal on her foot.

“Okay okay.” She taps Seungmin’s shoulder and gestures for him to get up, “I got it. Get up.” She notices he has a small smirk on his face. Happy that he got his way, no doubt.

Y/N puts her heels in the shoe box and puts it back in the bag. When she stands up, she sighs at the relief of wearing shoes that don’t hurt. “Thank you so much. You’re so kind to me. The minute I can, I’ll pay you back.” Seungmin rolls his eyes and flicks the girl’s forehead.

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I cared about that.”

“Oh no, that’s not happening. I’m paying you back. Give me your phone.” Seungmin blinks at her with his big eyes, but still hands over his phone after unlocking it. Y/N puts in her phone number in his contacts before handing it back to him.

“There. So you can text me later and we can meet up so I can pay you back.”

“You don’t need an excuse to give me your number.” Seungmin says, and she can see a hint of blush of his ears, “I was going to ask anyway.”

“Then I guess it works out.” Y/N grins and they leave the store together.

“What made you decide to leave?” Y/N hums hearing his question, asking him to elaborate, “You initially agreed to your arranged marriage. What made you change your mind?” The girl shrugs. They're walking around a park, having already dropped off Y/N’s shoes and dress at a donation box.

“A lot of things I guess. I didn’t really want to get married to someone I never met, but…” Y/N trails off for a second before continuing, “When I was sitting in the back of my dad’s car, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted. A winter wedding, a Cinderella dress, a horse and carriage, a man who I actually know and love. Then I was telling my dad I had to go to the bathroom, and ran away.”

“Do you feel bad about it?” Y/N hesitates.

“…No. Like, I feel bad for him and his family, since I’m sure they’ll probably be on his ass about it all. But I decided to not let my family bother me anymore. If they want to disown me for this, so be it.”

“Good.” Their hands brush, “You shouldn’t feel bad. Not for living your own life.” Y/N laughs and bumps into Seungmin’s shoulder.

“What about you? I have no right to say what you do, but if you hate your job, you should just quit. We can be our family’s disappointments together.” Seungmin laughs at that and Y/N just can’t help but grab his hand, interlocking their fingers. He doesn’t pull away. Y/N looks up at him, before taking a single step closer. Seungmin tilts his head down and oh my god, she really wants to kiss him.

“You know something?” Y/N starts before she can actually acknowledge what she’s saying, “If I was supposed to marry you, maybe I wouldn’t have ran away.” Seungmin has an unreadable expression.

“I should tell you something.” Seungmin whispers softly, pulling back. Shit she’s so stupid for saying that.

“What is it?” She must have a odd look on her face, because Seungmin snorts.

“Don’t look so scared, I just need to tell you my last name.”

“Your last name?”

“Kim Seungmin.” Seungmin watches as the gears turn in Y/N’s head before a sense of dread fills her.

“Oh my god, oh my god! I’m such a dumbass.” Seungmin nods, “Don’t agree!”

“You seriously thought You coincidentally met someone with the same name as your fiancé, dressed formally who also had their business plans fall through? Y/N, I’m practically wearing a tuxedo.”

“Seungmin is a common name! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He grins.

“I thought you might’ve been able to come to the conclusion. Idiot.” The name is filled with fondness. Y/N covers her face with her hands and laughs, because the situation is hysterical.

When she catches her breath she looks over at the man, who is still smiling.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what? Leaving you at the altar!” Seungmin shakes his head.

“No, it’s a good thing you did. I’m glad you had the confidence to stand up for yourself, something I don't have.” He caresses the back of her hand with his thumb, “I’m happy we got to meet like this. Or we can pretend we never met and go our separate ways.” Yeah, as if.

“Let’s not. I… I really like you Seungmin.”

“I like you too, even if you're a little stupid.” Y/N shoved him and cried out “Mean!”

When they stop laughing, Y/N removes her hand from Seungmin’s and pulls off the ring on her left ring finger.

“Here.” She hands the ring to Seungmin.

“You sure? You can keep it if you want.” She shakes her head.

“We’re not engaged, it’s not right to keep it.” He nods and the corner of his lip twitches upwards. “Maybe one day, I’ll be able to give it back to you.” Y/N nearly gasps hearing him say that. Then she suddenly grabs Seungmin’s shoulders and kisses him, so quickly that he can’t even react. The kiss would have been longer if they weren’t in public.

“You’re so sweet Seungmin, so cute.” She kisses his cheek before she pulls away. They walk around for a little longer, and Seungmin suddenly voices what they were both thinking.

“Are we going to tell our families about this?”

“No.” Her response is immediate, making her back peddle, “I mean, we can if you want. But I don’t. God I’d never hear the end of “if your dating just get married. Why wait?” It’d be worse than if I went straight home.”

“Dating?” Seungmin repeats, a little glint in his eye, “Who’s dating?” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“We ate together, went shopping and strolled through the park. We kissed like two minutes ago, that’s a date.”

“Ask me formally and I’ll consider it.” Y/N scoffs.

“As if you weren’t ready to marry me a couple of hours ago.” She mumbles before forcing a smile that is borderline creepy, “Seungmin dear, would you do me the pleasure of going out with me?”

“I guess.” Y/N pretends to frown and starts to walk away, only for Seungmin to grab her hand and pull her back to him.

Y/N likes Seungmin, but she doesn’t love him. But maybe one day she will. Maybe, when she goes back home he will call her and plan another date, where Y/N will force him to let her pay him back. Maybe, in a few years he will offer her the ring back and she will take it. He will gain the confidence to quit his job in his family’s company. Then, maybe in January, she will take a carriage ride while wearing a white and sparkly ball gown dress and will meet Seungmin wearing a complete suit. With only a few people to bear witness of their elopement, he will say his vows and that he loves her while meaning it, and she will do the same.

Maybe.

[3rachasninja]

This was so so sweet 🥺🥺🥺🥹💜🩵🩷

📝 what's yours is mine | bang chan

disclaimers; tiny inkling of suggestive humour, written from third person perspective, petnames, insecurity, self doubt, descriptions of reader's body as "soft". no depictions of the members' personalities, actions or thoughts reflect their true character.

pairing; bang chan x female reader

genre; fluff, comfort, married/established relationship, slight angst, sprinkle of humour.

word count; 1.4 k

it was nights like these.

when y/n could feel the calm, persistent rise and fall of her husband’s unclad chest pressing against her back. a loving warmth radiates from chan, seeping into her being, and enveloping her entirety in a blanket of comfort and security. the feeling of his fervent kisses he placed against the length of her neck earlier still linger. the couple lay together, limbs intertwined. chan’s right arm hooked under the curve of y/n’s waist; his sly, wandering fingers slithered underneath her singlet and rested against the soft, plush of her abdomen. right then and there, y/n prays for a greater divine entity to make time stand still, so she can continue to relish his doting embrace. her heart swells with utter delight, and a tinge of delirium ー a result of the late hours of the evening that she finds herself awake at.

y/n reaches for chan’s other hand, his arm slung lazily over her hip. she fiddles with the thin, silver bracelet adorning his wrist. the bracelet she gifted him over two years prior - inscribed on the inside plate, a few words: what’s yours is mine. although cliche, the idiom became a phrase the pair often recited to each other.

she chuckles internally to herself, reminiscing on the defining moment in their journey to marriage.

“honey, please look at me…” chan pleads as he kneels before y/n, who sits on their small couch with an absent gaze fixed to the opposite wall of their apartment. she’s teary-eyed with her bottom lip in a pout.

she continues to stubbornly avoid his eyes. he brings his thumb and index to her chin, guiding her face to meet his. chan leans forward, y/n is drawn to his wide brown orbs that beckon her attention, holding a profound reassurance as they stare back at her. the silent communication between the pair has y/n lurching forward into chan’s arms, nestling her face into his shoulder as child-like wails escape her.

“i-i didn’t think they’d see me. i’m so sorry, channie. i don’t want to break up, but i don’t want them to hurt you. i don’t want th-them to be mad at you.”

the flurry of fears spew from his girlfriend as she clings to his frame, whilst chan consolingly pats her back. everything begins to click in his head. earlier that day, the couple were called to the company, where his manager broke the news of their exposure to the public. an array of headlines decorated the homepages of various news sites, mostly presenting their relationship in a scandalous, negative manner.

y/n was very quiet, and appeared understanding, but on their way home, a sense of distance and tension had begun festering between them.

“baby, you did nothing wrong. they were going to find out about us sooner or later. you mean the world to me. i won’t let anything happen to you. if they’re my fans, they’ll be happy for me.” chan gently affirms y/n as he cradles her fragile, exhausted body.

“up we go,” he announces, tucking his arms under y/n’s knees and around her shoulders to gather her into a bridal-style hold. chan carefully walks them to their shared bedroom, placing her delicately on the edge of the bed. once again, his girlfriend’s gaze is downcast, her shoulder slump with the weight of great sorrow as she sniffles trying to hold back the stinging tears that prick at her eye line.

chan uses this opportunity to hastily rummage through his backpack hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door. he's careful to conceal the small velvet box in his pocket. taking a seat next to y/n on the bed, his left arm encases her shoulders and brings her head to rest against him.

“i wasn’t going to say it like this, but the timing couldn’t be any better,” he nervously starts, feebly scratching at his clavicle. chan takes y/n’s left hand in his, caressing the back of her palm, rubbing faint soothing circles in hopes to assuage her anxieties. y/n senses the shift in his demeanour, her breath hitching in her throat in anticipation for the worst; she had a tendency to spiral, and she begins to mentally prepare herself for him to deliver the three dreadful words: “let’s break up-” but he doesn’t.

“let’s get married-” y/n swallowed, her head tilted slightly back to prevent the salty tears that welled up. a volcano threatening to erupt, they began to freefall without a care, her trembling hands cover her eyes as she hurriedly move out of his firm hold.

“i don’t want to say goodbye to what we have, but if it’s for the best, i’ll do anything for you, chan.”

“woah, woah! baby, slow down. retract that, come back to me.” y/n stands in front of him, as the reality washes over her. with her mouth agape, she studies his face. chan’s lips are plastered with a smile, but his brows furrow at the unexpected rejection. he peers at her face painted with disbelief, before breaking into a laugh.

“did you think i was breaking up with you?” his hands reach out to y/n, residing on either side of her hips to position her in between his knees. y/n’s hands come to rest on his shoulders and she doesn’t break eye contact with him. her eyes conveying a message of uncertainty, and chan receives that as a sign to continue his previous spiel.

“no matter what anyone says,” he interlaces one of his hands with y/n’s and peppers several featherlike kisses to her knuckles, “you are my world. your happiness is my happiness, your sadness is my sadness, and your love is my love. i don’t want to face the world alone anymore.” tears again pool in her eyes, not from apprehension, but pure joy and adoration over chan’s heartfelt confession.

“i’m not that special, m-maybe one day you’ll wake up and realise you settled for me over your dream…” y/n was not one to express her self doubts openly to chan, and those words evoke a protective side in him; confident to prove her worth to him.

chan scoffs, “settle? that might be how you see it, but i’ve had the pleasure of knowing you for years, and you’ve only given me more reasons to love life. i’m convinced i’ve loved you in a past lifetime, and we’re reuniting again to continue that same love. let me be the one to teach you all things to love about you. whatever problems arise, we’ll solve them together." y/n grew speechless, hearing chan profess such deep feelings broke down her walls of insecurity, his words were an emergence of light nearing the end of a dark tunnel.

"you are my dream."

chan's gaze holds a degree of fondness that has y/n crumbling into his arms, her knees buckle and she falls forward, pinning him against the mattress. the action alone flusters both of them as they blush in unison, red blooming from chan’s neck all the way up to his ears as a wildfire of pink spans across y/n’s cheeks.

“getting down to business already, mulan?” chan shyly bites, breaking the tense atmosphere between them.

“speak for yourself, i felt that.” y/n abashedly retorts as she straightens herself to stand up, and chan is quick to fish the velvet box from his pocket before raising his hands in the air.

“i'm innocent!” laughter erupts from the pair as chan engulfs y/n in a joyous hug.

“that’s a yes though, right?” he pulls back and y/n nods profusely, “yes in this lifetime, and in the next.”

chan stands, his arms encircle y/n’s waist as he captures her lips with his; molding together perfectly in reciprocal affection and devotion.

the memory sets y/n’s heart ablaze as excitement courses through her veins. consumed by the need to feel even closer than they impossibly were, y/n untucks his hand from beneath her singlet to turn over and cuddle further into her husband’s hold.

chan stirs, a hazy smile dances on his lips, “comfortable, baby?” he mumbles, sleep dripping from each word.

“always in your arms, my prince. i love you,” y/n replies, reverently pressing a soft peck to his lips.

notes; i finally pieced together the prompt, after rewriting it and revising it over the past few days. i can't say i feel like the outcome matched my original idea. i was definitely not surprised bang chan won the poll for a comfort fic. thank you once again to everyone who votes, leaves nice comments and reblogs; you're all greatly appreciated. i hope you enjoyed this piece too! © creatively-useless ; august 27, 2023.

[escapizm]

⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️

[ismenesaffronzabini]

Part 1...?

Bisexual lee know × aromantic fem reader

Arranged marriage but they are happy with it...

_______________________________________

"Hi. Did you have to wait for long?" I asked as I approached the table where he sat.

"Not at all, don't worry about it. I just got here" He answered, standing up.

Lee Minho, or as the guy had asked me to call him, Lee Know, was handsome. Anyone could see it from a mile away. That's why he made me curious about his decision.

"Have you ordered anything yet?"

"Nah...I was just going through the menu. What would you like to eat?" He asked, handing me the menu to go through the available items.

"Meh...I'll just take a sandwich and then coffee afterwards." I shrugged, not really hungry.

"I'll take the same then" Minho nodded to the waiter.

"How have you been?" He asked finally turning to me.

"Oh I've been well, work here and there you know...How have you been?"

"Same. I'd say I was excited for today. My parents more than me" He chuckled, scratching his neck.

"Honestly same for my parents. They were more excited." There was an awkward silence, and I sure as hell didn't know how to fill it.

"Have you gave it a thought?" Lee Know asked after a few seconds.

"I guess? I don't know honestly. I mean I don't mind it" I replied shrugging, indifferent to whatever happens.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked immediately.

"Sure" Minho replied, thanking the waiter as they put the food on our table.

"You're handsome. I won't deny it. So why are you agreeing to an arranged marriage?" I asked curiously, taking a bite of my sandwich.

"Straight to the point I see" Lee know chuckled.

I waited patiently for him to reply, as he took his time.

"I'm bisexual. More preferenced towards guys. Simply put, my parents would never agree with my choices, and I never found a girl attractive to date her. So my parents made me promise that if I don't have a girl to marry till I'm 25, then they'll arrange my marriage for me...having grandchildren and all in mind" Minho explained with a sigh, taking a sip of his coffee.

"So You're basically gay and can't marry a guy so You're settling for an arranged marriage?" I asked, shocked at his nonchalance.

"Precisely" He replied with a tight lipped smile.

"And you don't have a boyfriend right now?"

"Nope...never looked for one. Same for a girlfriend." He shrugged, waiting for my reply.

"What if after marriage you find a guy that you actually like?" I asked curiously.

"Can't do anything then can I?" Lee know laughed, and I was only glad that his laugh seemed genuine.

"Won't you feel like being tied down after marriage? I don't want to force you to marry" I stated, frowning.

"First, you won't. Marrying will be my decision. Second, you speak as if you've already made your decision about this...have you?" Minho asked back.

"Kinda...like yes I want to marry. But again, I don't want to force you. It's ok if you say no. No hard feelings?" I replied, half lying. Of course, if he said no, there's no guarantee that I'd find a guy half as handsome as him. I'd be at loss, but that will be fine.

"How are you so sure of your decision?" He asked curiously, leaning forward and interlocking his fingers, looking at me with all his attention.

"First, stop looking at me like that. Second, I never had a boyfriend and I doubt I could get one. I want to settle down and have children. Arranged marriage was the only option for me." I answered simply.

He smirked, for reasons I didn't know and shifted back in his chair. "Bullshit."

"Sorry?"

"Bullshit. How is it possible you never had a boyfriend? Your good looking and smart." Minho asked.

"Hmm...I wonder how one doesn't get a boyfriend, being good looking and smart" I said sarcastically looking him up and down. His sitting position was quiet infuriating, torso relaxed and laid back, legs occupying unnecessary space.

"Touché" He scrowled, finally sitting up in a respectful position.

"What's your reason for not getting a boyfriend then?" He asked further and I never felt the need of hitting someone as I did then.

"Relationships were never my forte. Multiple guys asked me, I rejected." I answered, smirking a bit.

"Why not reject me then?"

"Because what good will that do me? I'm not getting younger. After rejecting you there's no guarantee any other man would even want to be with me or if I would even find a man as attractive." I answered, walking around the main reason.

"So you find me attractive?" He smirked.

"Did I not just say that?" I answered back monotonously and I saw his arrogance cool down a bit.

"How many children do you want?" He changed the topic so suddenly that it made me choke on my own saliva.

"Have some water" He acted immediately, concern written over his face.

"I'm okay. Thanks." I replied accepting the water.

"Two" I answered after calming down.

"Sorry?"

"I want two children"

"Good. Same"

There was nothing else to say. The main reason i had asked for a date before giving any answer was to ask him why he was agreeing to arranged marriage. And I was sufficiently satisfied with his answer.

"Do you like to travel?" He asked suddenly.

"Yeah l love travelling" I nodded.

"There is one last question, and answer carefully because my answer depends on your reply" Minho said, face turning serious.

His look was intimidating. But it wasn't like I was in a position where his reply mattered much to me. I had nothing to lose.

"Sure go ahead." I nodded, shifting forward involuntarily.

"Cats or dogs?" He asked with all his seriousness.

I burst out laughing at his antics, and even though his face reddened, he stood his ground.

"Cats" I answered when I saw him waiting for my answer.

A smile immediately broke out on his face, grin to be exact. "Perfect"

"Why was this so serious?" I asked chuckling.

"I have two Cats. I would never marry a person who wouldn't let me keep them"

"I never explicitly agreed that I would let you keep your cats" I challenged, loving the way his expression changed so fast.

"But...but you just said you like cats" he stuttered, almost pouting, his tone accusatory.

"Chill. I'm just messing with you" I giggled

"But, there is one problem." I added, putting on a serious face.

"It will be very hard to handle three cats and two children in future, don't you think?"

"Three cats?" He asked.

"I have a cat too. I'm not letting go of her either" I replied, waiting for his reaction.

"Oh your Perfect. This is perfect. We can easily take care of our five children together." He gushed.

"Good" I grinned, unable to keep the smile off of my face at his cuteness.

"So it's a yes?" I asked after a pause.

"Yes" He nodded, now calm, a small smile visible on his face.

"Okay...yes good. Yes for me too. Pleasure doing business with you, mister Lee." I muttered awkwardly.

"Should we get going then?" Lee know chuckled, ignoring my awkward attempt at concluding our short date"

"Wait. There's one last thing. And you need to know that before telling your parents your final decision." I hesitated. It was going to be hard to explain, but I also didn't want to wrong him.

"Sure go ahead." He nodded patiently.

"I'm...aromantic. that was the real reason why I never had a boyfriend. I can't develope romantic feelings for anyone. Even if we get married, I promise to be the best wife or whatever, but I won't ever be able to love you romantically. Can you live with that?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"Why didn't you tell this at the beginning?" He asked, shocked.

"I wanted to get a good impression in before dropping the bomb. It's okay if your answer changes after getting this knowledge. I'm prepared for the rejection." I replied in a small voice.

"But...you said you wanted to have kids?" He stuttered a bit, ears turning red.

"Uh...I do? What of it?"

"But you need to...have sex for having kids?"

I laughed at his embarrassed self.

"Thank you for the knowledge" I teased, "but I'm aromantic, not asexual"

"Oh" He replied, lost in his thoughts. "It's fine...it's not like I like girls completely as well. You're compromising, I can compromise too"

"I'll make sure you won't have to compromise, Lee know" I sighed.

"I can't show you romantic feelings, it doesn't mean I'm incapable of showing affection." I smiled at him, hoping to calm his nerves.

"Okay" He nodded.

"Anything else?" He asked curiously.

"Nah, that was the biggest thing." I shook my head.

"That's settled then...how about we go on a date next..." He started, looking at his phone "Sunday? This time a proper one" He asked looking at me expectantly.

"Sunday works" I nodded slowly, taking my schedule into consideration.

"See you then...I'll pick you up 5pm?" He asked as we walked out of the cafe

"See you at 5" I smiled at him as we waved our goodbyes, having finally fixed a date.

[psychicreadsgirl]

has lee know been fulfilled by his love life and/or romantic options in recent times, and if not, why? thank you!

Not really sure what you mean exactly with your question but I don't think he ever places that much emphasis on romantic love in life. He cares more about other things over love like his career and his health and himself.

He isn't the most selfless partner. He's more focused on himself in a relationship than about a partner's desires/needs. He will expect his partner to prioritize him and his career goals over those of his partner. He's not very aware/sensitive of a partner's needs too; he's more absorbed in his own concerns/life/issues.

Just don't get that sense that romantic love is his #1 priority. He doesn't like the feeling of being tied down too. He also doesn't want to be controlled by a partner and seeks a lot of freedom in a relationship. He'd be a fun and playful partner. He's also pretty independent and doesn't really need to rely on his partner much. However, he isn't really the type that'll look after their partner a lot. He expects his partner to be very independent--financially too and emotionally. He's not really the type that will drop everything to tend to his partner's emotions/needs.

He prefers something more casual and fun nowadays. He's not really interested in starting a family or marrying right now.

[cardboardheartss]

Hi

I wanted to ask If u could do Felix as a husband (I’m not sure if ur into StrayKids to do StrayKids readings)

Thank you 🧸

Felix as a husband

⚠️DISCLAIMER! TAROT CARDS ARE NOT 100% ACCURATE! TAKE EVERYTHING WITH A GRAIN OF SALT! IF MY INTERPRETATIONS ARE INCORRECT FEEL FREE TO CORRECT ME!⚠️

AoP, 10oW, 8oC rx, 9oP rx, The Star, 6oW rx, The devil rx, QoP rx, 2oC rx, The Fool rx, 9oC, 3oC & KoP

Felix would be a very nurturing partner and a bit of a obsessive partner to be honest. Andd a bit of a workaholic too! He may struggle to balance both his work and life, as he may put more effort into either one of them.

Felix is quite a business minded person but he may have really high expectations his partner needs to reach before he takes it to another level, which is them collaborating. Felix wants to run a business with his partner in order for them to increase their income, and later on purchase a new home or building for the business.

If Felix has had been in previous relationships, he will notice the mistakes that were taking place and change that for the better for his marriage.

Felix would always want to focus on the positives thoughts and memories in the relationship. He will ensure that his partner regains their inner child back!

Felix as a husband may have hidden tendencies that, he may or may not consider changing and this will damage his partner and lead to more arguments.

Felix will need to improve his communication skills with his partner, because he’s the type to go ahead and rant to his friend instead of his own partner… and if the relationship doesn’t not go well, he will 100% consider leaving.

Unfortunately, if the relationship doesn’t work out. Felix will divorce but with the 3oC, him and his partner will continue staying as mutual friends.

Thank you for reading!📦

(19/01/2024)

[five-star-stay]

Lollapalooza - 230721 - Han Jisung ♡

Cr: ivanovssa, Aurora_duu (1, 2, 3)