~lena~

~~~~~ she/her ♧ '99 ♡ insta: skym.innie (currently inactive) ~~~~~ i read and repost nsfw/18+ content, if you're a minor pls don't interact with me, thanks

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「𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚌 𝚗𝚘.𝟷」 · wolf by the tail

❝𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎.❞

➥ Bang Chan x Reader (f) — 12.1k (~51 min. read)

➥ Prison, Inmate x Doctor, Crazy in Love

⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Bro is spectacularly whipped, heavy infatuation and sexual tension, emotional turmoil, prison violence, manipulation, strong language, explicit sexual content (see masterlist for more)

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌 “𝙺𝚒𝚊 𝙺𝚊𝚑𝚊” 𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔. 𝙸𝚗𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐.

“Kia kaha!”

“KIA KAHA!”

Stay strong, and the rest will follow.

Silver. Silver rings on long, dexterous fingers, silver necklace around the neck that held his head way too high, and silver tongue in his mouth home to all kinds of sins… 

Ask anyone who that guy was, and they would grunt his name due to their raging urge to either kill him or fuck him.

It wasn’t the sheer thrill of breaking the rules that drove Chris to the convoluted world of crime. He let himself ride the waves of his bad decisions to see where it would eventually take him. He ended up crashing his surfboard into the shores of opioids, and he liked it there. Simple as that. No tragic backstory or anything. 

Not only was he great at what he did, but he also possessed exquisite mastery over the arts of the tongue. He could walk right off anything just by talking his way out of it, which made him the singular common denominator unifying their rival clans. He had haters just because he existed, and rightfully so, to be frank.

“They got Jake.”

Now imagine the absolute field day the aforementioned bitter foes had when they heard the shit hit the fan for Crown Street.

Jake. The resident troublemaker aggressively looking up to his mentor and way too impatient for his own good. His sworn protégé. This was the umpteenth time an emergency meeting was taking place to come up with a strategy dedicated to saving his ass.

“What are our options? Give it to us straight,” boss man Oliver demanded from their lawyer.

“Jake has priors. This doesn’t look good,” Johnnie stated bluntly. “If he talks, this time around he’s getting locked up for at least ten years with no chance of parole, if not a life sentence.”

Chris held his head between his hands, utterly frustrated and internally cursing Jake’s ass off for not being more careful. For not being more patient. For having this stupid compulsion to prove himself.

To whom, bro, we all fucking know what you’re capable of!

“Is there nothing we can do?” Chris appealed emphatically. “I’m not gonna let the kid rot in that hellhole.”

Johnnie leaned back in his chair and looked him dead in his eyes, albeit with a defeated expression.

“Hypothetically speaking, if someone else with no priors on paper owns up to it, I can negotiate a deal for as little as five years.” 

“How the fuck is five years little?!” Oliver yelled while slamming his fist on the circular ebony table.

“Under these circumstances, it actually is. You’re lucky we’re not trying to dodge a death penalty here,” Johnnie declared. “All you gotta do is find someone to take the rep. Play nice, and they can get out on parole in a year or so.”

Fascinating thing, loyalty. Things that would never even pop up in your wildest dreams, it would make you do without blinking an eye. What was there to even think about when you knew someone’s fate was lying in your hands? 

Especially if that someone meant the world to you.

“I’ll confess to it.”

“Chris. No.”

“What’s the alternative, huh? He’ll get jumped before 3 p.m. on his first day,” Chris countered immediately. “Johnnie’s always had our back. If this is the lesser of the two evils, I’ll do it. He says I can be out in a year.”

“But what if you can’t?” Oliver implored him to see reason. “This is jail time we’re talking about, mate, not fucking community service.”

He didn’t even have to say anything. One look into his eyes, and Oliver knew what that meant. Once he set his mind to something, it was impossible to talk Chris out of it no matter how obvious the end result was. He was one of those people who had to experience things firsthand, either to brag an ‘I told you so’ or to finally acknowledge what a horrendous mistake he had made.

“You already know I’m well-versed in the arts of surviving, brother.”

That very sentence he formed ended up being the one he had to serve. Luckily for him, it at least had a full stop at the end although it ran on for several pages. He didn’t care. Anything to protect one of his own.

Stay strong.

Kia Kaha.

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

That was the oath you had taken. Well, you had to because apparently some guy named Hippocrates was extremely triggered by the concept of perjury some centuries ago. So either swear to it and make the unbreakable vow, or rip your fucking diploma in half. That piece of paper had cost you a whole lot of money with a good deal of your sanity in the process, so no, thank you very much.

It wasn’t the sheer nobility of the profession that drove you to become a doctor. If the design of the human body and mind had fascinated you this much, why not make a career out of getting super intrigued by the total length of an average adult human’s blood vessels? Out of all the places you could have picked, you took a job at a maximum security prison as the chief attending physician because, hey, multiple birds with one stone.

I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

Nobody told you to take on the challenge of serving the most ‘infirm’ crowd available, but you did it anyway. What better setting to practice your craft than a correctional facility after all?

“I’m leaving. Will you be home by dinner?”

“We’ll see.”

Not even a ‘Have a good first day, sweetheart’. Fuck that, not even a curt ‘Good luck’.

The awkward tension between you and your husband wasn’t always palpable enough to cut with a knife. Not that anything specific happened to cause that, but somewhere along the way, something indeed snapped, and you started growing apart day by day. Maybe it was the unbearable heaviness of the mundane, coloring your entire marriage in the bleakest shade of gray. The affection? Gone. The desire? Gone. You were nothing more than two roommates at this point because you didn’t feel like doing anything for him anymore. Why bother when it was one-sided? Why bother getting a gift for someone, imagining how happy it was going to make them when they couldn’t even care less? Why get upset when they didn’t react exactly in the way you pictured they would? No one put a gun to your head to get the said gift in the first place, which meant they didn’t owe you shit, did they?

When it was your spouse in question, it felt like he did. For wasting years of your life, trapping you in a loveless birdcage if not for anything else. Cue the unsolicited commentary and advice from the spectators of your life.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“Get a divorce.”

“You can’t fix him. Just walk away.”

How fucking easy it was to tell someone to make a drastic change in their life in a split second… Would you stop drinking coffee just because someone told you to? Fuck no. You had to believe it wasn’t doing you any good anymore. Everyone’s tolerance to change was different, after all; some welcomed it with open arms, and some avoided it like the plague. In any case, only when you felt confident about your eventual decision, only when you felt ready, then and only then would you make the change. 

Because nobody was going to go through the consequences on your behalf if shit went south, nor were they going to take the blame for your prospective unhappiness with the outcome.

I will not be ashamed to say “I know not”...

It was fine. Your marital bed, which was empty most nights, was not your place of work. Breaking an oath within the confines of your suffocation was not going to harm anyone.

Other than yourself.

Inmate 8MS3HF92. 

That was Chris’ name for the past ten months. Nothing that could humanize him, merely letters and numbers. Another statistic to quote in recidivism reports maybe. 

The only time he would be reminded of his identity was when his prison family addressed him—they were the circle of people showing him the ins and outs of navigating the hell simulator with as little damage and as much profit as possible. To all the guards, to the warden, to everybody else, he was just ‘inmate’.

Not for long, though.

He had only one instruction. Do not beef no matter what and survive, and that was exactly what he had been doing. His itinerary was quite straightforward—he was going to endure this for two more months, go up against the parole committee, be super charming, then get the hell out. He was probably going to return here within his first hour as a free man for beating the shit out of Jake, though.

If he had the balls to press charges against his Yoda, that is.

Chris took particular, not to mention excessive pride in the way he operated. Getting your own hands dirty was for amateurs. If he wanted something, he would talk his way into it. If he detected a threat, he would orchestrate the subtlest of feuds to have someone else get rid of it on his behalf. Obviously, ‘on his behalf’ did not mean that you would do it in full awareness that this was in his best interests. He would pitch it to you in such a manner that you’d have no choice but to believe the threat was actually posed to you.

Prison was like a gangster’s LinkedIn. The most lucrative connections they could possibly have were right under his nose—of course he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to bring in more business to Crown Street. After several rounds of meet and greets within his first month, he had successfully outlined the entire food chain and finally located where the drug ops ran from. Getting himself assigned to any other place was unequivocally out of the question.

“Work detail assignments. Fang, you’re working in the kitchen.”

What a pleasant surprise! Everybody, act shocked.

Smooth talking gets you only so far, of course. Put this man in a room full of his hardcore fans, and he would still manage to make a few enemies. That was both the curse and the blessing of being a charmer. If you didn’t annoy the fuck out of somebody for no reason, then you were doing it wrong.

…which was exactly why the closer his freedom date approached, the more intolerant his fatemates became. That was the tradition of this place. You’d go through the hazing when you were about to graduate, not during the first week of school.

“Fang. A word,” Andrei beckoned him towards the storage shelves right before lunch service.

It was of utmost importance for Chris to stay in the head honcho’s good graces until his hearing. The past ten months had been a very trying test of willpower for having to constantly repress the urge to jump this motherfucker, and patience was not exactly his strong suit. He wiped his hands on his apron and followed suit behind him.

“What’s up, boss?”

“We were expecting a little delivery from the commissary two days ago,” he snarled at him, piercing holes into his forehead with his ice-blue eyes. “What the fuck is up with that, pretty boy?”

“Yeah, about that,” Chris scratched his nape with a look feigning an apology like he was oh so sorry. “We’re experiencing a little hiccup. Should come in no later than Friday, though.”

“That’s not what we agreed upon.”

“I know, but I’m also leaning on other people here. I can’t exactly go out to personally bring in your heroin now, can I?”

Andrei cornered him against a wall and slammed both his hands on either side of him. As if Chris was some white-collar criminal only in here because his lawyer dropped the ball on his tax evasion case. Everybody with common sense would know it took a bit more than that to intimidate Fang.

“Your whore ass gets on my last fucking nerve, you know,” he flashed his half-rotten teeth. “Maybe your goddamn smug face needs some work done, huh?”

“If you think I need work done, you clearly haven’t looked in a mirror recently.”

So much for holding it together…

It was like a blackout that lasted for only two seconds. The words just jumped out of his lips before he could catch them in the air. The loud sound of glass crashing alerted the two guards on the floor, prompting them to dash towards the kitchen. 

“Break it off! Break it off now!!!”

Chris might have managed to dodge getting his throat ripped, but a large piece of glass still made its way to his chest area, cutting a wound open below his left collarbone. A couple of centimeters more to the south, and he would have secured an early parole in a goddamn pine box. He was immediately escorted to the infirmary to get patched up, which he found fucking hysterical. There couldn’t be anything more ironic than nursing someone back to health just so they could rot some more. He was anxiously shaking his legs while sitting on that gurney for someone to appear, washcloth still pressed on the bleeding wound and annoyed out of his mind.

“Yo doc, can we get this shit over with already?” he yelled towards the back of the room. “I kinda need to be somewhere right now.”

“Please excuse the tardiness to your schedule, Your Majesty. We’re a little shorthanded around here.”

Whoa…

Chris briefly wondered whether he actually died of blood loss on the kitchen floor because why the fuck else was he seeing an angel clad in white, not to mention in this soul-sucker den?

“Who the fuc—? I–I mean…”

“It’s fine, I’ve been called worse,” you responded without looking away from the incident report in your hands, then met his eyes at long last. “I’m the new chief attending physician. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Inmate 8MS3HF92 that got jumped in the kitchen.”

“Pretty name, huh? It’s French,” he quickly gathered his wits and grinned in response, “but they call me Fang for short.”

“Fang,” you snorted at the juvenile-sounding moniker. “Because you didn’t get your wisdom teeth out, or…?”

“It’s because you should let the sleeping wolves lie, beautiful.”

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started working here, and your contract with Hippocrates included one thing in its essence: Help the sick and do no harm. In that particular moment, however, you crassly fistbumped him for blessing you with this Olympian eye candy shamelessly flirting with you for a change. Yes, this was an inmate in front of you, but all your suppressed urges could register was a pair of thick forearms adorned with bulging veins, long fingers pressing on his wound, and thighs spread wide almost invitingly. Telling you… To come closer… Then get on your knees… And then…

Well, if you were anywhere else but a prison, that is.

“Take it off, please.”

Chris felt a hard kick in his chest when you uttered those words, unable to register your request and just looking at you blankly with lips parted in surprise.

“Your top,” you pointed your pen at his wound, “so that I can examine the injury.”

“RIGHT! Of course.”

He removed the clothing as told, but never in your entire professional life did you have to contain something so primitive threatening to rear its head inside you. You bitchslapped your lizard brain pretty hard to remind yourself once again that this was a goddamn patient you had to attend to, not some man you were trying to pick up at a bar.

If only you knew that you weren’t actually alone in this struggle. 

Your perfume… It was November, but you smelled like summer. Chris didn’t have much to hold onto, but you smelled like hope. Your latex-clad hands were running all over his chest, and he didn’t give a fuck that it was on his wound. His touch starvation was at such dangerous levels that trying to control the erection growing between his legs was harder than refraining from murdering motherfuckers in this place. To top it all off, the angel before him looking like that? 

It was an enigma how he managed not to cum in his pants right then and there.

You finished stitching his wound in complete silence as he watched you with his lips slightly parted, and only when you informed him you were done was he able to come back to reality.

“Come back next week, okay?”

And once he managed to snap out of it, Chris instantly wore his other personality on his sleeve as a knee-jerk reaction.

“Say you’re gonna miss me, and I can come back tomorrow,” he smugly grinned. You eyed him from head to toe with brows furrowed in confusion.

“To get your stitches removed, Fang,” you scoffed. “You can go back to your easy bake oven now.”

So you weren’t easily charmed. No matter. He happened to fucking love the chase.

Chris left the infirmary that day with a stupid smile glued to his lips, full-on launching the crescent craters adorning his cheeks and secretly hoping you found dimples attractive in a man. 

One borrowed touch was all it took. He found himself counting down the days to get his stitches removed instead of his parole hearing. All of a sudden, the walls weren’t closing in on him as much anymore. His breathing was still a little irregular, but seemingly for different reasons rather than the humidity crawling in the stone walls.

He was having trouble sleeping no matter how much he forced himself to because his mind just wouldn’t shut up about you. If only… If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

One day. Three days. Five days. And finally back to the infirmary again. 

God, if that didn’t feel longer than the time he had served thus far…

“Hey, doc!”

You looked up at the unusually chirpy voice that most certainly did not belong to the dismal backdrop of this place. It was the stitches man that looked more like a sculpture with a little chip on it.

“Feeling good today, are we?” you brightly smiled at him at the expense of giving him a mild heart attack while wearing your gloves to check the healing of his scar. “Did you get some good news?”

Chris actually had a snarky comment ready to go, but as soon as your hand brushed against his, he felt a sudden jolt and completely forgot what he was going to say.

“Fish tacos… for lunch.”

You couldn’t help but heartily laugh at the unexpected answer, effectively stopping his heart for about three seconds.

“I take it you’re very easy to please, Fang.”

Yes. Fucking yes. Just let me borrow your lips once, and I’ll die the happiest man.

As you got to work with a pair of tweezers to remove his stitches, Chris watched you completely awestruck as if he was appreciating a piece of fine art, right-click-saving everything he could observe about you into his mind. Your brows that creased whenever you were focused on something, your beautiful lips you licked every now and then, your hair that looked like it was made of pure silk, your skin that most certainly felt like velvet to the touch…

God, you’re like a queen.

“All done,” you smiled again, apparently adamant to kill him before he could even walk out of that door, and got up from the stool in front of him. “Don’t run around with scissors, okay?” 

“Thank you.” 

The gratitude was pretty much redundant since this was your job. You were literally on payroll to take care of people, but it still made your heart swell because the stitches man was the first person ever to thank you for your services.

“I uh… I’ll see you around. I guess…” he stared at his feet by the door somewhat abashed.

“I hope not. That would mean you injured yourself again,” you giggled and gently squeezed his shoulder. “Stay out of trouble.”

Oh, I don’t think so, my queen.

That night, Chris tossed and turned in his bed for what felt like hours to him. The first unprotected touch you shared without a layer of latex between his skin and yours burned like hell on his shoulder. If only… If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

But he didn’t actually have to wait for that when you were all that he could see whenever he closed his eyes. So he did. He manifested you right next to him on his bed, and his hand moved inside his pants as if it had a mind of its own. 

There you were. Your attention completely on him, your tongue glazing your lips every now and then. Why were you licking them, though? Was it because you also felt your throat getting dry? Was it because you also wanted to press them against his?

Fuck, I’d kill to feel those lips on me.

Your face. The way the corners of your mouth curled when you smiled at him. The way you slightly squinted your eyes when you were focused. Was that what you looked like when you were turned on, too?

I want you. God, I want you bad.

Your poise. The way you carried yourself. Firm steps, determined voice, quite obviously not taking shit from anyone. Grace materialized. A literal queen. His queen that he wanted to dedicate his entire life to.

I wanna be the floor you walk on. Fucking step on me, christ!

Just your sheer beauty. The way you oozed sexiness without revealing any piece of skin. The way you moved. The way you knew exactly what you were doing. Did you also know what exactly pleased you? Did you know all the things he was willing to do just to please you?

“FUCK!”

Chris didn’t even care about the hefty mess he made on himself as he arched on that god-awful mattress. The convulsions rippling throughout his body as he came were a different kind of intense. Up until that moment in his life, he had climaxed infinity times either with the assistance of third parties or all by himself, sometimes manifesting as an unimpressive shiver and some other times mind-numbingly hard.

But not once, never once, did it feel like surrendering his soul to someone.

If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. 

Above all, I must not play at God.

Chris wasn’t aware of what the Hippocratic oath entailed, nor did he have to take it. Ergo, he was free to ‘play at god’ all he wanted whenever the fuck he saw fit. Like when he overheard the Irish circle indulging in a little locker room talk as he was watching TV with his own entourage.

“Have you seen the doctor chick yet?”

“Complete cumdump material. You just know she likes it dirty, sassy-ass bitch.”

Every time Chris felt the onset of a rampage coming on, his mind would switch to autopilot and give him a singular command—fucking remove yourself from the environment if you want to see that parole committee. Yet the loud, sleazy waves of laughter blasting right behind him triggered him so hard that it took the willpower of a temple full of monks not to scatter this O’Connell lowlife’s brains out. God knows he came this fucking close to doing it, and he actually would if he wasn’t repeating the same thing to himself over and over again like a lunatic’s mantra.

Hold it. For her.

For her.

For her.

For her.

For her.

For her.

He could live with burning his parole chances, but not with not seeing you for an entire month if he went to the hole. He clenched his teeth to the brink of cracking them to put a leash around his urges and jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Noah asked him.

“To hit the weights, mate. I’ll catch you later.”

Technically, he didn’t lie. He was indeed going to the gym, but not necessarily because his body craved that post-workout dopamine release. It was two in the afternoon, which meant someone was in the middle of some deadlifting.

“Paco!” he opened his arms like he was greeting a friend coming back from active duty. “There’s my main man.” 

“What’s good, Fang?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain,” he walked behind the bench. “Here, let me spot you.”

Chris lent a hand with the presses as if that was the sole purpose of his visit all along and put the weights back in their place once Paco’s loud grunt punctuated the set. He offered a towel to the man sweating like he had been doing soilwork under the scorching sun, then kneeled beside him, speaking in a hushed tone like he was about to reveal top-secret information.

“Listen, you know you’re my brother, right?”

“Damn straight, man. Ride or die.”

“Something came to my attention, so I thought I’d let you know,” Chris glanced over the gym door and turned his attention back to Paco again. “You and I both know the guards didn’t just have an epiphany one day with all that sawdust they have for a brain. Someone ratted you out about the phone thing.”

“And if I find out which son of a bitch…” Paco almost ripped the towel to shreds, but when he saw the knowing grin on Chris’ face, his fury suddenly vanished. “No shit, you know.”

Chris slowly nodded.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but a little bird told me O’Connell cut a deal with the guards,” he tsked in disapproval. “Shit, we all believed it, but turns out he let them beat the shit out of him in exchange for keeping the phone for himself.”

“That MOTHERFUCKER…”

…and score. Now all he needed to do was pour some gas on the fire and start roasting his marshmallows over the magnificent arson he had just committed.

“Everyone is talking on the DL that he is out to colonize your outside resources, mate. I’d put a burner on his ass before he could even plan to do something if I were you,” Chris placed his hand on Paco’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “You know where to go to take back what’s yours. Find me if you need anything, yeah?”

“I owe you one, bro. I won’t forget this.”

Poof! That easy. It was astounding how none of these dumbasses knew how to burn sugar as brain fuel, so nobody ever questioned anything. In Chris’ defense, it took a lot of actual snitching for the ploys to work. Trust needed to be earned first; respect naturally followed. Now he could just sit back, relax, and watch the altercations unfold as the tension between the parties escalated through the roof. 

Because he never got his own hands dirty. And now that this little wrinkle was ironed out, he could channel all his attention to the only thing that mattered.

You.

Chris’ only chance of catching a glimpse of you was to come to you in the infirmary. It wasn’t the fucking yard—of course the guards would never let him leave the wing unless he absolutely needed medical attention, so he needed to get a little creative to put on successful performances. If that meant cutting open some wounds to get some stitches, so be it. If it took standing in front of the ventilation grates right after a freezing-ass shower, so be it. You were worth risking pneumonia, infections, even fucking death. If you’d smile at him just once, he was going to be cured and reach immortality anyway.

“Does it hurt when I press here?” you gently sank your fingertips into his chest after listening to his breathing.

“I can’t tell. Do it again.”

“You realize this is a medical examination, Fang, not foreplay.”

“Says you,” Chris mischievously smiled. “You’re very much getting to second base with me right now.”

You applied pressure to the area right under his jawline sharper than your scalpels to check for swelling, then grabbed a throat swab for a strep test.

“Open wide.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“Bang…”

“Yeesh! Pulling out the government name and everything,” he raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t be mad, I’ll behave.”

You got your sample for a throat culture and went back to the back of the room to properly label it. Chris sat there in silence for some time and spoke with a soft voice that almost didn’t belong to him.

“I don’t know why the fuck you care this much, but I’m grateful that you do, you know?”

“It’s my job to care,” you responded without looking at him.

“I know, but…” he trailed off and took a moment to find the proper words. “Nobody else ever cared about me unless I was useful to them. You’re the first.”

Unless your eyes were deceiving you, when you looked up at him, you saw something glinting in his gaze in a faint shade of pink, terribly reminiscent of yearning. It was just a glance. It was nothing. It didn’t mean anything.

But it still made something thump really hard in your chest.

He slowly got up to his feet, approached you with careful steps, and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, releasing one butterfly after another in the pit of your stomach with each second he lingered there.

“I owe you my life,” he gently brushed his fingers on your skin before heading back to his wing again. “Thought you should know.”

This was Chris’ third time in the infirmary within a span of two weeks. How the heck this man even functioned in a cartel while hurting himself this much was appalling, really. 

Maybe he didn’t, and that was what landed his ass in prison in the first place.

“What is it this time, Fang? Tripped on a flat surface?”

“I figured you’d like to see your favorite inmate,” his face lit up like a Christmas tree at your sight. “Is that so bad?”

“Yeah, that’s not a thing, and don’t say that ever again,” you furrowed your brows, mildly nauseated. “What do you have for me today?”

Chris spread his legs wide to show you the cut on his inner thigh, blood oozing from it now dried.

“I wasn’t being careful with the knives during kitchen duty. Gotta be fast to feed so many people on time and whatnot.”

You put on your latex gloves, the supply of which was frequently used for Chris nowadays, and examined the wound closely.

“Looks like a clean cut, but you’ll need stitches again,” you observed, then retorted while preparing the suture. “Just bring a pattern or something next time so I can tattoo it on you. At least it’ll look pretty. Drop your pants.”

Chris was tremendously lucky you were facing away from him as he gulped that thickly, experiencing a sudden case of cottonmouth. He knew the remedy to that was hidden between your lips, of course, but that was neither here nor there, and certainly not to be brought up right that second. On any other Tuesday, he was the most shameless motherfucker that ever walked this earth, but at that moment, he was somehow feeling extremely self-conscious about putting himself on display for you.

His rabid heartbeat was about to choke him to death.

You pulled a stool right in front of him to get to work, your instruments neatly placed on the surface right next to you. When you locked your eyes on your target, you got momentarily furious at yourself for wondering whether his thighs were always this sculpted or if he shaped them out during his time here. Heaving a deep sigh, you penetrated his skin with a needle to proceed with stitching his wound, but that wasn’t when he hissed. 

That sharp inhale manifested itself when you placed your hand on his inner thigh.

“Am I hurting you?” you looked up at him questioningly.

“Nothing I can’t endure.”

Fucking RICH!

Of course he was going to lie his ass off. He wasn’t about to confess to your fucking beautiful face how he was barely enduring the lack of your lips on his on a daily basis. How it made him go so crazy that he was constantly on the brink of killing someone. How that contact just now went straight to the synapse connected to his X-rated inner mind theater and prompted a chain reaction reaching all the way down to his cock. One slip, and you were going to notice it. You were not supposed to notice it. Not yet. Not yet. NOT before he laid the groundwork first!

“A little pussy of you to gasp at a little needle when you’re in a fucking prison, don’t you think?” you broke into a taunting smirk.

“You usually swear this much?” he chortled in slight surprise at your commentary.

“Helps you gangstas check yourselves around me,” you replied with a firm voice, your eyes still glued to his thigh. “Doesn’t seem to work on you that much, though. You keep showing up here like this is a restaurant.”

“So what? Is it a crime to want to be tended to?” he responded with a knowing grin. “I like it when you take care of me. I don’t think that’s grounds for violating my parole chances.”

Like you were the one to talk. You wished you could help the smile he elicited out of you as if you were two people flirting over drinks at the aforementioned restaurant.

Fucking charmer.

“Don’t you think we got a little more than a Hippocratic relationship going on here, doc?”

His words landed like a nuclear bomb in your office, and Chris noticed that pause in your movements even though it didn’t take any longer than two nanoseconds. A sign. The sign he had been looking for all this time. To prove to himself he wasn’t delusional. It was true, wasn’t it? It was true, and this was the indisputable evidence.

“You shudder when you touch me,” he turned it up a notch.

“Bang, stop.”

“Exactly. I make your heart stop, don’t I?” he scooted just the tiniest bit closer. “You know it’s true.”

His voice turned deeper all of a sudden like he was trying to get a message across. It didn’t matter whether that message was in a glass bottle floating its way into obscurity without a proper address attached to it. Extremely lucky for him and to your endless misfortune, however, it indeed made its way to the intended addressee.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m married,” you looked away in panic.

His face dropped ever so slightly, barely noticeable to the naked eye. 

You were… 

Married?

But… But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Otherwise, why would you spend all this time with him, alone for that matter, running your hands all over him and getting fucking goosebumps because of it? Your playing house thing was just a formality, wasn’t it? You had only stated an unprompted fact. Like how it was Tuesday and the weather was bleak and there was tapioca pudding for lunch. That wasn’t an invitation for him to make himself scarce. Otherwise you would tell him to. Otherwise you would yell at him. Otherwise you would strike him in the face instead of getting heart palpitations like what the FUCK?!

“Doesn’t take a genius to conclude it’s not a disgustingly happy one,” he commented in a stoic voice, completely contrary to the violently raging storm inside him turning everything to dust. “Is it because he works so late? Doesn’t cherish you like you should be?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He continued examining your face while you kept stitching him up as if the answer was written there somewhere. Because it was. It always was. 

Nothing told the truth like someone’s averted eyes.

“Or is it because he’s out a little too much? He doesn’t come home for dinner anymore?”

Fuck.

You involuntarily flinched. Of course you did—everyone would when you pressed salt on the wound.

“So that’s why,” he tilted his head and continued, more pleased than he should have been. “Why do you even put up with that when he’s out fucking someone, calling her all sorts of vile things? Do you still let him go down on you with that mouth when he comes home?”

“Maybe it worked out for the best that I don’t need to worry about anyone going down on me with that mouth,” you hysterically laughed in response and handed him the antiseptic, trying to brush away the interrogation over your failing marriage. “Hold this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It fucking means you need to know the taste of something to crave it. Christ,” you mumbled through your clenched teeth, then heaved a deep sigh to calm yourself. “This should heal nicely.”

His eyes widened upon your words as if you had just told him he was getting out the next day. 

“Wait, so you… Like, you’ve never…”

As you were putting your instruments away, you put on an applause-worthy performance, acting like you weren’t even slightly aware of your face burning up to the tip of your ears. Chris, on the other hand, was trapped between feeling somewhat endeared versus some type of weird relief.

And extremely turned on thinking about the noises he would have you make if he dropped to his knees for you right about now.

“Fuck me, you really don’t know what it’s like to get your pussy licked, do you?” he started laughing in earnest.

As much as you were annoyed out of your mind, you didn’t answer and returned to the stool to clean around the wound in silence since nothing intelligible was going to come out of your mouth anyway. So what if no one ever went down on you? What was so funny about it? It most certainly didn’t warrant mocking to the extent of bullying. Would you throw a maniacal laughing fit right at his stupidly gorgeous face if he told you he never got his dick sucked? Where the fuck were his manners? What were you even doing looking for manners from an inmate?

Yet even though his question was rhetorical, he kept pressing for a reaction out of you.

“It’s fucking phenomenal. Nothing quite like it,” he continued his verbal torture. “Especially when you have someone eating your pussy like they’re gonna fucking die if you don’t cum in their mouth. It takes a woman like you to induce that kind of appetite.”

“How would you know how it feels?” you loudly scoffed to ignore the buzzing sensation below your waist. “Do you have a secret clit I don’t know about?”

“I fucking wish, but I have references instead,” he discreetly licked his lips. “They would tell you all about the first-degree murders I committed with my tongue. I can give you their numbers if you wanna confirm.”

He was adamantly painting you this tantalizing picture and forcing you to look at it, infesting your mind with the image of himself between your legs. Slowly killing you with curiosity so that you would snap and find out for yourself if it was really the kind of infernal experience he was making it out to be.

And unfortunately for you, it was fucking working.

“But you’re not terribly upset with me, are you?” he faked a pout which quickly turned into a smirk again. “Because this doesn’t bother you as much as you believe it should.”

You were wondering whether Chris had somehow managed to install wires in your mind, shamelessly narrating your own thoughts back at you. Your heart almost stopped when he touched the stray strands of hair right in the intersection of your nape and your ear.

“See? Why else would you close your eyes when I touch you?”

He placed his hand on your cheek, concerningly warm to the touch courtesy of his relentless flustering attempts. You knew what your rational reaction was supposed to be, and you were desperately looking for the whereabouts of your sanity to fucking act on it, but…

But…

You found yourself leaning into his touch instead, not a shred of courage present in your soul to open your eyes and look at him. You heard a soft rustling sound, then a source of heat approaching your way, and then…

A kiss.

So soft but unbearably intense. So warm but sending jolts down your spine. So tender but lethally passionate. Asking for permission to stay a while longer, begging you to please please not send him away, and it was gaining speed like a plane was about to take off with his fingers getting tangled in your hair. His tongue clashing with yours, your lips consuming his, pairs of hands trying to find their way to the other’s face.

If you didn’t take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“No!” you pulled away from him hurriedly as if someone had electrocuted you, panting hard to catch your breath. “Go. We’re done here.” 

“Are we?” he flashed an unconvinced smile.

“You don’t have to come in every time you sneeze. Just… Grow a pair and learn to be fucking careful,” you quickly made your way to your desk to occupy yourself with filling out patient forms.

“I would hold that thought if I were you,” he got up to his feet to make his way back. “This is a prison after all. The only place worse than here would be the third circle of hell.” 

Right before he left, he stopped right behind your chair, leaned in, and breathily whispered.

“When I come in to get my stitches removed,” he placed the softest of kisses on your ear, “we’ll pick this up where we left off.”

Chris was perfectly aware playing doctor with you was not a sustainable plan at all. He had to find a way to position himself around you strategically so he wouldn’t have to remind you of his existence every five minutes. 

And he had to do it fast before he inflicted fucking permanent damage on himself.

“An idea, boss,” he nonchalantly uttered one night, bouncing a ball against the cell wall. “Don’t you think it would be more lucrative if I was in the infirmary instead? It’s literally the stash of this entire fucking prison. Kitchen just ain’t it anymore.” 

“That’s out of the blue,” Noah creased his brows. “Where did that come from?”

“Out of the blue? Have you missed the memo on our feud with the Vices? They want my ass on sight,” he turned serious all of a sudden. “If I’m out of the wing, at least I won’t have to constantly look over my shoulder. It’s either this or I’ll have to hide in the hole, and I’d like to avoid solitary if I can, thank you very much.”

Chris liked to think that he was smarter than most, if not all people, but there was something he wasn’t quite able to conceal from Noah, a family man to two beautiful girls. He could read anyone like the damn book in his hands, and Chris should have known those hawk-like observational skills were a byproduct of being a father, not a veteran gangbanger.

“And you swear this has nothing to do with the doctor lady?” 

He continued with his reading as if he hadn’t said what he just said, stunning Chris hard enough to lose the ability to form coherent sentences.

“It’s… I’m… N–Not rea—”

“Fang,” he immediately stopped Chris before he could even attempt what was sure to be a convincing argument. “Fake it to whoever the fuck else you want. Not to one of your own.”

Chris briefly contemplated whether there was any chance at all that he didn’t have to confess to it. He was either going to get ruthlessly mocked for being so stupidly vulnerable, or get a good beating for having too much time on his hands to waste on teenage crushes. What was even the point of denial anyway? Noah had already caught on to his less-than-pure motives. 

His fingers inadvertently touched the wolf tattoo on his inner left arm, and he heaved a sigh so filled with yearning that it colored the stone walls into an even bleaker shade of gray.

“She seeped through me, mate,” he sighed with a broken smile. “She lives under my skin like a fucking tattoo.”

But that night, Chris learned that when you shared a moment of honesty with decent men, sometimes all you got in return was a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Looks like you grabbed the tiger by the tail this time, brother,” Noah solemnly spoke while pointing at his ink. “Or in your case, a goddamn wolf.”

The guards’ voices echoed in the narrow hallways to announce lights out. As Chris clasped his hands under his nape to spend yet another night staring at the ceiling, Noah put his book under the tremendously uncomfortable pillow and got under the sheets.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he whispered to his right once the guards passed by, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Fucking seriously?!”

“I said don’t get your hopes up,” a loud hiss bounced off the walls. “Try to get some sleep.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Insomnia going strong?”

“When did it ever not?”

“You never know,” Noah turned to his side and pulled his blanket up. “Maybe you should try counting doctors so she’ll come visit you in your dreams.”

Chris wished it worked that way, but even the slightest possibility of seeing you was enough to curl his lips into a smile.

“Fang? What are you doing here?”

It had been a while since you last saw Chris, which meant some banter exchange over whatever klutzery he dabbled in this time was long overdue. Much to your surprise, however, he not only looked very much in one piece for once but also responded with an uncharacteristically straight face.

“Shift in work detail. I’ll be working here from now on.”

No dimple charms cranked up to the maximum. No attempt to aggressively hit on you. A paranoid thought crept up in your head, debating whether someone saw you during… that, and he got reprimanded for it. Otherwise, why would he abruptly distance himself from you?

Why did the stench of disappointment raid the room all of a sudden?

“Doing what?” you kept an equally ‘professional’ composure.

“Helping you?” he shrugged. “Did you forget the day we first met?” 

He was referring to your annoyed greeting when he visited your royal chambers for the first time, and his heart melted a little when you averted your eyes from him. Maybe you’d never stopped thinking about it either. You called him Your Majesty that day, and Chris kept replaying those words in his mind all day, every day ever since then. It wasn’t… It wasn’t what you said but how you said it. Just the thought of being your king, living his life to serve his queen, loving her, cherishing her, pleasing her, and protecting her from all harm in the world…

If only you knew how much he was willing to give up just for a shred of that…

“How you snapped at me because you were shorthanded around here?” he jogged your memory. “Just dump whatever menial labor and paperwork you have on me. I know how to read.”

His originally planned maneuver was to be less aggressive in his advances towards you. He’d figured just being close to you would be enough to keep him pacified for the time being, and he could work his way up from there. Find that rift in your defenses to slowly pour himself into you. Sure, it could take some time, but he was willing to wait it out so that he cou—

Day 3 of breathing the same air as you, and he was on the brink of having to check into a fucking psych ward already.

It was as if you owned the leash to his rotten soul, and he was getting antsier by the minute that someone was going to notice his biggest weakness was carelessly walking around out in the open like that. He had never felt like this before about anything or anyone, having trouble breathing because of some invisible weight constantly pressing on his chest. He didn’t doubt his affection for you for one second, but the more he saw you, the more he heard your voice, the more he was exposed to you in some way, the more the one emotion he didn’t know he could feel started flowing through the cracks of that stone he had for a heart.

The unmitigated shame of how ferociously he was lusting after you. 

One look at you, and he was about to faint. One whiff of your scent, and he was pushed to the limits of his self-restraint. He was thoroughly consumed with the urge to kiss you, to touch you, to hold you in his arms, to taste the salt on your skin… God, he would fucking die if you moaned his name. He would lose whatever remained of his sanity if you said you wanted him back. He knew you deserved pure-white love, and he could never give you that with all the stains he bore, but he could rewrite everything you thought you knew about euphoria. He could make you soar to the heights you never thought were possible. He could love you so hard that you would hear his devotion to you coursing through your veins. He could if you let him.

And he could swear he felt it the day he kissed you. He could feel in his heart of hearts that you wanted to.

If you weren’t the slightest bit interested in him, then you should have immediately pulled out the rejection card, but you didn’t. You didn’t. You kissed him back. For quite a bit. If that didn’t mean your marital status didn’t mean jack shit to you, then what did? Why would it even matter when you were so obviously unhappy anyway? He could make you happy. 

He could make you so happy if you let him.

Five days. Seven days. Nine days. Veiled glances. Stolen touches. Your scent in passerby winds. Craving. Denying. Pretending. Yearning. 

Yearning. 

Yearning.

He forced it to the absolute limit of his patience. Honest. 

But a man in love was just the politically correct way to say a deranged maniac.

“Need a hand with that?” he made his way to the desk you were standing in front of.

“Felt lonely by the file cabinet?” you quipped with a little smirk as you kept labeling documents. 

“Yes.”

You just wanted to bounce snark off of each other to end the tiring day on a somewhat lighthearted note, however lighthearted it could be in a place like this, but the unexpected solemnity in his voice caught you off guard. You stopped trying to cram a piece of paper in a sheet protector and looked at him. 

Chris had been too quiet lately. His eyes were clouded with something akin to sorrow, and it didn’t suit him at all. The only thing fit for that face was crescent moons and the dimples that chipped away at his dangerousness.

Your chest was about to collapse for how hard invisible hands were wringing your heart.

“Did… something happen?” you quietly asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a bit aloof,” you channeled your attention to the papers again. “Like… there’s something wrong.”

“No, everything’s fine.”

You knew he was lying, but you weren’t sure why. Was it just because he didn’t feel like talking to you, or was he…?

He wasn’t trying to shelter you from worrying or anything, was he?

“Are you expecting any visitors?” you attempted to change the topic. “It’s visiting day tomorrow.”

“Not really.”

“Not even your colleagues are coming to see you?” 

“I think you’d also agree that would be playing tic-tac-toe with landmines,” he spoke with an utterly straight face, heaving a longing sigh right after. “It’s not like I can ask for a conjugal visit with my standing, so…”

It felt like you shoved a finger in a socket when he suddenly brought it up. Did that…? Did that mean…?

“You… have a girlfriend outside?” your lips rendered the question before you could press ‘abort’.

“Would you be jealous if I did?” he responded with another question mark, eyes glued to the papers in his hand, but he was so damn amused that he couldn’t help his devilish smile.

“Tsch, why would I be?” you sneered, horribly failing to veil your interest in that minuscule piece of information. “You said you can’t ask for it with your standing, so I assumed there is someone you could ask for if your standing was good.”

When he finally looked up, Chris saw just how deep the creases were between your brows, shoving paper after paper into sheet protectors. Your jaw was slightly clenched, your nostrils were flared, and you were exhaling a bit too loudly from your nose.

Oh, god, you were jealous.

You were jealous. 

Of him!

He was so happy that he thought he was going to die from heart failure right then and there.

“Or I’m just saying shit to test your reaction,” he uttered in a voice filled with the mirth you were used to. 

Only when you saw how smugly he was grinning to himself did you realize how busted you were. You suddenly felt the need to drink a gallon of water all by yourself to put out the fire your embarrassment set on your cheeks.

Why were you this disturbed by the mental image of him with another woman anyway?

“Would you come to the visiting days if we were married?” he nonchalantly asked.

“Who wouldn’t visit their loved ones?” you put on a fantastically convincing performance through your small panic fit.

“Would you ask for a conjugal visit with me?” he continued his questioning, hands still busy with sorting out documents like this was some regular conversation topic over tea, but his smile was slowly fading.

Even a man of his composure had his limits because he was a goddamn human being. A human being with needs taking over his sanity. He wanted to be held. He wanted to be kissed. He wanted to hear sweet nothings in his ear from the woman who committed arson on his soul.

He wanted to be the first to know her taste and keep going until he passed out from fatigue.

“Well, uh… Er erhm, it’s–it’s important for the family ties to—” 

“Fuck the family ties,” he interrupted, visibly annoyed. “I’m asking if you would want to be with me.”

You finally locked eyes. That gaze held so much meaning that you were concerned he was going to hear how you were whimpering inside.

“Yes, I would,” you answered with calm resolve.

“Would you…?”

He took a moment to look for the right words, staring at the papers again. He was turning into this gigantic puppy right before you with how nervous he was, and it was tightening your chest even more.

“Would you miss me enough to…” he acted like how thickly he swallowed was no big deal at all, “...want to touch me?”

Your blood pressure hit berserk levels, but at the same time just why the fuck was he this endearing?

“It’s… only n–natural that… I would miss my husband,” you shrugged it off. “I mean, wouldn’t you want to sleep with me?”

Chris stole a glance from the clock on the wall to call his time of death.

Were you even aware what kind of a fucked up sentence you had just formed?! Him. Sleeping with you. Wouldn’t he want to sleep with… with you? You needed to stop. You needed to fucking cut it out before he dropped to his knees and beg you to crawl into his ribcage.

“You can earn up to forty hours here on good behavior,” he spoke with odd tranquility as if your sheer beauty alone wasn’t burying him alive. “But if we’re alone in the same room for that long, I assure you we’re not sleeping.”

We’re not. Not “we wouldn’t”, he said we’re not. Like you weren’t even talking hypothetically anymore. Like you were actually in that private room with him.

Even a gallon of water couldn’t save you now because the fire had jumped to the highway of your body, and your embarrassment was rapidly morphing into shame. Even shame wasn’t enough to contain this insanity possessing you, mind and heart alike, because something always always burned much more brightly and fiercely than that.

Lust.

“It may not be forty hours, but we’re still alone in the same room for that long, don’t you think?” you carefully stacked the sheet protectors into the red folder in front of you and loudly locked the clip. “Every day, for that matter.”

The chill that licked his spine when he held your gaze made him shudder. Your eyes had fully darkened, and you were looking at him almost daringly. You weren’t smiling, but the way your tongue discreetly swiped across your lips was simply diabolical. You weren’t touching him, but you were choking him to death. You weren’t kissing him, but you were taking his breath away.

He was about to go clinically insane if he hadn’t already.

“Are you…” he narrowed his eyes, fully aware he might be taking his last breath any minute now, “trying to tell me something?”

“No, nothing,” you shrugged, feigning ignorance. 

Oh, please. He knew you meant something. He knew you meant exactly that, but it was driving him up a wall that you just wouldn’t confirm it.

“If we’re not sleeping, then what?” you asked as casually as you could manage, pulling up a new sheet protector. “Do you wanna play checkers or something instead?” 

You sly little minx…

He knew full well that you were trying to get him to say things to you. You weren’t looking at him, just filing away with your attention fully on the documents in your hands, and this was the first time Chris felt jealous of goddamn paper. You were still faintly smiling, though. Why were you smiling? Why were you smiling if your intention was not to drive him crazy, huh? 

God, he was trying. He was really trying to control his urges, but you… 

You were fucking enabling him. 

“Oh, I want to play alright.”

He put down the papers in his hands and slowly walked behind you. Your eyes followed him as he moved, your breath hitching in your throat. You really should have been sitting down instead of standing because your knees were about to give way any second now.

“But being away from you that long, locked up in here… I’m a literal caged animal, you know,” he stood right behind you and put his hands on the desk, trapping your body under him. “I’m so touch-starved, it’s killing me.”

He gently touched the strands of stray hairs on your nape again, knowing damn well what it did to you. Your eyes fluttered close feeling his body that close to you. Close enough to forfeit all control over your reins.

You would kill to feel him closer than your veins.

“Touch me once, and you’ll be lucky if I don’t rip your clothes off,” he whispered into your ear, his voice slowly changing colors as he kept talking. “I’m that feral over you.”

You were getting so wet that the weak ass support your morals were standing on was about to collapse. One move, and you would be resting your head on his shoulder, perfectly putting your neck on display for him to kiss.

“It’s cute that you think I won’t rip your clothes off first,” you reciprocated his serve.

He let out a heavy exhale, growing a lot more excited than he’d be able to control. He had no idea where that courage came from, but… No, actually he did. It came from you flirting back. It came from how you couldn’t keep your eyes open when he was close to you. 

It came from the fact that he knew you belonged with him, and you fucking knew it, too.

He put his hands on your waist, subtly pressing himself against you. You almost let out a moan when you felt how huge he was on your ass. Maybe you didn’t need to be locked up within stone walls to feel how touch-starved you also were. You were touch-starved every minute of every day, wishing the man you were developing dangerous cravings for would just jump the gun, when even the one you were legally bound to wouldn’t. You tried talking yourself out of it. You tried so hard, but him…

Him…

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he placed a chaste kiss on your neck, “but what kind of a man am I if I don’t take care of my girl first?”

My girl. Take care of. Words you had never heard before. Words you had never heard even in hypothetical contexts, and he was declaring them into your ear like they were martial law.

“She spends all those nights alone in our bed. Touching herself, thinking of the nights I devoured her. Maybe more than once on the nights she misses me a little too much,” he ran his hands up your sides, dangerous enough to make your heart stop. “Which is why, when I finally get in bed with her again, she orders, and I do. That’s why I exist. Anything she wants.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You imagined it. You imagined missing Chris in your bed. You imagined curling up in his remaining clothes to still feel his scent on the tip of your nose. You imagined cumming to that scent. You imagined sending your cum-soaked panties to him as a souvenir. Maybe he could cum on it and send it back to you, and that would be how you wrote love letters to each other.

You imagined a man crazy enough to go to prison for you and asked you to wait for him, but you didn’t have to imagine being in love with him.

“What if all I want is just to tease you?” you leaned into him a measure so you could properly feel his hardness. “Can you handle not getting your release in your caged animal state?”

“If it pleases you,” he reached for your chest and cupped your breasts, “who the fuck am I to say no?”

The breath you let out was so sharp, there was no way you could plead ignorance anymore. He knew you wanted him. You knew you wanted him. And you wanted him to hold you tighter. Harder.

In a chokehold.

“But aren’t you frustrated?” you asked him in a whisper.

Still heavily breathing down your neck, his hands slid down again, this time all the way under the skirt of your dress. Fuck, your thighs were so soft. It was fine if you didn’t let him do anything else; he could make do with just kissing them for hours.

“Frustrate me more if you like it,” he spoke in whispers, but each word came out like a threatening hiss, each one written with kisses on your neck. “I have a thing for that.”

You couldn’t help how hard you swallowed.

His hands were sliding up your thighs now, exploring the neighborhood of the castle he actually wanted to reside in. Every time he got a bit too close to your pussy, you were clenching so hard that he could feel it right on his tip as if you were both naked.

You wanted him, too, he knew. You wanted him, too, and he was forcing himself to remember how to be a gentleman about it because all he could think of was how he wanted you in the worst ways.

“You’re… okay with only taking care of me?” you slightly turned your head to your left.

“Okay with it?” he chuckled, melting you with the caramel notes of his subdued laughter. “You’re my fucking everything. That’s the sole purpose of my entire life.”

You were in complete disbelief over what his mere words were inducing in you, appalled that you would even consider something like this. This beautiful demon with that silver tongue of his… You were trying. You were trying to remind yourself that there were obligations that you needed to fulfill. Professional ones. Marital ones. Both of which were draining the fucking life out of you.

Both of which were making it next to impossible to resist him. 

“Then what if…?” you gulped, breathing unstable. “What if all I want you to do is…?”

He knew exactly what you meant just from the way you couldn’t verbalize it. You were giving him a terrible case of cuteness aggression, making him want to drown you in kisses.

“Then that’s all I’ll do for those forty hours,” he promised, tone nonchalant but intent heavier than your own wedding vows. “I’ll spend it all eating your pussy.”

“Chris…”

Chris. You called him Chris. Not Fang. Not inmate. The one thing, the only thing that he was being deprived of just so he would forget he was a human.

“This is all your fault,” he finally dared to cross the line, very very gently caressing your pussy no matter how hidden it was from him under layers of fabric. “You have this… grip on me.”

And he had this grip on you. 

The softest kisses on your neck. Kisses on your cheek. You were ending his life even though all you did was just exist, and he was afraid to open his eyes and look at you.

“I told you to let the sleeping wolves lie, but what do you do instead?” he pressed his head on your shoulder. “You walk into the den barefoot. You lie down right next to the wolf itself.”

“Then why doesn’t it kill me?” 

He smiled to himself, placing a very soft kiss on your temple as if his intentions were as pure as they could ever be. 

“Loyalty,” he sighed in defeat. “To its master.”

His whispers in your ear felt like they were blasting from loudspeakers, sending an immediate shockwave to your core. Even a woman of your poise had her limits because you were a human being after all. A human being with needs that weren’t catered to for what seemed like forever taking over her sanity, and if you didn’t take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he reached for the waistband of your underwear, “but you need to say it first.”

The exit was collapsing along with all your defenses against him. You were just headed towards the cliff you were going to drive off of. You knew you were.

But you stopped caring.

“Chris…”

Chris. You called him Chris. Not Fang. Not inmate. The only thing reminding him that he was a man, but if he couldn’t breathe the same air as the woman he would burn this world down for, he was nothing.

“Say it,” he caressed the soft flesh of your mound, unable to move an inch more. “Say it, and I’m yours.”

Fuck the exit. 

You slammed on the gas pedal with all your might and drove past it, leaving a trail of dust clouds behind you. 

You turned around and dove right into his lips headfirst. He immediately grabbed your waist and sat you down on the desk, kissing every piece of bare skin within his line of sight. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tight. He was burning up under your touch. He dragged the bust of your dress down and kissed all over your chest, filling his lungs with as much of your sweet scent as he could. God, how much he had longed for this. This. This. This was the very thing, the only thing that kept him alive. 

“Touch me, Chris.”

JUST WHAT THE HELL WAS YOUR PROBLEM, HUH?!

You grabbed his hand and placed it on your thighs again, asking him to make a move. His eyes widened in disbelief, still unsure if he was allowed to do what he was losing his damn mind over, but when you made him grope you hard, he finally took the fucking hint. He spread your legs as wide as he could and dropped to his knees, groaning like he was in pain just because he was this close to the meaning of his life.

Everything had boiled down to this moment.

He hooked his fingers behind your underwear and slid it to the side, repeating to himself over and over again that he was not a goddamn animal as he stared at your mouthwatering wetness. But maybe he was a little. Weren’t all human beings animals after all? Animals ruled by their instincts. And his instincts were goading him into claiming you for himself for the longest damn time. No, not to own you. Just to mark you. So that he’d know who to eviscerate if they dared to breathe the same fucking air as you.

He buried his head between your legs, and your entire life flashed before your eyes.

A ball of pure fire had formed in your loins, and with each lick on your soaked folds, a chunk of it was being cannonballed into your veins. You were spiking a lethal fever with acute onset lust, delirious with the intensity of the pleasure this man was inducing in your body. Those full, gorgeous lips wrapped around your clit, lazily sucking on you, obscene sounds bouncing off the stone walls every time he slurped on your cunt… It was impossible to stay sane. It was impossible to go on with your life as the woman you were five minutes ago. You put one hand on his head, caressing his hair as he worked his magic, and with each loving stroke, Chris was falling irretrievably in love with you.

You wanted to wreck this prison to the ground when the siren went off in the distance signaling headcount. 

He immediately jumped to his feet, as frustrated as you were for not being able to give you your happy ending, and helped you fix yourself in case a guard would drop by your office. 

“Looks like you got your wish, but I dare you to frustrate me more next time,” he stole a kiss from your lips and made his way back extremely reluctantly. “You owe me forty hours, and I’m gonna collect every… single… one.”

He might not have seen the ending of the movie, but Chris was still on cloud nine that he was there to catch the trailers. He skipped dinner that evening so that your taste on his tongue wouldn’t be laced with anything else, but with every passing hour, his euphoric high was receding, leaving that void to be filled with something else. Something ugly.

Something urgent.

“Hey, I gotta ask you something,” Chris approached Jack after dinner, “but Noah cannot know about it, deal?”

“Is everything okay, mate?” Jack looked at his former bunkmate with concern.

“Does Liv still do custom work?”

Jack’s face changed all of a sudden, half-surprised, half-entertained.

“Bullet or blade?” he grinned.

“Yes,” Chris replied curtly, compulsively checking the gate for Noah. “I have a job for her, but it’s not a message. She has to make it look like an accident.”

This story has a part 2, and I'm about 60% done with it. You can vote for which installment you'd like to read next here.

✉ Enjoyed this? Your feedback & reblogs free my chapters from the draft prison.

「© 2022-2025, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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[skyminniesworld]

Everyone step back: He.Is. Back.

Could I probably write this story from memory? Yes. Do I care? No. Will I read it again? You better bet on it!

I love this series so much!!! And if I remember correctly our man LeeKnow will be there to seduce his psychiatrist? And Changbin will do unspeakable things in a church, may he be blessed. I might be wrong but I feel right (:

P.S.: If you read this, I was so incredibly happy and honoured that you remembered me when I commented on the interactive story/game. I literally told people about it. <3

[jl-micasea-fics]

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙭𝙞𝙞𝙞. ‘𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙮

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© December 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

All still feels like a dream. A wonderful, fucked up dream straight from the recesses of your little black box, fresh out of the pit from disuse.

Thinking about it sets your heart to a cool pound. Makes your skin thrum as though electric insects crawl and skitter. Makes you giddy and just a little lightheaded, even more so because you can’t seem to stop thinking about it.

Jisung never seemed to express much interest in you beyond the platonic. He did once tell you that he falls fast— not so fast as to a lone act of chivalry, surely? Maybe he’s just lonely. Maybe the absence of intimacy from his boyfriends is having more of an impact than he realises, driving him to find the next warm thing. A disservice to think of him that way, perhaps, but he’s as human as you when all is said and done, and you know well the nature of your own proclivities.

Today is a rare day off. No shift at the coffee shop, no session with Doctor Kindelle, no plans other than to make them. The apartment is peaceful. Early light beams through the drawn blinds, slicing the cream carpet. Rich notes of coffee hover, drawing you to the kitchen where your roommate sits at the table, a newspaper folded in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. Gold-rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, the planes of his upper body on bare display, for he’s neglected a shirt. Silky strands of hair are pushed back from his face; he’s the very image of domestic bliss. Toned. Lean. He has the build of a dancer, God forbid you should forget. The little black box trembles with glee, drools with want.

He looks up on your entrance, his serene features shadowing.

“Morning,” you say.

He looks back to his paper.

You help yourself to coffee—nobody does it quite like Minho, he even barista’s better than you—and debate sitting at the table with him. If the hostility rolling from him isn’t hint enough of his wish to be left alone, his downright miserable posture would be. Still, Jisung was right: you need to talk to him.

“Any plans for today?” you ask from the kitchen.

“Teaching soon.”

You hum gently. After a minute, you ask, “Are you okay?”

He scoffs under his breath, sips his coffee.

Okay.

You pull out the other chair at the table. He glances at you.

“Can I?”

He nods. “Sure.” And quickly finishes his mug with one gulp, folds his paper and rises.

“Minho—”

“What?”

“Could you stay a minute?”

He blinks. “What for?”

“We don’t have to avoid each other like this. We’re supposed to be friends.”

“Supposed to be,” he says. “There are a lot of things that are supposed to be.”

“So we’re not even friends now? Is that what you’re saying?”

Minho chucks the paper to the table. “Things are just... different between us.”

“Of course they’re different.” You almost laugh. “Everything is fucking different. You made it different when you kissed me.”

“Right. It’s all my fault. Sure.”

“That’s not what I—” You stop. Rephrase. Remember what therapy taught you. “I acknowledge the part I played in making things different, too. I kissed you back. I consented to everything that happened after that. I wanted it. But it’s changed us, and that’s a fact. We are not the same people we were a few months ago, and it’s dumb to pretend otherwise. I just thought that, despite it all, no matter how different we became, we’d always be best friends.”

Minho nods. “Yeah. Me too. But that’s not how it ended up working out. I don’t feel close to you at all.”

“What can I do to fix that?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if we— You said you were teaching this morning?”

He hums, hand running over his gently muscled bicep. You tear your eyes from him when the heat begins to flush your nape. Perhaps if he were a touch less beautiful, this might be easier.

“Let’s hang out,” you suggest. “After.”

He blinks, long lashes grazing his cheeks.

“Just the two of us,” you press. “Like we used to. Bad movies, bad food.”

“You don’t have anywhere else to be?” he asks.

“No.”

He looks surprised. “Alright.”

“Okay. Good.”

Relief brings a smile, albeit tentative. The boot lifts from your lungs, and the next breath doesn’t feel like it’s through a pinhole. Minho’s lips twitch, but he turns from you before anything more is conveyed. It’s not right, right now. You know that. But it’s a start. Sunlight streaks his broad, tan back as he crosses the room. The gentle closing of his bedroom door seals the moment, but you’re left with hope.

Bad movies, bad food.

Bad people, wanting nothing more than to be good for once.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

[skyminniesworld]

Me doing a little happy dance, when I saw that there is a new chapter and even better: Finally MC and Minho are talking again. I just adore the two so much ♡

Thank you.

[straywrds]

are you not getting tired of writing the same stuff all the time

Hi!

I sat alone with your message for hours. I spent the day playing Sims 4, distracting myself and also just unwinding because I've had a long week. And another one before that... Anyway. I didn't know what to tell you. I didn't want to respond at all, actually.

Then I read between the lines of your ask. It implies that you've read several of my works. I actually want to thank you for that. I also want to apologize for being unable to provide you with more.

I write about the things that I like and about the things that matter to me. I say it often—art, the act of creating itself, should be selfish. I don't even consider myself an artist, I don't think I've reached that level of skill/talent required to earn that title. But I do create. And I've been writing all my life, and I've really come to realize that the things I write selfishly, with my own voice, without constantly questioning what the readers will think, are the best things I write.

I do try to incorporate different themes into my stories. I allow myself to touch some themes I didn't want to write about before because I was too scared it would upset people. But at my core, I have a style and a voice and my own colors. I blend new ones in sometimes, but my colors have been there for longer, are more saturated, so I can understand how the ones I paint onto them don't show as much. It's okay. So to answer your question: no. I'm not getting tired to write. I actually do try to present various vibes/stories/characters. It seems I am failing at doing so efficiently. But I still love writing.

I don't really have much else to tell you. I don't know what to tell you. I don't think you should keep reading what I release if you don't like it. I don't think you should read anything that you don't like. Life is too short for that. I'm sorry I couldn't be the author you were hoping I would be. Thank you for having read some of my stuff though. Have a good one.

PS: I would kindly ask you not to go into other authors' inboxes and send messages like these. Sure, as a member of the audience, you have a voice and you have a right to express your opinions. But some things are better left unsaid, or should be discussed not on anon, like adults. Asks like these can really hurt people, you know? Is that really what you wanted to do? Hurt me? Well, it worked. So just... yeah. Please don't say that to others. You won't motivate them to write more or anything, it just does the opposite.

[skyminniesworld]

You know how when you find a new favourite author you like you go and buy all of their books because you like their writing, their tone and what they write resonates with you? This is exactly the same.

I read ALL of your stories because I love your writing and your themes. Your writing is my vibe if you know what I mean. Your stories are safe spaces and I love that and I would never dream to call them 'the same'.

I'm very sorry this person didn't keep their thoughts to themselves. Please don't let negative voices influence you too much. I know they seem louder sometimes or they hit insecurities making them easier to believe but there are so many people who love what you do and the most important thing is that you love what you do!

If you want it I'm sending you a biiiig hug. Have a wonderful rest if your day ♡

[jl-micasea-fics]

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙞𝙭. 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© September 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

“Why hate me so instantly?”

He draws tense.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he mutters.

“I know that. I don’t think I'd even said hello before you decided I was enemy number one.”  

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “There’s no easy way to explain it. I don’t know if I even can.”

“Try.”

“Alright.” He thumbs his empty glass, hand trembling. “When... I was a trainee, I had a girlfriend.”

He stands and rounds the bar, rapping his knuckles over the surface. Understandable that he should require the forty percent proof of courage.

“We dated for two years, and she was my first everything.” He picks up the same bottle, this time foregoing the glass to swig straight from the neck. “I planned my entire future around her. Debuting took a backseat; shit, everything did. I was so in love, I just... I don’t know. I made her the centre of my world.” He drinks again. “To cut a long story short, things changed.”

“It ended?”

Chan laughs. “No. No, it didn’t end. I didn’t get that kind of closure. She debuted in a girl group, and it was like I never existed at all. Like I was a—” He swallows, veins in his neck straining. “A fucking stranger. I was cut off, ignored. Ghosted, I guess they’d call it now. We didn’t have that word back then. Things came to a head when I tried the only thing I could think of and went to her dressing room after her show. I asked her why.”

“...And?”

“And, I’m still none the wiser.”

He drinks again, lips moist. You reach for the bottle and he passes it, a sip of your own steeling what nerves are wavering with his tale.

“She was so...” He falters. “She just screamed and shoved me like an animal. Hit me. Accused me of assault. Tried to press charges. Branded me a sasaeng.”

Oh.

Oh, God.

“I lost everything. My career, my home, my reputation, my mind. There was no sense to any of it, no heart in her. That girl; she wasn’t Jia. I still don’t believe it was her.”

“You should try to.”

Chan quirks a brow.

“When people show you a side of themselves you don’t like, it’s not for you to try and warp that into something you can understand.” You take another swig. “I had to learn that too.”

“So I just make peace with the fact that she was probably always a monster? That she never loved me as much as I loved her? That the two years we spent together were for nothing?”

“I don’t have all the answers, Chan. I just know that in convincing yourself she wasn’t herself then, you’re clinging to something you probably never had. You remember her as your ‘first everything’— she was also the first person to traumatise you so badly, you’re still broken up about it. So much so that it’s affecting the way you live.”

Chan blinks, head hung low.

“You called me a sasaeng.”

He nods.

“Projecting?”

“Christ. I don’t think I can face the idea that your being a fan was enough to trigger me like that. Out of nowhere.”

“Can’t have been out of nowhere.” You slide the bottle back; he catches it against his palm. “I think you felt threatened.”

He says nothing, face sombre.

“We met under conditions your boyfriends negotiated, but I don’t think you were ever really prepared for it. I wasn’t either, in a way.”

His brows knit.

“You panicked when the time came and lashed out at me—a stranger, a fan—the way someone you loved once lashed out at you. Your unhealed trauma made me the homewrecker trying to take what was yours. Made me the enemy. Made me the sasaeng.”

“Wow,” Chan mumbles. “What am I paying Doctor Kindelle for again?”

“I just call it as I see it.”

“Wish you saw it weeks ago.”

“Mhm. Me too.”

“I’ve been carrying this rage around for so long,” he says, turning the liquor bottle over. “It’s a wonder Changbin and Jisung still put up with me.”

“They love you.”

Chan scoffs.

“You don’t believe it?” you ask.

“It’s hard to when all they seem to want are other people.”

Guilt wrenches your chest, bitterness on your tongue.

“You don’t have to feel bad about it,” he says, taking a generous swig of liquor. “I know you and Bin are good together.”

You fidget on the stool. “I— I don’t know if I'd go that far.”

“Fine; the sex then. He’s happier than I’ve seen him in a while. You must be doing something right.”

Something. Sure.

“It reminds me of when we first started dating,” he sighs. “Back then, nothing else mattered so long as we were together. We were so happy.” He swigs again. “Then other things did start mattering. We got older, our lives changed. I fought it so hard. I’m clinging to it; all the memories, waiting for things to go back to how they were, but I know they won’t. They can’t. I hear the things they say to me— that they’re suffocating, they need more than what our bubble can give them or it’ll be the end of us. I know that.” His voice breaks. “Just because I know it doesn’t mean it’s easy to accept. I’m doing my best. Trying to give them what they need without losing my mind again.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of us are playing with a full deck, Chan. I’m certainly not.”

“Seriously. They drive me crazy. But I truly would rather share them than lose them altogether. Losing them… it’s not an option.”

“I know.”

“Does Minho get you like this? Have you questioning everything?”

You laugh weakly. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Chan falters. “Really?”

“We split.”

“What? Why?”

You shrug softly. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It just is.”

Chan straightens, expression unreadable as he rounds the bar. Footsteps echo—one, two, three, four—they number past transgressions and sink to the still pool of water that lives under the flaming bridge. He opens his arms and takes you in them; between your legs he stands and close to his chest you are drawn, the stool creaking beneath you. It’s not familiar, but neither does it scare you. A new brand of comfort, brought by a soul as damaged as yours.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers. “Somehow, it’ll all be okay.”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

[jl-micasea-fics]

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙫𝙞𝙞𝙞. 𝙬𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙮 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚, 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 ‘𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮’

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© August 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

This is the right place. Chan’s pin says so.

You’re at a brick building, its metal shutters drawn. A marked lack of life and general gloom sits over it. An unlit neon sign hangs sadly. Wild flora has made itself a lush home on the moist brick. The alley stretches far from the street, tenebrous and oppressive; what little natural light is here claws through the criss-cross of overhanging fire escapes, casts the cobbles in disconcerting patterns. Warm though it is, you shiver.

As per Chan’s request, you text him. Silent moments pass in which you consider leaving; this may turn out to be a waste of time. When the shutter door gives way and rises, you step away. A few feet from the ground and Chan ducks under it, his red hair stark against the colourless building. When he's pushed the shutter the rest of the way, he turns to you and nods.

“Come in.”

“Where are we?”

He scratches his nape. “Our hideout.”

He disappears inside, and left little choice, you descend the entrance staircase. Looks like it was carpeted once. Only scraps cling to the wood. Lit by suspended, naked bulbs that flicker haphazardly, it’s hardly the most inviting. At the foot hangs a heavy velvet curtain, tattered and worn; Chan holds it aside for you.

“What is this place?”

“The guy we bought it from said it used to be a sex club back in the day. Like, before it was abandoned. Either way, now it’s ours. Our hideout. Like I said.”

Wow.

A space large enough to accommodate a crowd is furnished with fabric sofas and bean bags, cushions and rugs over the speckled, polished floor. Electric heaters, standing fans, a coat rack and wooden units of shelving; a mishmash of homely comforts. Lighting rigs run the ceiling with spotlights long since dead; strings of fairy lights are wound around the metal. A vast stage dominates the room, with seven elevated lanes and podiums with high poles which themselves have been strung with faux flora, decorated with ribbons of variegated pink and purple. Central to the stage is a massive television, one hundred inches across and slightly curved, flanked by tall speakers.

“A hideout, huh?”

Chan rounds the rear bar—a relic from the sex club days no doubt salvaged—and rifles through the liquor bottles.

“You want a drink?”

“No.”

He turns to you briefly. “Do you mind?”

You shake your head, settle on one of the velveted stools. There are more fake flowers in glasses along the length of the polished bar; roses, daises, sunflowers. You pluck the nearest one, thumbing the bendy, plastic petals.

“Those are Jisung’s doing,” he says, pouring himself something. Can’t quite make it out with his back to you. “He says they brighten the place up. I think he does that well enough on his own.”

You agree. Chan finishes whatever he’s making and turns with two drinks; pale amber swilling in short crystal glasses.

“I said I didn’t want a—”

“Both for me,” he says, rounds the bar. He takes the stool beside yours; not too close, but not so far as to feel removed from whatever this is going to be. He takes a sip from the closest glass, lips curling back over his teeth. You don’t know what to say. Why should you be the one to talk first? He called you here, this was his—

“I’m sorry.”

He stares into his glass.

“I want to preface with that.”

You swallow, heart in your throat.

“The way I treated you, the things I said to you. What I... called you. I’m sorry for all of it.”

“Minho told you to apologise?”

“No. I mean; yes. But that’s not why I'm doing this.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

He drinks again.

“Because I saw you at Doctor Kindelle’s. I saw you in that waiting room, and to put it plainly, I was ashamed.” He hangs his head. “I don’t know why, but seeing you in a place I've always associated with... I don’t know. I guess, recovery? It was like seeing you for the first time. Like I'd forgotten that other people have feelings and troubles and I just—” He falters, drinks. When he speaks again, his voice is thick. “Everything I'd ever said to you, all that hatred; it felt so empty. I thought that maybe I was the reason you were in that seat. Maybe I was the one that had driven you there. I was so... fucking ashamed.”

“There are many reasons I'm going to therapy, Chan.”

“And you don't have to tell me. I— I’m not asking you to. I just want you to know that... for whatever part I played in putting you there, if any, I'm sorry.”

He drinks again. Finishes the glass. With so sallow a complexion the colour begins to return to him in the liquor’s embrace; his tired eyes are sunken and bloodshot, his hands at a perpetual tremble.

“This is hard for you, isn’t it?”

Chan hums. “Pride is a bitch.”

“But you’re trying. That counts for something.” 

“Does it?”

“I accept your apology, Chan.”

And the man finally looks at you. Tired. Glad. You smile, and Chan squeezes his eyes shut, tears rolling free to be promptly swept by his sleeve. Your stomach rolls over.

Fuck it.

You reach for the second glass and knock it back with a grimace. Tastes like paint stripper and apples, but the burn soothes the emotion. Chan watches quietly.

“I’m glad this is what you wanted to say.”

“Thought I was looking for another fight?” he scoffs softly.

“A little.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to be on the receiving end of that wicked right hook again.”

“God. I’m sorry. I’ve never done that before.”

“I deserved it.”

“Still—”

“Still; I deserved it.”

Unable to too much contest, you let out a sigh.

“Can I ask you something?” you ask.

Chan nods.

“Why?”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

[skyminniesworld]

I knew it I knew it I knew we would be in Seven Heavens even before you started to describe the place ☺️☺️

I am very curious if Chan will tell her the whole story. Right now I feel sorry for him and I want to give him a big hug and some peace. But honestly I think these two will get along very well once that is out of the way.

Lovely update, thank you!!

[lixiesfreckless]

Breathless | h. j.

➸ synopsis: Was it dumb? Yes. But when has that ever stopped you and Jisung?

➸ starring: han jisung x female reader

➸ word count: 2.5k

➸ general content: best friend!jisung, accidental Friends With Benefits reference, both characters are dorks, jisung is kind of a menace(uncharacteristically good with women), smut

➸ warnings: sexual content, swearing, fingering, protected sex, very tame bondage

➸ rating: 18+ MA

➸ author’s note: watched FWB today and was gagged when the literal opening line of this fic was used in the movie in the exact same context. it came out in 2011! how does that even happen—anyways enjoy this old fic since it reminded me of it lolllll

♫ this fic has a soundtrack! Feel That - Junny

“What the hell are we doing,” he giggled into your mouth, peeling off your outer layer as he pushed you into the comforter. Your hands fumbled with the buttons on his flannel, desperately trying to get rid of the unnecessary fabric between you two.

“I don’t know, but I kinda like it.”

It had all happened so fast; one moment you and Jisung were lazily watching whatever talk show that the tv program was playing and the next, you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

This was probably the most reckless decision you two had decided to make since you became friends in middle school. Why on earth would best friends be trying to undress each other in the late hours of the night?

“Wait.” You pushed him away slightly and let go of his shirt. “Is Hyunjin coming home anytime soon?”

“No.” Jisung chuckled, lifting the edges of your band tee. “Him and Seungmin are on Jeju Island, they won't be back until next week.” You nodded, raising your arms for him to take off the shirt before pulling his neck towards you again, resuming your heated kiss.

The rest of his buttons came undone quickly, your hands desperate to feel his burning skin under their fingertips. He leaned back to take the fabric off, chucking it to a random corner of his room, before freezing at the feeling of your hands tracing his abs.

“When did you get built Ji?” You whispered, staring at the subtle definition in his skin. A light scoff left his lips before he rolled his eyes, leaning forward to cage you with his toned arms.

“I’ve always been this way baby.” He raised an eyebrow, eyes trailing all over your exposed skin.

“Are you trying to be sexy?”

“Is it working?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, him attaching his lips to yours immediately and letting his hands roam your skin.

As much as you hated to admit it, you loved the way his fingers traced foreign trails up to your jawline. Touching you like this wasn’t something you had previously wished he did, but now you felt like you should have been doing this all along. His skin felt so warm on top of yours, your fingers pressing around the back of his neck to gain leverage into the kiss as he groaned in contentment.

Your bra came undone rather quickly, and you’re reminded that Jisung is somehow very experienced, a thought that made you visibly shudder under his fingertips.

“Wait,” you broke the kiss, and he took this opportunity to kiss your jawline, each press leaving you more and more desperate for his touch. “I don’t really know any of your likes or dislikes…in bed I mean.”

His lips hovered over your neck for a moment, as if he were trying to decide what he should and shouldn’t tell you.

“I like hair pulling and scratching,” he answered, lips pressing under your ear. “And don’t call me anything weird.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you nearly moaned, trying not to lose your mind over how his thumbs were dipping under the waistband of your jeans and massaging your hip bones just right.

“And you?”

You fell silent, face blooming red as you remembered what turned you on the most. And he noticed quickly, stopping his leisurely painting session on your neck at your reluctance.

“Hey, this is a two way street you know.” He pulled back to look you in the eyes, seemingly ignoring the beet red tone covering your cheeks. “I’d feel horrible if I overstepped-”

“...bondage.”

“W-what?”

“I have a bondage kink-”

“I know what you said,” he laughed, leaning off of you to rest on his heels. “I’m just shocked that sweet little y/n likes being tied up-”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, looking away from the topless brat.

“If you insist.”

His leather belt came off next, nearly making you scream in both excitement and horror from his newfound knowledge about you. But he simply set it aside, climbing back over you and dipping back into your neck.

You instinctively let out a sigh as his lips went back to caressing your skin, his hands now smoothing their way up your waist as well as his teeth dragged against your collarbone.

“Hickeys?” He asked, though positive that you wouldn’t deny him the pleasure of doing so.

“Please.”

The boy wasted no time in landing one right at the curve of your breast, lips working hard to redden the skin underneath them to get the color he wanted. Your hands rushed to his head, holding him tight against you with tufts of his ash colored hair between your fingers.

He let himself relish the sensation of you tugging on his roots for a brief moment, humming against your skin before he stopped sucking, reaching for the belt that he left beside you.

You could feel your skin tingle as he removed your hands from his hair, holding them in one hand as he wrapped them with his belt with the other, before expertly tying them with the leather band. He then raised your arms so they were above your head on the pillows, leaving your torso completely at his mercy.

“Can you keep those there for me baby?” His voice had a sultry kind of quality to it; one that you couldn’t find in yourself to resist as you nodded breathlessly.

He then went back to the task at hand, licking and biting and sucking everywhere on your upper torso, making sure to leave enough marks for you to not think that what was happening was just a fever dream. And he made sure to revisit your lips every so often, swallowing all of your little moans every time he thought you’d earned it.

Working his way down, he tugged the rest of your bra off, letting it drop to the floor and kissing around your left nipple while flicking his thumb over the right. You gasped, immediately pulling on the belt restraint around your wrists.

“Sensitive, are we?” He smirked, and you’d sworn that if it were anyone else, you’d choke the hell out of them.

But this isn’t just anyone. This is Han Jisung, and guessing from the surprises this night had already brought, he’d probably like that.

So you settled for a moaned yes in response, and what a good decision that was; not even a second after he had his lips wrapped tight around your nipple while letting his fingers play with the other. Your back arched prettily off the comforter, pushing your chest further into his grasp as he chuckled against your skin.

Thighs pressing together as to provide yourself some friction, a senseless string of pleads left your mouth, begging Jisung to please get on with it because it felt like your body would burst into flames if he kept going. But he didn’t stop, no; the hand that was pulling against your nipple dipped lower to find the button on your jeans, a small indication that he did intend on going further tonight.

Even though you were already over the moon with what had happened already.

Whether he was being intentionally slow or it was just difficult to undo your jeans with one hand, you did not know; but he finally worked the button free, quickly pulling the zipper down afterwards to allow room for his hand that would need to fit inside momentarily.

“Let’s see what we’re working with here,'' he mumbled, smoothing his hand from your abdomen to the top of your underwear, pausing slightly to check for any hesitance before pressing on.

“Oh, god…already?” Your face couldn’t possibly have gotten any redder as he ran a lone finger along your slit, catching the wetness that pooled there immediately. “We’re just getting started-”

“Then hurry up, Ji,” you whined, clenching your thighs to get some friction.

He smiled, suddenly aware of his weak spot for your begging before finally adding friction to the place where you wanted it most.

This wasn’t his first time pleasuring a woman– you were aware of that much –but it took him a minute to figure out what you liked and where you were the most sensitive, essentially playing with you until you made the right sounds. Once he started getting it right however, it finally dawned on you just how much trouble you were in, your chest heaving and toes curling at his ministrations.

It wasn’t long before he changed the game, bringing two fingers inside of you and curling them just so, and an obscenely loud moan left your mouth to his delight.

“Good?” He questioned, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t moving too fast for you as he leisurely pulled his fingers out.

“G-Good, don’t stop-” You were cut off by another moan, and decided to give up on speech altogether as you felt another bubble up in your chest.

He took it a step further, lightly leaving pecks across your bruised chest, and then a step further, purposefully pressing his palm against your clit every time he delved into your core.

Not only was it good, it was also unfair and even embarrassing, considering how quickly he was bringing you to your peak.

He had you twisting, clenching, whimpering and writhing under his grasp within three minutes, and even if he stopped it wouldn’t prevent the white wave of euphoria that was approaching.

“God, Jisung, I-”

You broke under him right then and there, shaking and gasping as your release overtook you in blissful waves of pleasure. Jisung helped you through it, pressing his fingers into you until your moans turned into whimpers and your shaking into trembling.

It took you forever to completely come down from your high, but Jisung used this time to get himself ready, leaning back on his heels and unzipping his own pants as you tried to catch your breath. You could almost feel him smiling at you before you opened your eyes, chest still heaving as he flashed that shit-eating grin in your direction.

“That good, huh?” he chuckled, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough so his length could spring free.

“Oh fuck me.”

“One step ahead of you.”

A cold shiver ran up your spine as you finally registered what he was doing, your core clenching on nothing despite it being only a minute since you came. In any other situation, you would have snapped back at him for being so snarky, but with the hollow feeling in your core being somewhat uncomfortable, you figured that keeping your mouth shut would have him filling you faster.

One condom later and you were seconds away from the anticipated moment, watching through lidded eyes as he carefully brought your wrists down to untie them. Your pants were next to come off, and his soon followed, but only halfway; you assumed that your impatience had finally caught up to him.

And you couldn’t even blame him—he looked painfully hard after the show you had put on for him.

He pumped himself only three times before leaning over you again, and then a strange look crossed his face as he froze.

“Wait, I’m okay to do this right?” He asked, looking between your eyes and where your hips met. “I just realized I never asked-”

“Han Jisung if you won’t I will,” you pleaded, urging him on, and he gave you a crooked smile before drawing in a deep breath.

He pushed inside of you slowly, ignoring every painful urge he had to quickly bottom out inside you and alleviate the burning need in his lower abdomen. A string of hushed curses left your mouth; this wasn’t your first time, but it might as well have been with how much the feeling of being stretched out was overwhelming you.

He made it to the end with a small whimper, dipping his head forward into your shoulder as he tried to steady himself.

“Can I move?”

“Knock yourself out,” You whispered, eyes squeezed shut from the sensation of adjusting to him fully.

He started out slow, each drag of his cock against your walls eliciting a low whine from you as he rolled his hips against yours. One hand pinned your hips to the bed, while the other held him up next to your head, giving him the option to lean down and capture the skin of your neck between his teeth whenever he pleased.

“You feel so good, fuck,” he groaned, grinding deeper into your core with every thrust. At his words, you could only pull his face down to meet yours, silencing him with a kiss in hopes that he would talk less. Otherwise, his pleasure-ridden voice alone would bring you to climax.

He happily kissed away all of your moans and whimpers, sucking on your bottom lip until you both were panting too much to keep a cohesive liplock.

His hips were starting to slam against yours now, that erotic sound of skin on skin slapping finally reverberating around the room and joining the chorus of your moans. Your toes curled, body barely able to process the pleasure building inside of you as moans helplessly tumbled out of your lips.

“Tell me what I h-have to do to get you there,” he choked out, worried that he might not get you to finish again in time.

“Fingers- ah, please-”

He knew exactly what you meant, moving the hand that was on your hip to your clit and gently rubbing it in the way that had you moaning his name before.

His breaths became heavy and his thrusts started to lose their rhythm; both things that you were sure were signs of his release drawing near, but you could barely focus on that when yours was practically hurtling toward you, threatening to spill you over the edge before he broke.

“Jisung, I c-can’t—” Words finally left you as you felt your whole body start to tense up, and Jisung let out a loud moan from the sudden tightening around his length.

“Come. Come all over me baby,” He whispered breathlessly, using the last bit of his stamina to thrust harder into you, until you couldn’t take it for another second.

You came undone for the second time that night, shaking and moaning beneath him as he pounded into you twice more, before he caved as well, just barely holding himself off of you as he emptied his load into the condom. Careful to not wait until he was too soft, he pulled his length out of you, subsequently falling onto the sheets next to you as he caught his breath.

“So I take it we’re not just friends?” He mused, a cheeky grin poking out from under the sheets. You slapped his back playfully, rolling away from him before he caught your hips with his hands, pulling you flush against his warm chest.

“Shut the fuck up.”

[skyminniesworld]

I remember commenting on this on Instagram because it hit all the spots for me and I thought you might've read my thoughts and now some years later you're still reading them because this fits my life so much. So confess: You are a mind reader aren't you?

Anyway I just love this piece. So happy to read it again!

[abiaswreck]

Arrangement

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Felix(maybe?) x Fem Reader

Summary: You needed some extra money as you tried to balance your work and college life. Felix wanted your company and would do anything to have it no matter the cost. (Slightly aged up Felix.)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI due to adult content. Unprotected sex, oral(male receiving), fingering, overstimulation, and Felix has a slight asphyxiation kink(Not sorry).

Word Count: 8,600 and some change.

Author’s Note: Yet another early birthday gift for @lee--felix. I don’t have an explanation for this and I don’t think I need one. I just write whatever these days. Work of fiction. Doesn’t represent Felix or Stray Kids in any way.

Tag List: @lee--felix, @lex-thesimpzzz, @nymeriaaa, @hyuckilstan, @lilacboba, @9900z (Message me if you’d like to be added. You’ll be notified when I post!)

You smiled to yourself seeing the familiar blonde walk into the bar. Lee Felix was your favorite customer to come in these days. Your usual boring Tuesday shift got better knowing he was here tonight. Felix was the ideal customer. Sweet, polite, and filthy rich. The man knew to tip well, and you were happy he was becoming a regular. What he would tip you in a night would outshine what you earned all week, even with your best customer service and flirty persona when customers wanted it.

Not to mention he seemed to want you to serve him. As soon as he found out you had a set of booths and tables, he was there. Politely declining other servers and asking for you. You didn’t mind. Felix was easy on the eyes and the low voice paired with an Australian accent made you melt. On nights where the bar was dead, he would ask you to keep him company. Gladly you accepted to keep distracted as time crept on. As long as customers were taken care of, staff and management didn’t care for the mingling. Usually earned more money for keeping customers longer, anyway.

Giving yourself a once over in the mirror by the bar, you made your way over to Felix to great him. “Ah, I see you’re back. How was Milan?”

A smile appeared on his face as he looked up from his phone. “Good. Flight was a bitch but just happy to be here and see you.”

“Well, hand over that card of yours and you can have me.” Felix chuckled at your comment and reached for his wallet. The card was now in your hand as you waited to see what he wanted to order. He seemed to be undecided how he wanted to start tonight. “Do you want me to surprise you with something?”

There was a cute pout on his face as he nodded. “Can you make it sweet?”

You loved his playfulness, giggling in response. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

You turned away to make your way back to the bar. Starting a tab with his card and keeping it secure behind the counter. You moved around to find the items you needed to make his drink. A few patrons at the counter started a conversation with the bartender next to you. You gave your two cents to the conversation but not letting it distract you. You wouldn’t make Felix wait.

When you return to his booth, you placed the cocktail down, and he cautiously examined it. You smiled as he smelled it and gave you a confused look. Felix took a sip, then making a sound of approval before downing another larger sip. You were happy he liked it. Felix wasn’t too picky with his alcohol preferences, so he was always open to trying new trendy drinks.

You plopped down in the booth across from him. “We’re calling it the pineapple upside down cake.”

“I love it. Why do you always know what I like?”

You gave a shrug. “You have a sweet tooth like I do, so I figured you’d like it.”

The conversation was standard to what usually happened when you sat to talk to him. He’d ask about how college was treating you and you’d return with questions about his modeling career. You had found out Felix was originally an idol for nearly a decade before becoming a full-time model. He shared all kinds of stories and you loved to listen. In return, Felix seemed to enjoy having someone around to talk to. You were happy you could provide that for him as you worked. Slow nights with him made up for the shitty busy nights where you didn’t get a minute to yourself.

Felix seemed different tonight, though. Something about him was off. He was almost anxious. You were noticing even with the alcohol he was tense. It was unusual for him to act like this and you wanted to help. As much as you enjoyed him as a customer, his well-being mattered more. Especially if you needed to cut him off early tonight.

Genuine concern was in your voice. “Felix, are you okay?”

“I knew you’d pick up on it. I have something to ask you. Well, an offer actually.” You looked at him confused, but Felix seemed to struggle with getting his thoughts out. He was always so calm and suave. Now, to see him like this was a little strange, but by the time you wanted to say something, he spoke up again. “What if I hired you for a job? It’s a weird job, but the money would be good.”

“That’s kinda vague and suspicious. Don’t tell me you’re in the mob or something.”

He laughed, “No, I’m not. I’m looking for companionship. You know, with my schedule, I can’t commit to a relationship, but it’s lonely. So I want to pay you for your time.”

A smile found its way onto your face. “Felix, are you asking if you want me to be sugar baby for you?”

Felix didn’t seem too keen on the word choice. “That’s one way one to put it.”

You laughed at him but quickly realizing he was serious. This was a genuine offer he was making you. If anyone could afford to pay for a sugar baby, it would be him. It almost sounded too good to be true. However, on the other hand, you could quit working at the bar or at the very least go part time and actually have more time for studies.

Felix pulled your attention back to him as he spoke again. “What will it take to prove to you I’m serious?”

You got up from the booth as customers walked by the two of you, heading straight to one of your tables. “Come back with a thousand in cash and I’ll quit on the spot. Rent is due this week.”

You had never intended Felix to be committed to his offer. The night he brought it up, he had quickly left after closing his tab while you were busy with other customers. Originally, you were worried you had upset him, but the next night you worked, Felix was there before you had even clocked in. You had stepped into the bar seeing him leaning against the wall, coat still wrapped around him.

His face lit up as he saw you. “Ah, I’m glad I caught you.”

Felix pulled out an envelope offered it to you. You reached cautiously, feeling it slightly heavy in your hands. There was cash was inside the envelope. You felt your heart skip a beat seeing the crisp hundred bills tucked neatly inside. Certain there was easily more than a thousand in there. “You were actually serious.”

There was confidence radiating from Felix as you looked at him. The corners of his lips occasionally turning up in a smile as you stood dumbfounded. Now you were unsure what to do. He kept his end of the deal and now was your turn. You had no intention of quitting your job. At least not yet till you learned more about this job opportunity with Felix. It was a Thursday, so work would be moderately busy, but not as bad as a weekend night. You quickly decided to just take the absence as excitement coursed through you. This was a potential once in a lifetime offer and you wanted to take the risk. The struggle to make ends meet was still present even with the bar tending job and here Felix was practically throwing money away.

You immediately turned on your heel after excusing yourself, heading straight through the tables over to the bar where your coworker Ji-hun was working. He was setting up for the evening shift. There were a couple of regulars here already, but as usual, the bar was empty this early in the night. Ji-hun saw the look on your face as you approached, the smile he had immediately fallen off replaced with confusion.

A shaky hand of yours gripped onto the edge of the counter. “Ji, I’m sorry. I need to call out tonight.”

“Are you okay?” There was immediate concern about you. He knew how badly you needed the money. You rarely called out, knowing you were the first to pick up shifts even if you were exhausted. You weren’t able to get any words out before Ji-hun was already assuring you he’d be fine and telling you to take care of what you needed to. “It’s gonna be dead. Plus, I can call Kaja. He wanted an easy extra shift.”

Perks of being a hard worker, you guessed. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you! I’ll make it up to you.”

Not wanting to elaborate further, you pushed off the bar to make your way towards Felix. He was already making his way out the door as you tucked the envelope of cash into a pocket of your jacket that had a zipper, not wanting to lose it. You’d count it later, more curious about what the plan was with Felix.

Felix was looking down the sidewalk as you bundled your coat tighter around you. “Have you eaten?”

You quickly shook your head, feeling your stomach rumble at the idea of food. “Uh, no. I was running late to work tonight.”

“Good. I know a place down the street. We can go talk more about this job.”

Felix started leading you down the sidewalk as you walked beside him. Silence fell between you to as your nerves ate at you. You were unsure what was coming over you. Felix wasn’t a complete stranger by any means with how often he came into the bar, but it surprised you at how easily you were willing to take up the offer. You didn’t want Felix to think you were desperate for cash.

Unfortunately, you needed the money. Not only for your own expenses and survival, but for your family. You sent whatever extra you could back home to your parents. Your father was sick with his illness again. You hadn’t opened about it to anyone except a couple close friends not wanting to talk about it. The whole situation depressing knowing there wasn’t much you could do as he stayed in the hospice for care. Insurance was doing what it could to cover expenses, but wasn’t enough for your parents. Your dad deserved the care and wanted him to recover again. Perhaps this extra money from Felix could make a difference.

After a few minutes, the two of you had approached a small hole in the wall restaurant. You had never tried the place but passed it a few times while living in the neighborhood. It was always open late and looked fairly empty as the two of you neared the entrance. Felix opening the door to hold as you passed him to enter. The smell of food hitting you like a brick wall. His food idea was more appealing to you. The place seemed pretty discreet as Felix lead you to a booth.

You continued to take in your surroundings, admiring the decorations. “How do you know this place?”

“Used to come here with my members back in the day. We would finish practice late at night and then come here to eat.”

You nodded as you settled into your seat. Jacket of yours coming off so you could get comfortable. Menus placed in front of the both of you as a waitress came. She reminded you of yourself as you worked. Genuine kindness and service to make anyone’s night better. The two of replying with drink orders before she left with a smile, letting you two decide on what to order.

“I recommend these.” Felix reached over to point at a couple of items. You scanned over the descriptions as he went on about his favorites. “Get whatever you want, though. It’s on me.”

You let silence fall between you two as you continue to look over your options. A few of Felix’s suggestions sounded good enough to try, but you weren’t sure how much you could eat. As hungry as you were, nerves still had your stomach flip flopping. Perhaps something light to hold you over. You had woken up not so long ago as well and not used to having a full meal this time of day before work.

Once the food had been ordered, Felix cut straight to the chase. “How much do you need a month to be comfortable?”

“That’s a good question.” You pulled your phone out, resting it on the table. Clicking through to your note app where you kept track of your expenses. You could feel your face reddening as you double checked for accuracy. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Don’t.” Felix looked unaffected as you glanced over at him, placing his straw in his drink. “I’m literally paying for your time. That’s more valuable than most things.”

You nodded at his words. He had a point; time was everything, and it felt like you never had enough hours in a day. You were tired more often than not, just needed extra time to recover. What you’d give for a vacation but knew you couldn’t afford one. At least not in the current position. Perhaps this chance could change everything. You’d hear him out and see what he was proposing in his offer.

“I could survive off twenty-five hundred a month.”

Felix seemed to ponder on your words. “So three thousand then? I can do that.”

He couldn’t be serious. You scoffed at him. “Felix, that’s a lot of money.”

“Then I’ll make sure I’m demanding with your time then. I had a contract made for you if you wanted to see it. It doesn’t have all the details yet because I wanted to run it by you.”

Felix’s phone was placed down next to yours, as you could see a file on the screen. You immediately zoomed in to read the contents. It surprised you how prepared he was. Perhaps he had been thinking about this for a while. He had been coming to the bar regularly for months now. As you read, you wondered how he skirted around with his word choices. Noticing it simply mentioning funds for the labor you provided.

Felix was speaking as you continued to read the document. Nothing stood out as a red flag. “Sex would be involved, but that would be down the line. Are you alright with that?”

Your cheeks flushed as you looked back up at him, seeing concern on his face. Sure, Felix was attractive and your type, but the whole situation hadn’t sunk in yet. He would pay for that companionship like he mentioned, and you knew it would include sex. The idea of being paid for sleeping with him did not turn you off. Just embarrassed at such boldness from him in such a public space. “Yeah, I can do that. Just need a little time.”

“You’ll need to get tested.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “For what?“

“Diseases. If we’re gonna have sex, I think we both deserve to be honest with each other. I can get you my results too, so that way you know I’m clean.”

“Oh right. I didn’t think of that.”

“I can sense the hesitation. Don’t stress. I can wait till you’re more comfortable with me. That can come later.”

It honestly surprised you at how calm you were. You weren’t apprehensive about the request at all. However, part of you wondering what got into you. You never entertained the idea of a job like this, but for Felix, you wanted to. The idea alone was thrilling. Felix had been treating you well as a customer and you were sure he could as an employer.

“If you’re uncomfortable with all this, you can say no. I won’t force you to do this.”

“No, I’m not. I guess I just don’t know why me, of all people.”

“You’ve always been so amiable. I enjoy our nights at the bar to the point I want more of it. Plus, I can pay you more than that place so you can actually focus on things you want to. We both win in this situation.”

The free time you would get from not working full time was enough to convince you to take the offer. Deep down, you already knew you were going to say yes, but forced yourself to weigh your options. Three thousand a month was a lot more than what you were bringing in. That money could do a lot of good for you.

“Alright, let’s do this. If you agree to fifteen hundred twice a month, I’ll do it.”

“Deal.”

You sighed as you felt Felix’s fingers run through your hair as the two of you were cuddled on his couch. The movie on the screen merely background noise at this point. Last you looked, Felix had his eyes closed, not falling asleep but enjoying the moment of peace. His jet lag giving him a rough time adjusting back to the time zone. You swore you’d help keep him awake for at least three more hours before he could finally crash.

Your voice was soft as you spoke. “You still with me, Lix?”

A silent nod from him as hugged you closer to him. Brown eyes finally opening as he smiled at you. A yawn leaving him and you giggled in response. You knew he wanted to sleep. He was trying his best to stay awake. With a grumble from him, you pushed off his chest to sit up. “Let me make you some coffee. Does that sound nice?”

His hand fell off your body as you rose to get up. You could hear him sit up on the couch. “Please.”

You made your way over to his kitchen, already knowing where he kept his instant coffee. You quickly placed the pod of coffee in the coffeemaker as you reached for a mug. A press of a button and the coffee started to brew. You sighed as you were waiting, contemplating making a cup for yourself. You were planning on staying up late tonight with midterms coming up. One paper close to being wrapped up, and you were sure you could finish it tonight.

Two months into the arrangement and things were smoothing out for you. The closer you were getting to Felix, the easier the job became. The free time already helping you catch up on schoolwork. Stress levels of yours going down as your time with Felix didn’t truly feel like work. The two of you mostly going out for dinner or events that Felix needed to attend to. The last two weeks introduced you to spending time with him at his condo. Felix saying he wanted some moments of privacy with you.

You were quick to realize Felix was one for physical contact. Hugs when you met up for the night, hand holding at restaurants, and cuddling in his car, and now in his place when you joined him. You didn’t mind in the slightest happy to oblige his requests. Felix kept his word on not pushing sex till you were comfortable with it, but the thought was indeed more appealing the more of you two hung out.

You came back with the cup of coffee, offering the handle to him. “Oh, before I forget. I need an advance from you.”

Felix took the cup from you, replying before he took a sip. “How much do you need?”

“Four hundred. I need to take an additional lab this semester. There is finally an opening, but I don’t have enough for the class.”

There was a playful smirk appearing on his face as he placed the mug down on the coffee table. “Then you’ll have to find a way to earn it.”

Without a second thought, you kneeled in front of him, your knees hitting the soft plush rug as you moved between his parted legs. Felix’s eyes were wide as he stared at you, not expecting such a bold action from you so soon. Your hands finding his thighs as you slowly ran them up closer to his crotch.

“That’s not what I had in mind, but that is the quickest way to get the money.” His hands found yours, stopping you from pulling down his pajama pants. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

You gave a nod. “Yes. It was in the agreement, anyway.”

“But I want you to be comfortable with this. Not doing it because you have to.”

You rolled your eyes, letting an annoyed tone come through. “Just let me suck your dick.”

Felix’s hands immediately left yours as he let out a laugh. Clearly not going to stop you after a remark like that. Your fingers tucked under the waistband of the material and Felix’s hips rose just enough to let you pull the clothing down to free his cock. His cock hardening as you reached for it. This wasn’t your first experience with someone, but it had been a minute since you’d had sex. Your goal was to take it slow and try your best to bring Felix as much pleasure as you could.

“Fuck,” A breathy sigh left him as Felix felt your tongue against the tip of his cock, licking up the first drop of pre-cum that had formed. He seemed to sink further into the couch as the sensation caused him to throw his head back. You licked down his shaft to provide enough lubrication for your hand that stroked him, feeling him become more erect.

Felix was a decent size as you guided his cock past your lips. You started with light sucks as you gradually got used to the cock in your mouth. As you worked more of him into your mouth, you focused on your breathing. You were quick to find a pattern, letting yourself enjoy the sounds Felix was making. His moans were low but deep in tone as he let them out.

“Oh, what a pretty little mouth you have.” You glanced up to see Felix gazing down at you with lidded eyes. A wide smile on his face as you pulled away to stoke his cock while you let yourself have a moment to breathe. Out of practice, but still willing to satisfy him. Your lips coming down to give an experimental suck on his balls. Another moan leaving him as he continued to watch you. “Someone is eager to please me. Don’t worry, baby. Make me come and I’ll let you have whatever you want.”

The money was the last thing on your mind as your mouth found the tip of his cock once more. You happily took him back into your mouth, hungrily sucking as Felix filled the room with moans. His hands finding your hair to help hold it away from your face as well to give him a better view of your actions. Felix was losing his composure under you as he lightly bucked up into your mouth. He was trying his best to remain still, but you knew he was getting close to his high.

“You’re being so good for me. Letting me use this mouth of yours.” You enjoyed the praises from him. They simply encouraged you. You stared up the best could through your eyelashes to look at him. You got a groan in response as the two of you made eye contact. “Fuck. Keep looking at me. I’m close.”

You let Felix have complete control when his bucks were becoming aggressive. A hand of yours cupping his balls, feeling your own saliva dripped down from your mouth and had coated them. The second squeeze from your hand earning you a hiss as Felix pushed you down further onto his cock. Nose flat against his pubic bone as you reacted to the sudden thrust. His action surprised you, trying to swallow as quickly as you could as you felt his hot seed spill into your mouth.

Felix’s hands released their hold on you as he basked in the afterglow of his orgasm. You pulled back, giving a few last licks across the sensitive tip, enjoying the flinching from Felix. His eyes were on you once more. You sat on your knees with a smug smirk. He looked pleased as he stared you down. The blissful look still on his face as he motioned you to come closer. “Come here.”

You climbed up into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Knees falling onto either side of his hips as you lightly brushed your lips against his own. Felix leaned forward into the kiss and you felt his arms wrap around you, holding you to him. Felix was always greedy for your lips. You recalled him saying a few days ago how much he longed for your lips against his. You wouldn’t deny him, especially with his passionate kisses. Felix always kissing you with such vigor as if this was the last chance he’d get.

A whimper left you as you felt one of Felix’s hands come between you two to dip under your clothing to your needy core. There was no hiding how wet you had become. You gasped into Felix’s mouth as slipped two fingers into you. Felix took the chance to slip his tongue past your lips, letting it wrestle with yours as he aggressively worked his fingers. You hadn’t expected such a reaction from his touch, but your body felt on fire as the knot in your stomach quickly forming.

Felix pulled away, breathless. “Grind.”

You nodded at the command and worked yourself against his hand. The palm of his hand providing just enough friction against your clit. It had been too long since someone had touched you and you needed to get off. It wouldn’t be long till you fell apart, especially with Felix letting praises leave him as you continued to work yourself. His words going straight to your head. “Such a good girl indeed. Keep going.”

You let your head rest on his shoulder as you felt your orgasm sneaking up on you. A desperate whine leaving you. “Gonna come.”

The deep voice of his was barely loud enough to hear as he spoke into your ear. “Come, then.”

A curse left you as you picked up your pace. The knot quickly unraveling as you rode out your high. Pitiful moans leaving you right into Felix’s ear as you slowly let yourself stop after the waves of pleasure died down. You rested against Felix, clinging on to him as you let yourself collect your bearings.

You pulled away just enough to let Felix remove his hand out of your clothing. The wet digits brought to your lips, and you took them into your mouth, tasting yourself on them. You sucked his fingers clean as Felix stared with a raised eyebrow. You pulled away, feeling your cheeks redden. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” A chuckle left him as you buried your head into his shoulder. “I’m just appreciating what you’re giving me.”

You didn’t respond but rested against him, waiting for the blush to fade. Eyes shut, just enjoying his warmth against you. You felt him reach for his phone on the arm of the couch. You wouldn’t push for the money, knowing you didn’t have to. Sure enough, a few seconds later, you could hear a ding of a notification from your phone.

You climbed off of him back to the floor to reach for your phone. There was a smile on your face as you read the bank notification of the transferred funds. You immediately opened your phone and sent a payment to your college to pay for the lab so you wouldn’t have to worry about it later. Once taken care of, you looked over to Felix. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I know you do.” Felix leaned forward, pulling you back into his hold. He reached for your phone and tossed it further down the couch, away from you two. A sigh leaving him as he felt you rest against him. “I’m tired and it’s getting late. Spend the night with me?”

“Lix, I have a class in the morning.”

He rolled his eyes as an annoyed look took up his face. “Stay the night and I’ll take you to class in the morning.”

You couldn’t help but pout at him. “But if I stay, I won’t want to go to class.”

He quickly scoffed as his grip tightened the second you tried to pull away. “That’s your problem. I want you to stay the night.”

Six months flew by as the two of you continue to meet up. Your sessions were averaging to three nights a week, sometimes more, depending on Felix’s schedule and wants. You were a little heartbroken knowing he was going to be gone for a couple of weeks. He had a few fashion shows in New York that work forced him to attend. He offered to bring you with him, but unfortunately it was finals week for you.

The two of you taking advantage of what little time he had left before he left. You were resting against his sweaty frame in his bed. Both coming down from post orgasm haze as the two of you composed yourselves. Heart rates and breathing finally settling. Felix’s stamina surprising even you tonight. Now that sex was routine, Felix seemed always in need of you. The two of you finding new ways to play with each other to keep up with the demand. You didn’t mind in the slightest as Felix paid attention to your wants, making sure he achieved your pleasure just as much as his own.

The moment of happy cuddling interrupted by Felix. “I want you to move in with me.”

You sighed against him, not wanting to have this conversation again this week. “Lixie, I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’ll be cheaper than that crummy apartment you’re in now. I’m never here to use it, anyway.”

You playfully smacked his chest. “Because you already pay me too much as it is. I’ll feel so guilty living here.”

Felix’s fingers found your chin to force you to look up at him. His eyes searching yours. “Then I’ll rent my condo out to you. You wanted to save money for your dad, and this gives you an opportunity to do so.”

You pulled away from his hold, annoyance in your voice as you sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t do that Felix.”

There was a scowl on your face as you looked back at him. You hated when he pulled at your heartstrings to convince you to accept more of his money. Especially now that you had opened up to him about your father’s health. You had no problem calling him out on his manipulation that he was quick to rebuttal that it wasn’t.

“Look, I know you don’t like it when I overstep, but I want what’s best for you.” Felix still pressed on, even with you getting upset. Now he was sitting up and reaching for you to pull you close. You fought to brush his hands away, but he didn’t let up and a few seconds later, he jerked you back into his embrace. His arms were now tight around you, forcing you to remain locked in his arms. “You know damn well this condo sits empty. It’s one of the two I own. Let me rent it out to you.”

A huff left you too tired to fight your way out of the hold. “Then you’re adjusting the contract on how much you money you’re giving me.”

“You know damn well I could pay your wages in advance if I wanted to.” An eye roll from you as you told him not to brag. Another habit of his that you hated. You clearly knew he had the money, but he didn’t need to remind you about it. “I’m not bragging. I want you to stop worrying about how I spend my money and let me take care of you.”

You were hitting a breaking point. Almost ready to leave for the night. The two of you never fought, but had conversations like this that could end messy and heated. You knew Felix was getting attached to you. Felix was an open book with his emotions. He practically fought with himself to not say the familiar love word. In the back of your mind, you knew he wasn’t the only one getting attached. However, getting feelings involved made you feel ashamed of the whole situation. Felix shouldn’t have to buy your love and you didn’t want him to.

Now was the time to give him a quick reminder you weren’t his partner or lover. Just an employee. “You bought my time, not the right to control me.”

“I don’t want to control you.” There was irritation present in his voice, clearly annoyed with the statement from you. His grip constricting once more the second you shifted against him. Felix let out a sigh before speaking again. “Listen to me. I care a lot about you. I know I said I wouldn’t mention it, but I do. Renting this place out to you saves me money and helps you. I would be spending less. Isn’t that what you want?”

Felix was right, that was what you wanted. You had paid off your debt and had a decent amount in savings, even with sending money to your parents. Perhaps this would be an excellent opportunity for you. You wanted to pick up working again as well. Even if it was just part time. The sense of independence again with your own money you earned and not his own. You missed the bar tending job, and you knew you could go back at any time. Then perhaps you could talk to Felix about ending the contract. Clearly, a genuine relationship was forming, and you knew the both of you could only skirt around the love word for so long.

A smirk found its way on your face. “Okay, Daddy. Whatever you want.”

You let out a giggle as soon as you heard a growl from Felix. He loathed the pet name and you only use it to defuse situations. He was quick to wrestle you under him as more of your giggling filled the room. Felix successfully pinned you under him in a matter of seconds. Now staring up at him, getting lost in his brown eyes as he brushed the stray hairs out of your face.

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

You playfully shrugged. “But I love your reaction. It’s funny.”

You felt a hand of his slip between you, giving you a cue to spread your legs apart, knowing he was ready for another round. “I’ll cut back your funds.”

“I’ll just pout at you then.”

Felix’s cock was hard again as he ran the tip up and down your folds. A gasp leaving you as he pressed into you once more. The mix of fluids from the previous session guiding him in with ease. A wide smile was back on his face as he rocked his hips into you. “Then I’ll just bend you over my couch and fuck your brains out till we’re both happy.”

Moving into Felix’s condo took a couple of months. The two of you were still struggling with the subject of the contact. You were desperately trying to show Felix that you didn’t care for the money at this point. The funds were needed, but you didn’t need the amount he pushed on you. That you didn’t need money to fulfill your wants. You had everything you needed now, but he pressed it was a staple for the two of you. That it’s what he could offer you to keep you happy. Not understanding that he was happiness. You were going to sit him down and talk things out. Money didn’t equal love, and you were determined to drill it into him.

Now here you were moving in your belongings, still thinking about your words. Unsure what to say to convince him to keep his money. You just wanted him and he was a fool for not understanding. He clearly wanted you, so why couldn’t he just accept your own feelings? He had no reason to be so set on that damn contract.

You set a box down as you turned to the help that brought their truck over to your larger furniture. “Chan right? Thank you again for helping me move.”

“Chris or Chan. I respond to either.” Chan stood up straight, dusting off his hands as he turned to face you. Wide grin on his face as he gave a shrug. “And it’s really no problem. I was free anyway.”

“Well, you came to my rescue. Felix wanted to rent a whole moving company for my tiny apartment when I just need a truck for my bookcases.”

“He gets like that. It worked out. I’ve been meaning to meet you.”

You hadn’t met most of Felix’s friends. Only meeting Minho and Jeongin for dinner on a couple of occasions. Work usually swamped Felix with traveling, and by the time he was home, he just wanted to spend his free time with you. He promised he’d let you met all his old members and give them a chance to tell all the embarrassing stories they had to you. It impressed you that the group of eight had stayed so close, even with their disbandment. Yourself not even having a best friend for that length of time, let alone seven of them.

“He speaks so highly of you.” Your curiosity now peeked, wondering if Chan knew if your arrangement or if Felix had just told him you were his girlfriend. Chan leaned against the couch, crossing his feet at his ankles as he continued talking. “He’s been lonely for a long time. I don’t know everything about you two, but I’m happy he found you. He’s back to himself and not on that dark path he was on.”

You gave a weak smile. “I think it’s mutual. Felix has done a lot for me, and I’ll never be able to repay that.”

“I don’t want to see him like that again.” There was no ill intent in Chan’s words, but you could see his face get serious. “Please keep being good to him.”

“Don’t worry, I will. I adore him.”

Felix made his way back through the front door with two boxes. He sent them down by his couch and you could see he still had his smile from this morning plastered on his face as he told the two of you that all of your belongings were finally in the condo. He was definitely more excited about you being here than yourself. You couldn’t help but smile back, now more motivated than before to talk to him about ending the contract.

The two of you were a couple clear as day and you wanted to be. The only thing the two of you missing was that dumb little love word. You wanted to say it to him, but still held back. You’d feel better being officially together, especially now with your own income again. It took some convincing on your part, but you told Felix you enjoyed the part-time work. Three nights a week wouldn’t kill him, especially with the six fashion seasons that kept him busy. Binging tv shows getting boring rather quickly when you weren’t working on schoolwork.

Felix made his way over to you to wrap an arm around your waist. “Do you want to stay for dinner? She’s a superb cook.”

Chan has reached behind him to pick up his jacket off the couch and slipping it on. “I can’t, sadly. The wife has dinner plans for us, but you two should swing by sometime. Come check out the new studio I built.”

You looked at Felix, knowing his schedule was fairly empty. “Maybe this weekend?”

There was a nod from Felix, and Chan was on board with the idea. With plans made, Chan made his way out of the condo. Felix slipping away to close the door behind Chan as he left. Now or never would be the best time to talk. “Lix, we need to talk.”

Felix’s smile fell as he pushed off the door, concerned as he noticed your fidgeting hands. “About what?”

“I want you to void the contract.”

“What?” There was panic in his voice as it became unstable. “W-Why? I thought we were doing so well.”

“We are. I want to be with you. The guilt of the contract is too much for me. I love you and I know you love me. Let’s just make this easier on both of us.”

Felix was silent as he shifted the weight on his feet. The lack of response surprised you. Now worried you had misjudged him. Perhaps he wasn’t ready for such a discussion. You had been convinced the two of you were on the same page. With certainty you had heard him whisper he loved you last night when he thought you were asleep in his arms.

You could see tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “Felix, say something.”

The bottom lip of his was lightly trembling, and such a reaction took aback you. This was completely out of character for him. Sure, he’d cried through a movie, but this wasn’t normal. “Voiding the contract means you could leave. I don’t want you to leave.”

“Why would I leave? I’m telling you I want you as a partner. I just don’t want you to pay for it.” You closed the distance between you two, reaching for his face. Your thumbs wiping the tears away. “Do you think I don’t genuinely love you?”

“We’ve never talked about it.”

Felix seemed overwhelmed. A pang of pain hit your heart. This was not your intention. Felix had a lot of love to give and you knew this. He just struggled not having the normal opportunities of a relationship. You wanted to give him that. Show him nothing was going to change. A piece of paper with some signatures being voided wasn’t going to have you running for the hills. Him not giving you money would not have you falling out of love with him.

“Hey, listen to me. I could have left at any point, and I didn’t. Your busy schedule doesn’t deter me away from you. Don’t be afraid of commitment. You’ve already done it this long.”

He nodded but stay silent. You continued speaking now with a small smile on your face. The longer you looked at his sad eyes, the more emotional you became. You were telling him this whole relationship wasn’t ever truly about the money. That’s why you two fought so hard over him sending funds. The relationship you formed was about Felix finding out that he could have happiness and love in his hectic life. That he deserved the love he wanted.

“You said you wanted to give me what I need, right? That you wanted to take care of me?” There was more nodding from Felix as he listened intently to your words. “Then do this for me and void it. I want you, not the money. For my sanity, I need you to get rid of it. Please.”

“Okay. I will, but I'm still gonna send you money though. I like not having to remember to pay the bills.”

You chuckled at him, “I can do that for you.”

He blurted his next words out, “I love you.”

“And I love you.” You placed a light kiss on his nose. “It feels great to say it.”

“Nothing is gonna change, right? You’re still mine?”

“All yours, baby.” You sighed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “You can even still spoil me all you want. I know I won’t be able to stop you.”

Felix’s eyes opened when he heard you shut the bedroom door. You knew it was unavoidable in waking him, but you had hoped you’d be quiet enough to sneak in. A smile on his face when he realized it was you that disturbed him. He looked adorable as he stretched. His hair was all over the place as he moved to lie on his back.

“Get over here.”

Felix’s voice was always deeper in the morning. It always took you surprised it could get lower. You had teased him about it every time. His favorite joke of yours being a crack about water damage in those pipes of his. Made no sense but still got him to laugh.

You stripped yourself off your shoes and jeans before slipping under the blankets to join him on the bed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come last night. Weather delayed my flight.”

Felix was quick to pull you to his hold. Your head resting on his bare chest as his arms held you to him. “I know, baby. I’m not mad. It wasn’t your fault.”

You immediately melted into his embrace, overjoyed feeling his warmth against you. “Thank you for sending a driver.”

He was mumbling, still not fully awake. Eyes already shut again. “I wanted to see you first thing.”

“Did you miss me?”

A scoff left him. “What kind of question is that? Of course I did. The longest week of my life.”

You had spent a week of your school break with your parents, finally getting the time to see them. A vacation for the first time and you loved every minute. Even your dad making significant progress in his recovery and up for the company. Felix was upset he couldn’t go with you, but you assured him there would be a next time. Already longing to go back. Swearing to yourself, you wouldn’t go that long without seeing them again. However, that was pushed to the side because now all you wanted was Felix.

Felix groaned as you moved to sit on top of him. “Need you now.”

You couldn’t hide the smirk on your face as you felt his cock already hardening under you. “Yeah, do you need my help?”

Another low guttural groan left Felix as he felt you grind your clothed core against him. A helpless whine leaving him as he writhed under you. “Baby, don’t tease me.”

You reached between your thighs to push the material of your panties to the side. Felix’s hand already pushing his briefs down enough to free his cock. The tip blindly prodding at your opening. You slowly worked his cock into you as you sank down. Your hands finding their way to his chest as you took a moment to adjust to the stretch. Felix’s hands gripping onto the sheets as he softly cursed. You loved the sight below you as Felix’s mouth hung open and whatever moan he had was trapped in his throat.

You were proud seeing such a reaction out of him. “You missed me.”

“Always. Especially when you send me inappropriate videos to taunt me.”

“Here I thought you’d appreciate them.”

What you would give for him to keep his morning voice all day. “Appreciate this more.”

You had to agree with his words. A happy sigh leaving you as you worked yourself up and down his length. Felix’s eyes finally opening to watch you as you moved. His hands slowly making their way to the hem of your shirt, signaling he wanted you to take it off. Taking the recommendation, you pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it to the side. Your bra soon joining the shirt on the floor as you watched Felix take you in. You loved how he always had a look of adoration on his face. He would worship you if you’d give him the opportunity, and you weren’t about to stop him.

Your hands trailed up to Felix’s neck. A blissful smile appearing on his face as he felt your hands squeeze the sides of his neck like he enjoyed. You were still apprehensive about with the action but he had assured you he wasn’t in any real danger. Teaching you on a previous occasion how he would tap your arm three times if he needed air.

A croak left Felix as your hips picked up speed. Back arching up off the bed as you applied more pressure against his throat. He was already teetering on the edge of an orgasm and you wanted him to fall apart under you. As soon as you saw his eyes rollback into his head, you released your hold on his neck earning you a sharp inhale followed by the neediest moan you had ever heard from him. His cum suddenly painting your walls as you rode him through his high into overstimulation.

A whine fell from your lips as your own need was building. “Lix, I wanna come on your cock.”

Felix was panting under you as he nodded. Bringing a hand to you against you to let his thumb rub at your clit. Your own moans slipping out at the added stimulation. You wouldn’t admit it, but you were as desperate for release as he had been. Truly a long week for the two of you after being able to spend such a considerable amount of time together.

You were near your high. Hearing how pathetic you sounded, begging for your orgasm. “Felix, please.”

Felix’s hips now bucking up into you to help the best he could. “Just come. Don’t fight it.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as your nails dug into Felix’s chest. Convinced that you’d be leaving marks, but you didn’t care in heat of the moment. The urge to come was there, and you just needed a little more to be taken over the edge. You let yourself enjoy all the sensations. Felix’s thumb finally finding the perfect pressure against your bundle of nerves. The strain on your thighs was getting to you as you mentally pleaded with your body to press on a little longer.

“Come on, baby. I know you’re close. I can feel it.”

You could barely hear Felix over your own pants, but it was just enough of a push you needed. Your walls clamping around his cock as your orgasm washed over you. You powered through the ache to ride your high as the moans you had been holding back finally left you. Felix’s thumb finally coming to a stop as you slowed down. You raised yourself enough to let his softening cock slip out of you before collapsing on him in heap now, not wanting to move. The jet lag of the long flight catching up to you.

You felt a hand caressing your side. “Don’t get comfy yet. Let’s go soak in the tub.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’ll order food if you agree to the bath.”

You groaned, rolling off of him, mumbling into the sheets, “I hate you. Don’t use my weaknesses against me.”

There was a chuckle from Felix as he got up. You turned your head to watch him head straight for the connecting bathroom. You could hear the water running and you knew you’d join him. Just as soon as your thighs stopped aching enough for you to walk the distance to the tub. You could hear Felix ask you what bubble bath you wanted, but you didn’t respond. The choice didn’t matter; you enjoyed both.

Eventually, Felix poked his head back into the bedroom. “Get your ass in here.”

You smirked as you sat up. Finally, knowing the best way to get your revenge on him ruining your after sex nap. “Yes, daddy.”

+++

©︎Abiaswreck | Do not copy, repost, or translate | As always, reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

[skyminniesworld]

Reblogging to have this back at the top of my feed because literally everytime I want to reread I get scared as hell that I will never find this beautiful piece again :)

[flowerlygirls]

i have so many hobbies and interests but each day the four horsemen (instant gratification, shortened attention span, procrastination, exhaustion) grab me by the throat and shake me until i collapse in my comfy bed

[deadnow-deactivated20250507]

babe I'm tired, can it be your turn to have the unhealthy obsession with me this time?

[shmadej-deactivated20180906]

some people believe that being bi is 50% straight and 50% gay, but in fact it’s 10% luck, 20% skill, 15% concentrated power of will, 5% pleasure, 50% pain, and 100% reason to remember the name

[deathgasmic]

cursed with "do you still like me?" "are you mad at me?" "did i do something wrong?" disorder

[skyminniesworld]

Han Jisung in that one @cb97percent story, Oddinary Suspects I believe it was

The one about the 'Wolf'gang were Jisung, Hyunjin and Chan met in an orphanage and Felix was some kind if special agent who infiltrated them and came back covered in bruises, insisting to only tell Y/N what he knows and chugging bourbon during the whole thing

That man had a more intense relationship with fire than some other people have with their partner.

This series was gold by the way. Like a golden dagger or something because it scarred me for life.

Everything they write is a masterpiece to be honest.

[lixiesfreckless]

3:25 pm

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

It's not even midday and he's thinking about getting undressed again.

Seungmin smiles slightly into the next kiss, and the thought of what he must look like puts a light feeling in his chest as you pull him closer by the back of his neck.

He lifts his hands from your hips– that he had been rocking not-so-subtly on his for the last few minutes –and reaches for the wide collar of his shirt, signaling that he wants to keep this moving forward. Not that you needed reassurance on that; Seungmin always seemed to get extra giddy whenever he was worked up.

“Wait.”

He freezes, hands hovering over the shirt buttons he was rushing to undo. You open your eyes to find a slightly confused Seungmin slowly resting his hands on your thighs, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort.

You shake your head slightly, sliding your hands down to his collar to resume his work.

“I wish you would let me take the lead sometimes,” you whisper, popping the top button open. Seungmin feels his entire body flush with heat, unsure of what to do with your wanting for him to submit.

“I didn't know you wanted to,” he says, not being able to look away from your hands that are taking their time, gently working the buttons open with ease.

“I've always wanted this,” another button opens and he shivers under your touch, “but you don't make it easy to resist you.”

Are you trying to stroke his ego? His whole face feels hot and he can't do anything about it, especially not when you're leaning in to pepper kisses on the side of his neck. Is this how you feel when he's all over you? Every touch setting your insides alight and making you insane? Or maybe that was just from the way you talked to him now, seductive and slow. Maybe he was just sensitive today.

But as you pop the last button free and slide the shirt off his shoulders, he knows there's something different in the way he reacts to your touch, knowing you want it as badly as he does.

[skyminniesworld]

Having your notifications on is both a blessing and a curse because right now I'm smiling very hard but I'm also very red in the face because I just read this in a restaurant 🙊

[lixiesfreckless]

9:42 am

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

He has the softest eyes you've ever seen in your life.

Gazing at you from just over the white sheets, they stare at you unabashedly, making a triangular pattern in the way they slowly shift their focus from one eye to the other, and then to your lips.

Your own eyes can hardly decide where to land, flickering between meeting his own and the brown curls that have long since dried from the shower.

Sunday mornings were invented for this, for the studying of your lover’s anatomy.

He squints slightly, as if he's scrutinizing your appearance, and the hand that lays on the sheets between you two reaches up to brush the hair away from your neck. His touch both grounds you and makes your skin buzz in pleasure, obsessed with the gentle manner in which his fingers slide up to your jawline before resting on your cheek. His eyes meet yours again, always checking, always making sure that you're real, just in case his brain tries to betray him.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, cementing your place in reality as his heart jumps in his chest. Jacob doesn't consider himself a selfish man, and yet- as his fingers slide to your chin, a thumb grazing your bottom lip, he can barely cope with the thought of anyone else having your time. He hates that he can't give you all of him, all the time.

Then again, if this is his biggest problem, then he'd consider himself pretty blessed.

Before the pleading look in your eyes can consume him whole, he's guiding your chin towards his and connecting your lips in a kiss that's as tender as it is dizzying.

You melt into him slowly, and it's that action that sets his skin on fire; the way your head tilts up into his, the way you press back into his lips as if you're afraid he'll disappear, the way your hands find his silver chain and tangle it between your fingers absentmindedly, the way you're both wrapped around each other's proverbial digits.

He pulls away for a brief pause in an attempt to collect himself, but you're already pulling him back to you, eager to close the gap between your bodies with a needy tug of his curls. His lack of restraint would usually worry him, but he likes to think any man would crumble if you chased after their lips the way you were seeking out his in this moment.

He obliges you, pressing your mouth to his again with a bit more passion as his free hand finds your waist and pulls it to his. A weak sigh resonates in your chest once you get the closeness you'd been craving since you gained consciousness this morning, and the sound has Jacob’s every cell thrumming in delight, every ounce of drowsiness evaporating from his body in an instant.

He could be happy forever here, tangled in these sheets with you.

[skyminniesworld]

Damn girl, you serve like every time. There are no down days with you ✨️

[valentinejaes]

Wonwoo, Mingyu, Dokyeom & Seungkwan — Cosmopolitan Korea, May 2020

↳ @svtsource carat revival '24: picking favorites

[lixiesfreckless]

wHAT just happened to my uterus

[skyminniesworld]

Oh. My. God.

[jl-micasea-fics]

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙭𝙭𝙭𝙫𝙞𝙞. 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙘𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙮 𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© Jan 2023 by jl-micasea-fics」

Minho might have overdone it. There’s an amorphous pile of heaving, moist skin where 3racha used to be.

Granted, he had only one person in mind when he committed to the most gruelling and physically demanding routine he could think of, but there’s no accounting for collateral.

Chan and Jisung tore off their shirts two thirds through the routine. Maybe Minho admires the way their slick skin shimmers under the spotlights and how their broad chests heave with their breaths. Maybe he’s only human. Changbin has his sleeves rolled to shoulder, which is about as extreme as he gets, and even Minho himself is feeling the burn, if he admits it. But it’s all in the motivation: if it tortures Chan, he’ll go as long as needed.

“Okay; one last run through.”

Jisung wails. “Hyung, please—” He tries to sit up. Fails. “I can’t do anymore. I can’t feel my legs.”

“Seriously,” Changbin cries. “I’ll never be able to walk again.”

“Don’t be such dramatic bitches. Get up.”

“You can’t make me!” Jisung sobs.

“No?” Minho trudges to him, stands over his body, reaches down to prod Jisung's sweaty ribs. What starts as despair soon becomes screeching protest; Jisung writhes, wriggles, and giggles and if Minho wishes he could suck those sweet, pretty nipples, none present would know.

“Get a room guys,” Changbin scoffs.

Or perhaps they would.

Jisung beneath him sighs, “I wish.”

Oh, God.

Minho’s skin tingles all over, and it’s not for what Jisung’s just said, delightful though it was. There’s a thousand-yard stare being sent their way from a hunched over Chan that, annoyingly, is watching. All eyes turn to him.

He simply smiles. “Something wrong?”

Minho shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But physical punishment hasn’t scratched the itch of contempt.

He climbs off Jisung. “There is, actually.”

Jisung covers his face. Changbin sits upright, eyes wide. Chan looks on, brow quirked with interest.

“I wasn’t going to say anything because it’s not my business, but you made it my business when you threw my name around trying to hurt someone I love.”

Huh. That was surprisingly calm. Look at him, growing and shit.

“If you’re talking about what happened at Bin’s studio,” Chan replies. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought you up.” He leans back on his hands, shredded abdomen on display. “I respect you too much to involve you in petty shit like that. I’m sorry.”

Oh. Wait. What? It’s not very often Minho finds himself lost for words.

“I— Good,” he flounders. “Don’t do it again. And while you’re at it, be nicer to her. She doesn’t deserve to be treated the way you treat her.”

“I mean—” Chan shrugs. “That’s subjective, right?”

“What?”

“I’m just saying. It’s subjective. Who’s to say the way I treat her is any worse than the way you treat her?”

Changbin’s jaw locks. “Stop it, hyung.”

“Are you suggesting I treat her badly?” Minho reels. The fucking nerve of it—

Chan shrugs again. “Subjective,” he says. “You fuck her and think about Jisung, so... I don’t know. You tell me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is she even your girlfriend, or?”

“Watch it, man. I’m not fucking kidding,” Minho hisses.

“Oh, come on. Am I seriously the only one that isn’t besotted with this girl?” Chan laughs, almost hysterical.

“Half the people here have fucked her, and a third,” Minho points at Jisung, “would jump at the chance. So, yeah, I’d say you’re pretty well outnumbered.”

Chan gawps at Jisung like he’s grown a second head. The younger’s failure to meet his gaze tells him all he ought to know.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he snaps, shoves to his feet. “Is her pussy gold plated or something? Does she have some hotline to your dicks that I'll just never understand?”

“Grow up, man,” Changbin huffs. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it? Tell me, for real, because I'm—”

“Why don’t you tell us why you hate her so much?” Minho asks. “Because now we’ve established that you’re actually fine with your boyfriends fucking other people, all you’re doing is making yourself look like a tool.”

Chan glowers. Says nothing.

“She tried to empathise with you,” Minho adds. Salt in whatever meagre wound he’s made. “She wanted to believe you were the man she looked up to and not just the asshole that made her feel worthless. I mean; she sees rightly now, so don’t even worry about it. You did an excellent job of straightening her perspective.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to any of you,” Chan says.

“Don’t you want us to understand, hyung?” Jisung appeals. “We know you’re not this person. You never used to be so... angry all the time.”

“And what changed to make me like that? We were happy, we had the three of us, we didn’t need anything else—”

“Stop!”

Changbin's voice booms through the tension, so aggressive it shocks Minho. The rapper stands and turns to Chan. “I can’t do this with you again. You are in total fucking denial, man.”

Chan blinks, and Minho thinks he sees the shell crack.

“How many times have we been over it?” Changbin says. “How many hours did Jisungie and I spend trying to make you understand why we were suffocating? How is it that despite agreeing to find a middle ground, we still feel like we’re fucking smothered!?”

 “Bin—”

“You never had to be one hundred percent okay with all this. We’d have been worried if you were. Shit; Jisung and I were so anxious about putting ourselves out there again we were fucking relieved when you suggested we hit up Minho. And you remember that, right? You suggested it.”

“I suggested Minho. Not her.”

Jisung stands then, sweeping his sweat-soaked hair from his flushed forehead. “But we like her. You have no good reason to be going off like this. Bin hyung said you called her a sasaeng— aren’t you the one that’s obsessed?”

Chan looks like he’s been slapped, his dark eyes round and hollow, complexion sallow. A pin could drop and break the silence. Minho wishes it would. Without a word the redhead makes a hasty grab for his shirt, tugs it on as he crosses the studio, and is gone.

The door slams loud and clear; Minho cringes.

That frame better be intact.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ♡ 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙤-𝙛𝙞 ♡

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

[skyminniesworld]

That last sentence cracked me up so bad, the reality of it 😅

Like whatever about your feelings, we will fix that but that doorframe cost me money and you better not have smashed it while throwing your tantrum

(I say this with utmost respect towards Chans feelings. I'm sure we will understand his reasoning someday)

But seriously I love Minho's perspective. There is so much insight in their dynamics without MC and it is much needed.

[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.

[skyminniesworld]

OH. MY. GOD.

Fi, you are a magician!!!

I spent my whole day happily getting sucked into this beautiful, wonderful world you created.

Your characters are wholesome, so relatable and lovable and the way you slowly build their relationship is everything

MC is such a great character and the way you write all of her inner conflicts is freaking gold. I will never get over her and Minho. Not in a million years.

I am literally speechless and moved to tears about this.

Everything about your writing really. The scenes you create, the subtle hints, the moments that make you laugh, the moments that make you simply smile in content, the constant thrill of not knowing what happens after the next divider because you surprise me every time with your beautiful mind and the horror of finding out the next divider is the last, all of those feelings you spark in me with your creation.

So storytime: I have a sister, that I introduced to tumblr fanfiction and among others to your account and works and the amount of time we spent appraising your work and not only „Consort“ for that matter is insane. When you announced that you will upload the new chapter there was a tumult in our chats!

I quote & translate: (me her)

The new Consort chapter is coming soon. She said that it would be a good time to reread. 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

I was planning on rereading anyway 😇

Read the one she recommended 🥺

The one with the debate team? And the Barbie costume? Because I have an unholy amount of love for that

Yes 🙈

I LOVE that

She simply knows how it is done

Reread Instinct 😉

She is the Queen

Yes

(the next day)

I already finished Consort 😭

(yesterday)

Now we hope for consort

Please only after I wrote my exam

Okay 😔

Thank you for your consideration

The new chapter is online but I have to go to bed

(today)

I was asleep already asleep. I'm so excited

This TMI serves the sole purpose to show you how much of an impact you have on other people and their lives. And that was only one conversation out of a hundred or so we had about you and your fics.

You're a presence in our lives and minds now and I never want to lose that.

Thank you. Thank you so much for continuing to write even in difficult times and allowing us to read your creations!

I want to sing you so much more praises but I am sadly not as good with words as you so I hope this managed to convey the message.

Lots of love.

PS: I will now call my sister to scream about the chapter together

Update:

The first two things we said were:

Can we talk about this woman?

She should publish this as hard copy