#but that's where we stand as of today lol

[davrinsleftpectoral]

A Word with Friends: Davrin week edition 

*taps mic*

Hello! I’m your host for the week, DLP. I spent way too long looking at ridiculous words. I was angry at the English language for not having words for the specific thing I wanted. My sister @blackwall-my-tiny-husband said I annoyed her about it. I looked for a word for one afternoon and discussed it with her when she got home. But she ended up finding this one and I enjoy the way this one sounds when spoken out loud. I think it feels good in the mouth. Thank you @hedwigoprah for starting such a fun game and trusting me to pick a word this week lol.

Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends. Happy writing! 

I included definitions from multiple sources. Anytime I see the word for the week, that is something I do, to really get a feel for the word, so I thought I’d share my research with the class.

This week's word is susurration 

Noun

the indistinct sound of people whispering

whispering, murmuring, or rustling. “The susurration of the river.”

In modern usage, we use the word to name a gentle sound characterised by a soft murmuring, persistent whispering, rustling, or even a barely audible buzzing.

I chose this word to be able to be paired with Davrin week, if you wanted. No pressure to use it that way of course, but Davrin is a pretty cool guy. Just saying.

Today’s Davrin prompts are 

Shepard/hunter, nature/nurture 

 

==

Davrin crested the hill ahead of Glandival and Cagan. They were coming along more slowly. At 10 and 4, their stamina naturally didn’t match his. He smiled at them fondly, thinking he should find a place for them to camp for the night. They’d been tracking the halla heard since shortly after sunrise and it was well into the afternoon. The children had kept true to their word, neither had complained about the journey. But he could see their fatigue showing.

Huffing and puffing they came to stand beside him. Cagan came in close and hugged his leg. Davrin reached down and patted his son’s pink haired little head affectionately. Glandival was looking out over the woods before them. She was a very observant child, even at just 10 years old. She wasn’t wild and restless like her mother. Instead, she sat back and took everything in, always watching and noticing things that even Davrin sometimes didn’t see. She did have her mother’s bright pink curly hair, something all their children had inherited, but that was just about the only trait they shared. 

Where Esha loved to explore the ruins and find artifacts, Glandival had no interest in them. She was drawn to the forest for entirely different reasons. Glandival was drawn to the animals. She shared a bond with Assan that was entirely different than his own. She also was exceptionally good with the halla, and loved learning how to track them and watch over them. Her natural shepherding instincts were something Davrin and Esha were happy to foster in her.

The susurration of the wind through the leaves was all he heard until Assan let out two cries. His signal that he’d spotted a herd. Davrin searched the skies again and spotted Assan in the air, circling an area not too far off. 

“I see Assan has found us a herd. I know you guys must be getting tired. Should we stop here for the evening? I’m sure we can catch up to them in the morning.” Davrin was curious what the pair would say.

“I can keep going,” Glandival said, lifting her chin, daring him to say she couldn’t. Davrin looked over to Cagan. He was younger, smaller than his sister. He wasn’t particularly interested in the halla, he just loved going with Davrin any chance he got, and had begged to come along. Cagan looked up at him with distress. Davrin could see that he was tired, but he didn’t want to say it. 

“Okay, if you say you can keep going, we will. Cagan, would you like to ride on my shoulders? That way you can help me spot the heard as we get close?” Davrin asked.

Cagan immediately perked up at the offer of a ride and the chance to be useful in their trek. Davrin lifted the boy up easily, and he squealed in delight at being up so high and close to Davrin. Davrin looked over at Glandival, smiling. He enjoyed the warmth blooming in his chest, something he seemed to feel near constantly when he was with his children. He had never expected to have them, but now with 4 and one more on the way, he was living a dream he didn’t know he’d wanted. 

“Let’s go see some halla.”

==

Tagging to start: @strugglinggranola @serensama @tkwritesdumbassassins @thedissonantverses @tacoteddy22 @thecraftybaroness @himluv @notyourmamasdeerbat @bubblecat-co @mythals-whore @operative-arrow @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @seaglassmelody @sidneysussex @biowaredisasterbisexual @woundedsoul12 @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @jenn2d2 but anyone can jump in if they'd like! If you do it, tag me! I’d love to see what you do with this word.

@datvcompanionweeks thanks for a great prompt list!

And a bonus meme featuring my rook Esha and Davrin.

[victoria-daydreams]

In Her Place, I Stand

Part III: Little Things Mean A Lot

AN: I would’ve had this chapter posted a few days earlier, but my laptop crashed and I lost a decades worth of stuff and parts of this chapter too. Honestly wanted to my kill myself a little lol, but we’re back! I'm tired and it's not thoroughly proofread, we die like men. Enjoy the chapter!

Word Count: 7.3k

Trigger Warnings: 18+ MDNI it gets real hot and heavy by the end of this chapter.

Part IV: The Nearness of You

Dorothea was perched on the plush velvet sofa, engrossed in a volume of poetry, her brow unconsciously furrowed in concentration. The only noise that could be heard was the rustle of pages turning and the distant chime of a clock. Suddenly, the door to the morning room creaked open, revealing Friedrich standing in the door frame. Dorothea's face lit up at the sight of him.

"Forgive my intrusion. Have you a moment?"

"Friedrich, you're back, how was work today?" she asked curiously, with a warm smile.

"A particularly trying day at the shipyard," he answered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through Dorothea and sent a shiver down her spine. Even now, the memory of his lips hungrily dancing across her skin, not so long ago, sent a flush creeping up her neck.

"A new contract fraught with complications," he explained, as the weight of the day seemed to settle on his shoulders. The lines etched around his eyes seemed deeper than usual. He sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "My head aches something terrible," he groaned, loosening the knot of his tie.

"Oh you poor man," Dorothea said, her face softening with concern. "Would you like me to fetch Sofie to bring you some tea?" she offered, marking her page with the silk ribbon attached to the book.

He managed a weak smile, "No, no tea. Thank you," Friedrich responded, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind him. "But, would you mind reading to me? Just for a little while. It would soothe my nerves," he said softly.

Dorothea's heart warmed at the request. To most, it was small, a seemingly trivial one. But she recognized the subtle plea beneath the words, the quiet admission of needing comfort. It was only a short while ago he willingly came to her for comfort in the dead night, an act which has led to them sharing a bed together. These small moments of shared intimacy had become beacons for her in a marriage that has been less than ideal for either of them.

"Of course, Friedrich," Dorothea agreed, a gracious smile stretching across her lips. "Come, sit. What would you like to hear?" she asked, gesturing to the space beside her on the sofa.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on the empty space.

"Anything, my dear," Friedrich answered, and Dorothea felt a subtle heat crawl up her neck at the casualness of the endearment. "Just…your voice," he went on his gaze searching hers.

"Come," Dorothea mouthed, an inviting smile playing on her lips while patting the cushion beside her again.

Friedrich crossed the room, moving to the sofa and settling down beside her while maintaining a respectful distance. He sat stiffly at first, his back ramrod straight, as if afraid to fully relax. A a remnant of the stoicism that still clung to him. She reopened her book from where she last left off and began to read aloud. Her voice took on a warmer tone, softening into a soothing balm and from the corner of her eye she saw him slowly ease in his posture. He leaned back further, his shoulders losing their tension. As she read, she noticed Friedrich shifting, subtly inching closer. Then with a soft exhale, he turned and gently maneuvered himself before laying his head in her lap with a quiet sigh.

Dorothea's breath hitched. A jolt of surprise, though not unpleasant, shot through her. This was unexpected, it was a level of intimacy she hadn't experienced since Friedrich trailed kissed along her neck and back thinking she was asleep. Warmth bloomed in her chest, stirring dormant desires causing her to swallow deeply. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached down and gently brushed a single, stray dark lock of hair from his forehead.

"Is this comfortable?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper, afraid to break the fragile spell.

He nodded, his eyes closed, "Yes. Very,"

She resumed reading aloud, her heart pounding an erratic rhythm against her ribs. Dorothea's voice grew steady into a gentle melody, her hand tenderly stroking his hair. She let her hand travel further down, tracing the line of his jaw feeling the coarse hair beneath her fingertips that shadowed his skin. A stark contrast to the smooth silk of her dress.

Just as she was lost in the rhythm of the poem, a furry projectile launched itself onto Friedrich's stomach. It was Artemis. She felt Frierdrich stiffen against her, a low groan escaping his lips.His eyes snapped open, staring down at the feline interloper with a mixture of annoyance and apprehension.

“This beast,” he muttered, though without real venom.

Friedrich had never made any secret of his dislike for her cat, and likewise, Artemis regarded her husband with utmost suspicion and disdain ever since he yelled at her all those months ago. However, today, Artemis seemed oblivious to the past animosity. Instead of the usual hiss or swat, she simply stared at him, her dark eyes gleaming as she kneaded Friedrich's waistcoat with her paws, purring contentedly.

Dorothea giggled, a lighthearted sound that made Friedrich's eyes slightly crinkle. To her surprise, he didn't immediately shoo the cat away.

"Look at the two of you, becoming the fastest of friends," she quipped, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Friedrich's lips. "Until she declares I'm her mortal enemy again," he responded, as Artemis began settling down into a comfortable loaf on his abdomen.

Friedrich cautiously reached out a hand, his fingers hesitantly stroking the soft fur along Artemis' back. His movements were clumsy at first, then gentler, and Artemis arched into his touch, purring even louder.

Grinning, Dorothea continued her reading, her fingers once more stroking Friedrich's hair. With his free hand, Friedrich covered her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. He brought the back of her hand to his lips, pressing a brief, lingering kiss against it. Friedrich flipped her hand in his grasp, letting his nose glide against her wrist, inhaling deeply, the faint floral perfume she wore clinging to her skin.

"Lavender and…something else. What is it, Dorothea? It's intoxicating," he murmured huskily, his breath warm and slightly damp.

The sensation sent a shiver down her spine. His words, combined with the light pressure of his lips against her wrist, were stirring something deep within her. Dorothea’s skin tingled, not just where he touched it, but all over her entire body. It was a silent, insistent and impatient demand for more. She tried to focus on the words of the text, but they blurred before her eyes.

A tremor ran through her, a strange mixture of nervousness

Dorothea cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure, "Just a little jasmine oil," she answered, her voice a little breathier than before. The heat of his gaze was making it difficult to concentrate on the poem, on anything but the feel of his lips against her skin. “It was a gift from my mother. A simple thing,"

But, there was nothing simple about the way Friedrich was currently staring at her, his eyes filled with a warmth and a hunger that made her stomach flutter. Instead of releasing her hand, he raised it again, his eyes never leaving hers and pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. His lips were feather-light, teasing, almost as if he was savoring the moment,

“Speaking of Mother,” Dorothea began, her voice betraying a tremor despite her best efforts. “My parents will be coming to call on us tomorrow, just for a short while,” she reminded, and Friedrich’s lips ceased their trailing though he did not release her hand.

He remained still for a moment, the silence punctuated only by Artemis’ purring and Dorothea’s own quickened breathing.

“Would you be cross with me if I said I do not look forward to such a visit?” he asked, still keeping his lips close to her wrist, his words vibrating against her skin.

“Not cross, confused,” she corrected, glancing down at him. "You’ve met Mother before at the wedding, albeit briefly. She can be theatrical at times, but she means well. Father, well, you know him, he nursed you back to health," she said, her tone laced with a gentle affection.

At the mention of her father, Friedrich’s grip tightened around Dorothea's hand. She noticed the change in him instantly, the sudden withdrawal, the subtle shift in his energy. A guarded look settled in his eyes and there was an almost unnoticeable clenching of his muscles.

Dorothea recalled a cryptic comment Friedrich had made weeks ago, alluding to her father going to "such lengths" to secure their marriage and she had brushed it off, thinking it was a slip of the tongue. A throwaway remark from a man still recovering from his haunting nightmares. But now, sensing Friedrich’s unease, a seed of doubt began to sprout in her mind. Was he hinting at a darker motive behind her father's arrangement of their union.

"Friedrich?" she called softly. "You once said something...about Father. That he wouldn't have gone to such lengths to..." she trailed off, unsure how to phrase her question that now clawed at her throat. "What did you mean by that, Friedrich?" she asked, her voice soft but probing.

He hesitated, his gaze flickering away from hers, but still held her hand captive. The rhythmic tracing of his thumb on her wrist intensified, the touch now less a caress. His attention fixed itself on the delicate branching pattern of her veins.

"I…I meant nothing by it, Dorothea. It was merely a poorly chosen phrase," he explained, forcing a lightness into his voice, but it rang hollow in the silent room.

"Friedrich," she said, her voice gaining a sharper edge, the gentle reading forgotten, the sensuality dissipated.

He tensed even further. Before he could answer, the door to the morning room opened revealing Sofie in the doorway.

"Gnädige Frau, Gnädiger Herr," she addressed. "Dinner is ready," she announced, eyes darting from one to the other.

Friedrich sat up abruptly, seizing on the interruption with a quiet sigh of relief. His quick movements however, dislodged a now-unhappy Artemis who emitted an indignant yowl before leaping to the floor. He stood, offering Dorothea his hand.

"Shall we?" he asked, his voice carefully devoid of emotion, but the tension that still coiled through his body was palpable.

Dorothea didn’t respond, her eyes remained set on him, expectant and sharp. Her question hung heavy in the air between them, unanswered, unresolved, and waiting to be addressed.

~~~x~~~

Standing in the early afternoon sun, the only sound that reached Dorothea's ear was gravel crunching softly under the wheels of an approaching coach. A cool spring breeze nipped at Dorothea's ankles, tugging at the hem of her lilac gown. Beside her, Friedrich stood ramrod straight, his face an impassive mask, while the staff up was lined up behind them again just as they had for Liese a few months ago, but so much had changed since then. Before, Friedrich would not even dignify her by standing next to her while they awaited Liese's arrival. Now, as the coach drew near, his hand, warm and surprisingly firm, found hers in the concealing folds of her skirt. The shock of it rippled through Dorothea, almost causing her to gasp. It was an almost nervous gesture from Friedrich.

"Just for a moment, please," he said quietly, without looking at her.

She returned the pressure, her fingers intertwining with his, a silent offering of comfort.

"Are you alright Friedrich?" Dorothea asked, mimicking his hushed tone while keeping her eyes forward. He didn't respond only brushing the pad of his thumb up and down the skin of her inner wrist. "Is this about Father? He makes you uneasy. You said as much last night," she recalled, lightly squeezing his hand.

Friedrich's lips parted to speak but hesitated, briefly glancing at Dorothea.

"I didn't say that," he disagreed lowly.

"You didn't have to verbally say it, your body language told me as much," Dorothea said, glancing in his direction.

She had tried to press for details once they were in bed, but he had retreated, that haunted look returning to his eyes. Dorothea watched as the carriage rattled up the final stretch of the drive, the horses snorting loudly as they came to a stop, the Larenz family crest emblazoned on the door.

When the footman opened the carriage door, her stepmother, Frau Larenz, a statuesque woman with a kind face descended with an effortless poise. Her father, Dr. Larenz, followed, his eyes sharp and observant as they swept over the estate, Dorothea, and finally lingering on Friedrich with an intensity that made her shiver. Had her father always scrutinized Friedrich so harshly?

"Dorothea, my darling!" Frau Larenz exclaimed, embracing her. "It's been too long. And Friedrich, it's good to see you again," she added, her voice subtly losing some of its warmth.

Friedrich dipped his head stiffly, his demeanor polite but reserved. "Frau Larenz, Dr. Larenz. Welcome to our home,"

~~~x~~~

"Oh, my girl, it is so wonderful to see you after all this time," Frau Larenz stated, sighing contentedly. "It feels an eternity since your wedding day," she added, as they entered the parlor.

Dorothea and Frau Larenz settled into the plush armchairs before Dorothea offered her mother tea, which already sat steaming on the small table between them. Both women sipped from their teacups and Dorothea watched as her mother surveyed the room over the rim with a critical eye, taking in the expensive furnishings and artwork.

Frau Larenz lowered the cup from her lips, placing it back on the saucer.

"This house is even grander than Liese described," she commented, still taking in her surroundings. "Your husband has provided well for you, I see," she remarked, with a nod.

Dorothea smiled faintly, "He has, Mother. He's a generous man within his means," she agreed, putting her teacup and saucer onto the table.

"I must say my dear, I had envisioned a gentler curve greeting me after all these months," Frau Larenz confessed, her gaze settling pointedly Dorothea's flat stomach.

Dorothea felt her smile morph into a strained one, her hand unconsciously going to her midsection. The comment stung, more than she cared to admit. She knew her mother's expectations, the societal pressures bearing down on both her and Friedrich.

"Mother..."

"All this time and still no bun in the oven?" Frau Larenz cut in gently, but firmly. "When will I get some grandchildren? I'm not getting any younger, you know?" she reminded.

Dorothea felt a familiar frustration rising within her, "Mother, you are well aware this union has not been easy," she paused, choosing her words carefully. "Father forced me into a marriage with a man who did not wish to be remarried. We're just now, well, sharing a bed. And it's been some time since our wedding," she explained, her fingers fiddling anxiously with the ring that adorned her finger.

It was humiliating to lay bare the intimacies, or lack thereof, of her marriage, but she desperately needed her mother to understand her circumstances.

Frau Larenz let out a conceding sigh, "I suppose you're right dear," she said, before a calculating glint appeared in her eyes. "Then again, who even knows if he can even impregnate you," Frau Larenz said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Considering the act he's accused of," she went on nonchalantly, beginning to fan herself with a lace fan; its ivory frame clicking softly with each flick of her wrist.

Dorothea's eyes widened in alarm, her breath hitching. She glanced sharply at the closed door, a flush rising in her cheeks.

"Mother!" she hissed. "You shouldn't repeat such rumors!" she scolded softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's cruel and terribly insensitive. They're based on nothing but hearsay," she said sharply.

Frau Larenz folded her hands primly in her lap, unbothered, "Well, where there's smoke, there's fire and if you're not pregnant by now there must be a reason for it," she countered, waving her closed fan at Dorothea. "Besides, rumors often have a seed of truth," she pointed out. "So, have you considered it?" Frau Larenz pressed, her voice barely a whisper. "That perhaps the stories are true? And that he is incapable of giving you children?" she questioned, her gaze sharp and unrelenting.

Dorothea's head swam, the implication hanging heavy in the air. She suddenly felt suffocated by the room, by the presence of her stepmother, by the weight of the secrets that continued to shadow her marriage. It felt like the walls were beginning to close in around her. The thought, unbidden, flickered in her mind, could Friedrich be incapable? Was that also apart of the reason he had been so distant this whole time?

"I...I need to see how lunch is coming along," Dorothea informed, a lame excuse to her own ears. "Please excuse me,"

Dorothea abruptly rose from her seat, her legs feeling unsteady and her breath shallow. Quickly, she left the parlor, her heart hammering in her chest. Dorothea's hand came to rest on her stomach, a move that left her feeling self conscious due to her mother's comments about its flatness. A shaky breath left her as she closed her eyes moving down the hall. When suddenly, Dorothea felt herself yanked to the side and into a room causing a small, startled yelp to escape her lips.

A hand immediately muffled the sound as Dorothea's wide eyes locked onto a pair of familiar blue ones. Friedrich. Her eyes softened, fear melting away into relief and he removed his hand from over her mouth, his face contorted with remorse.

"You frightened me, Friedrich!" Dorothea said, exhaling heavily.

Blood pounded in her ears, and the brief surge of adrenaline left her feeling weak.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to—I had to get away," Friedrich said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. He looked like a cornered animal, desperate for escape

Dorothea's eyes searched his face, her expression softening as she took in the lines of tension etched into his features. She took his hands in hers, allowing her touch to ground him, anchor him to the present. His hands were cold, clammy and he was paler than she remembered, his eyes haunted. Friedrich leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as if drawing strength from her presence.

"It's only for another two hours," she said softly, sliding her hands up his arms until they were resting on each side of his face. Her thumbs gently stroked his cheekbones, a silent offering of comfort. "We can endure it," she assured.

He nodded, his breath warm against her forehead. "Two more hours," he repeated breathlessly, moving his face to kiss both of her palms, his lips lingering for a moment on the soft skin. "Then they'll be gone," he added.

"What did Father say to you?" Dorothea asked, her curiosity piqued. She needed to know what transpired between them, what had pushed him to this state.

"He alluded to matters...matters I wish to not speak about," Friedrich answered cryptically, his eyes darting away as if the very air held the echoes of her father's words. But, she could catch the glimmer of a man attempting to not to act so guilty. "Old wounds, Dorothea. Things best left buried,"

He clearly did not wish to delve into that conversation.

Dorothea stroked his cheeks again, "I'm sure he means no harm by it. He is just trying to protect me. Worrying about my happiness," she said gently, hoping to ease his distress.

She wanted to believe her own words, to dismiss her father's actions as harmless concern, but a nagging doubt lingered.

"Is it working?" Friedrich asked, his voice a murmur his gaze locking onto hers. It was a raw, vulnerable question, stripped bare of pretense.

She tilted her head slightly, "My happiness?" she asked back, smiling at him. "You have made me very happy as of late, Friedrich. You have been kinder, more present," she confirmed, rising to her tip toes and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. "And that's all that matters," she added, her voice a gentle breeze against his skin.

Two hours dragged by and the visit from Dorothea's parents was drawing to a close. Frau Larenz had already settled into the coach, her eyes sharp and observant. Meanwhile, Dorothea lingered off to the side with her father, a desperate plea for the truth forming in her throat. Questions that had been swirling in her mind since the wedding, questions she had deliberately suppressed, finally demanded to be answered.

"Father," she began, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard. "Most men, had they been under your care after healing them, would rather pay you more than handsomely for your work before ever accepting my hand in marriage," she said, briefly glancing down at her brown skinned hand, her ring sparkling in the late afternoon sun. "The only way someone might be persuaded to if they themselves were already in a compromising position themselves. I have to know, Father, are the rumors true?" she asked, a yearning for honesty that warred with the fear of what she might hear.

Herr Larenz face softened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb gently caressing her skin, similar to what she done with Friedrich. Herr Larenz pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, a gesture of paternal affection, but also, perhaps, a way of silencing her.

"It is best not to dwell on such rumors, Dorothea," he asserted firmly, but there was a softness to his tone. "You and Friedrich seem to be getting on much better now. Focus on building your future together. What is done is done," he stated, leaving no room for argument.

With a final squeeze of her hand, he turned and stepped into the coach, the door shutting behind him.

Dorothea watched the coach disappear down the long driveway, her expression unreadable. Her father's words echoing in her mind. "What is done is done." But what had been done? She turned around to Friedrich, who stood a few feet away, waving farewell to her parents with a polite smile plastered on his face. Though his eyes betrayed a deep-seated unease. She joined him, linking her arm through his. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and she offered a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Is it possible to truly escape the past, Friedrich? Or does it always find a way to catch up with us?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost if she was asking herself.

"I find it best to not dwell on such things, Dorothea," he answered, just as softly. "You'll torture yourself seeking answers for an unanswerable question," he lectured, lifting their joined hands and planting a kiss on her knuckles.

Friedrich's answer eerily echoed her father's sentiments only moments before, and neither of their words erased the pit in her stomach. If anything, they worsened it.

~~~x~~~

Dorothea sank down on Friedrich's side of her bed, her hands clasped in her lap. The crisp linen rustled softly beneath her nightgown. He was already there, propped against the embroidered pillows, a book lying open on his lap, though she suspected he wasn't reading it. The familiar warmth of him, even just sitting near, was something she'd grown to crave.

"What secret will you confess to me this night?" Friedrich asked, a playful spark in his eyes that briefly ignited the depths of his blue eyes. Dorothea was learning to cherish it. Such a fragile thing it was, that spark, and she treasured it. "A stolen sweet, a forgotten social call, or perhaps a hidden disdain for one of Georg’s recipes?" he listed, raising one of his brows.

This had become something of a pastime for them, sharing secrets or lighthearted stories with each other in the cover of night. Dorothea had found that he slept more peacefully after their swapping of tales, and it was the best way to keep Friedrich from retreating into the darkest corners of his mind. In truth, Dorothea used the method to gauge how much more comfortable Friedrich was becoming each night.

"You mustn't laugh, alright?" Dorothea said warmly, switching off the gas lamp, simultaneously plunging the room into deeper darkness and into the soft, silvery glow of the moon filtering through the lace curtains and the orange hue of the fireplace. "Promise me you won't. This is delicate,"

"It never once crossed my mind," he assured her, his voice laced with a gentle teasing. "Your vulnerability is precious to me," he confessed, an almost bashful smile curving his lips.

Reaching out, he took one of her hands, his thumb stroking the back of it. His words, still somewhat formal, carried a weight of tenderness that warmed her from the inside out.

"Well, in my twenty-six years until our wedding day…I had never been kissed. Not properly. You were my first, Friedrich," she confessed her cheeks growing hot despite the coolness of the room.

Friedrich's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise in them quickly followed by something akin to…regret?

 "And, I might add, it left a great deal to be desired. It was nothing like the poets write of, nothing like the fairytales described. More like a polite peck exchanged between acquaintances," she added, attempting a light tone hoping to deflect any awkwardness or lingering disappointment she still felt when recalling that first, underwhelming encounter.

"Ouch!" he cried playfully, clutching his chest dramatically. "You've made your point, Dorothea,"

A giggle escaped her lips, morphing into soft laughter that filled the quiet room. Friedrich joined in, a low rumble that resonated in his chest. It was rare they laughed together this freely, the lightness a welcome balm against the constant weight of his grief. She savored the moment, the bond continuing to strengthen between them the two of them. Their laughter faded, leaving a heavy silence punctuated only by the distant chirping of crickets outside.

Gazing at each other in the moonlight, the air had suddenly become heavier with unspoken possibilities. He could right his wrong, and Dorothea knew he could. A new awareness settled between them. The moonlight seemed to amplify every detail of his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes caught the silver light. Dorothea thought she saw a flicker of something new in his eyes, a warmth and vulnerability that had been absent for so long. Hesitantly, Friedrich lifted his hand and reached out, gently cupping her face and letting his thumb run along the apple of her cheek. He leaned in, their noses bumping into each other's, a fragile, tender dance.

"May I?" Friedrich murmured, his breath warm against her lips.

His thumb now grazing over her lips, tracing the delicate curve before slowly dragging them apart. A beat of silence passed, her heart quickening. Dorothea nodded, a barely perceptible movement as her eyes remained locked on his. Friedrich closed the gap between them, and this time, the kiss was different. It was a world away from the perfunctory, awkward peck on their wedding day. This was longer, seeking, and achingly deliberate.

Dorothea could taste the sweetness on his lips, a lingering taste of the wine he'd drank earlier. Friedrich deepened the kiss, gently exploring, inviting her to respond. Which she did, eagerly and happily. Her lips parted slightly, leaning into him, her fingers coming to rest on his arm before finding their way to his hair and tangling themselves in the dark strands, a small, possessive claim. They stayed like that for a while, truly discovering each other for the first time. It was a kiss of an apology, of curiosity, of burgeoning affection.

A soft moan escaped her lips as Friedrich's tongue gently traced the seam of her lips while wrapping his large hands around her waist, the warmth of his palms seeping through the thin fabric of her nightgown. He pulled her closer, his touch bolder now, as his book slipped from his lap unnoticed. In one fluid motion, he drew her onto his lap, straddling him. There was an edge of desperation in his touch that both startled and excited her. The movement was surprisingly rough, a stark contrast to his earlier gentleness, but not unwelcome. It forced a quiet gasp from her, causing her to break the kiss, her breath coming in short, shallow pants. She looked down at him, a question in her eyes, a mixture of surprise and desire.

Sitting up higher in his lap, the new angle made the moonlight highlight the faint scars on face, the ghostly reminders of an illness that remained a mystery to her. Driven by a sudden impulse, Dorothea raised her hands, the pad of her thumbs softly caressing the ridged skin of the scars. He shuddered at her touch, a subtle tremor that ran through his entire body. It was a shudder of pleasure, of vulnerability, of something akin to relief.

"These…" she trailed off softly, her voice barely a whisper, afraid to break the fragile spell that had enveloped them.

"Don't, liebchen," he interrupted, his voice thick with emotion, strained. "They are not pretty things. Reminders of a time best forgotten," he said quietly, his eyes darting away, as if he couldn't bear to meet her gaze while discussing them.

Dorothea's suspicions that the illness, which both her father and him refused to talk about, was more than just a fever. The shadows in his eyes suggested a darker battle.

Dorothea ducked her to meet his gaze, "But they are a part of you. And I want to know all of you, even the parts you wish to hide," she soothed, leaning forward. "Because those parts are what make you you," she insisted, her voice a soft murmur against his lips.

And then, she kissed him again.

This time, the kiss was deeper, more demanding, hungrier. Friedrich's hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space between them. Dorothea's world narrowed to the feel of her soft curves molding against his harder frame, the scent of his skin, the taste of him on her tongue. Friedrich's tongue plunged deeper, staking a claim, and she answered in kind, meeting him with a fervor that surprised even herself.

His hands slid up her body to her shoulders, smoothly pushing down the fabric of her nightgown. The silk, cool against Dorothea's skin moments before, now felt like a brand as it slid down, revealing the soft curve of her breasts sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine. Friedrich paused there for a heartbeat, slightly pulling himself back from her lips, his breathing heavy.

"Are you certain, Dorothea?" he whispered, his voice thick with suppressed desire, his eyes searching hers. "I wouldn't want to cause you any distress," he added, the pads of his thumbs drawing circles against her skin.

Dorothea swallowed hard, her pulse throbbing in her throat. "I am certain, Friedrich," she answered, her voice barely audible. "Please," she encouraged, watching him close his eyes briefly, as if steeling himself, before meeting her gaze again with a renewed intensity.

Without warning, Friedrich buried his face in the crook of her neck, planting hot, wet kisses up and down the area, drawing out a high-pitched, startled gasp from Dorothea's lips. The bristles of his beard scraping against her skin, creating a delectable friction that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Friedrich…" she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair.

She arched her neck, giving him better access, reveling in the sensation of his mouth on her skin. Instinctively, her hips rocked into his, a soft, hesitant movement against the rigid bulge pressing against her. Dorothea exhaled shakily, the pressure thrilling. A broken groan left Friedrich, a sound that reverberated through her, his body pulsing with a growing need underneath her with each innocent sway of her hips. Friedrich's tongue darted out from his lips, licking the sensitive skin just behind her ear and a shiver coursed a path down her spine, a moan ripping from her throat.

Lifting her with surprising ease, as if she weighed no more than a feather, Friedrich laid Dorothea on her back against the soft mattress, his lips capturing hers once more in a desperate, hungry embrace. The world tilted for Dorothea as the plush surface met her back, before he lavished attention on her neck again, charting a fiery path down it. He lingered at the hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing the delicate skin, pulling another moan from her that couldn't be suppressed. Gently nipping at her collarbone, he traveled lower, his breath hot and ragged against her skin as his hands and lips stopped just at the swell of her breasts. Friedrich paused, his gaze meeting hers, a silent question in the depths of his eyes. Breathless and flushed, Dorothea could only nod, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Friedrich's lips curled into an almost devilish smirk, his palms coming to cup both of her breasts, the weight of them filling his hands before he lightly squeezed and kneaded them. A shuddering breath escaped him, his knuckles brushing against her sensitive flesh, causing a soft moan to leave her lips. The silk of her nightgown proved itself a flimsy barrier against his growing desire. His thumbs grazed across her nipples, circling them lightly and Friedrich watched with a possessive gleam as they visibly hardened against the thin silk with each tantalizing swipe. pass. A louder moan escaped her, a wordless cry of pleasure.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head, his lips tracing the neckline of her nightgown. Then, his mouth slowly, almost reverently, enveloped her clothed breast, his dark gaze locked on hers as he did. The warm, wet sensation against the thin barrier of fabric was intoxicating, almost unbearable.

"Oh god!" she cried, the unfamiliar sensation almost overwhelming her senses.

Dorothea's breathing came in only short, quick gasps that didn't seem to even fully reach her lungs. Fingers clenching at his shoulders, the heat of his mouth, the gentle suction, the way he held her gaze captive. It was all too much, and yet, she craved more. This was a symphony of exquisite pleasure she had never known could coexist as one. Expertly, Friedrich dragged his tongue across the thin material, finding her nipple. The dampness seeping through the thin fabric. Then, with agonizing slowness, he teased it with the tip of his tongue, circling and flicking, making her chest heave and her back arch involuntarily.

Dorothea's eyes rolled back in her head, fluttering closed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. She moaned again, a long, drawn-out sound that vibrated through her. It was an uninhibited sound, one that seemed to fuel Friedrich further as he pressed himself harder against her, his own body responding with a desperate urgency. His own muffled moans mingling with hers seemingly growing drunk off them.

"Don't stop!" Dorothea begged in a breathy whisper, the words tumbling out of her without conscious thought.

The plea only served to ignite him further. Pushing the sleeves of her nightgown down completely, Friedrich bared her breasts to the soft moonlight. The cool air kissed her heated skin, turning it to gooseflesh and shiver in anticipation. Friedrich paused, drinking in the sight before him, her breasts, rising and falling with her rapid breaths, the dusky peaks taut and begging for his touch. Pupils blown wide with lust, he lowered his head again and this time, there was no barrier.

The tip of his tongue curled against one stiff peak, hot and wet, circling slowly, teasingly, before latching onto the very tip and fully enveloping it. A jolt of pure pleasure shot through her. The contrast was immediate, a sharp, electrifying shock that made her gasp. The silk had muffled the initial heat, a gentle prelude. Now, with bare skin against bare skin, it was a direct assault on her senses and every nerve ending in her body flared to life. Each tug, each flick of his tongue, sent shivers of pleasure down her spine, igniting a fire in her belly she never knew existed. He drew another sharp cry from Dorothea, her head lolling back against the mattress head while her fingers dug into his hair.

Friedrich's hips bucking against her increased in speed, a desperate motion he seemed unable to control. A silent plea for more. He moaned against her breast, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through her very core; his breath on her skin hot and ragged.

Looking at Friedrich from under her eyelashes, she watched as he switched to her other breast, lavishing the same attention. He sucked gently, then harder, his mouth creating a delicious, aching pull that resonated deep within her. Friedrich's eyes rolled backward, lost in the sensory overload of her taste and scent, of the raw, primal pleasure of the moment.

As Friedrich continued to worship her breasts, Dorothea, recalled the lessons whispered in hushed tones by her servants, on how to please a man, how to ignite his passion. Emboldened by the sensations coursing through her, Dorothea's fingers trembled as they crept under the soft fabric of Friedrich's nightshirt.

Her fingers brushed against the coarse patch of hair shielding his manhood and she hesitated for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, her fingers wrapped themselves around his length.

At the first touch, his breath hitched, becoming unsteady and heavy. Friedrich sagged against her for a moment, pressing his heated forehead against her shoulder. The shape and texture beneath her fingers was unfamiliar to her. The velvet soft head, the long, firm length. It was all so new, so different from anything she could have imagined.

"Oh, Dorothea…" he groaned, his voice ragged.

He angled his head so he could kiss her deeply, their tongues tangling briefly before Friedrich broke the kiss only to shower her neck with renewed attention. Feeling encouraged by his reaction, she began to shyly stroke him up and down.

"Just like that," he praised, his voice a hoarse whisper. "God, Dorothea…"

Dorothea, motivated by Friedrich's praise, moved with newfound confidence. His skin felt hot against her palm, and she could feel the answering throb of his pulse. Friedrich felt impossibly large in her hand, the head throbbing with barely restrained power. He was rock hard, a testament to his desire, to her effect on him. The heat radiating from him seemed to sear her skin, and she imagined the sensation of him inside her. A thrill of anticipation, laced with a tinge of fear, ran through her. She began to revel in the power she wielded, the control over him, a man who usually carried himself with such stoic reserve. But now, he was panting, small, guttural sounds as he snapped his hips upwards, seeking more of her touch.

"God, yes, liebchen, you feel so good…"

Friedrich buried his head into the hollow of her neck and shoulder, his breathing becoming even more unsteady and heavy, like a man struggling for air. He was a tightly wound spring, and she held the key to his release. His shaft pulsed in her grasp, slick with his own moisture. She worked him with expertise that surprised herself. Each stroke elicited a louder moan, she felt the vein throbbing in his member, the slickness of his skin. Lifting his head from her neck, his eyes burned into hers, the air itself seemed to crackle with the intensity of his gaze.

"Dorothea," he groaned, the sound thick with undisguised need.

Thrusting in sync with her hand, he uses one of his hands to hook one of her legs around his waist, pushing her nightgown high enough to expose her inner thigh, her skin flushed and damp. He captured her lips again, the kiss ravenous, desperate and a low whimper escaped her lips. He tightened his grip on her thigh, his fingers digging into her flesh, urging her closer and increasing the pleasure for both of them. A sharp intake of breath left Dorothea as he pressed closer, an unfamiliar pressure building between her legs. A delicious ache blossomed there, a longing for something she didn't quite understand yet.

"God, Dorothea…"

Friedrich pulled back, his eyes, usually so guarded, were glazed with a fervent desire that made her heart pound. Dorothea was unable to stop the besotted smile that stretched her lips, the moonlight perfectly striking her face.

Then, everything changed.

Dorothea felt it, a sudden and complete withdrawal, like a live coal being plunged into icy water. Friedrich went jarringly still and rigid, it made her blood run cold.His body, which had been seconds ago a furnace of passion, his hands which had ardently traveled all over her body, went slack on her waist. The fire that had been burning between them extinguished in an instant, leaving a void.

The passion drained from his face, a chilling, vacant stare taking its place. Friedrich seemed to be looking through her, not at her. His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes widening. He scrambled off of her and the bed, as if burned, his movements jerky and desperate. A look of stark horror etched on his now ashen face.

Gasping raggedly, Dorothea sat up in bed, bewildered and exposed, her silken nightgown pooling around her waist. The air, thick with the scent of arousal only moments ago, now felt cold and heavy. What had she done wrong?

"Friedrich? What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He didn't meet her gaze. He snatched his robe from the nearby chair, fumbling with the ties.

"Friedrich?" she called, in a shaky whisper.

He flinched at the sound of her voice, as if it were a physical blow. He struggled to tie the sash of his robe, his hands shaking so violently that he fumbled with the knot. Finally, he looked up, his face a mask of anguish.

"I-I am so sorry," he stammered, his voice choked with guilt.

"Sorry? For what?" Dorothea pleaded, her voice mixed with hurt and confusion. "We were...we were finally..." She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, the words hanging in the air like a fragile hope shattered against the cold reality of his rejection.

"I…I can't," he stammered, his voice tight with a barely suppressed emotion she couldn't decipher. "I'm so sorry, Dorothea. Forgive me,"

"Forgive you? For what? We were…" she trailed off, the heat of embarrassment flooding her as the reality of their interrupted intimacy crashed down on her. "Was I not pleasing you?"

He took a step back, then another, retreating towards the door as if she were a threat.

"I-I can't," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I shouldn't have…" his words trailed off, incomplete and meaningless.

"Shouldn't have what, Friedrich? Shouldn't have kissed me? Shouldn't have touched me? Shouldn't have wanted me?" Dorothea asked desperately, her questions spilling out.

His face contorted in pain, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Friedrich muttered repeatedly, the words tumbling over each other in his haste.

Each apology felt like a blow. And then, without another word, without meeting her eyes, he turned and fled the room, his robe billowing behind him like a shroud. And then he was gone, leaving Dorothea alone in the darkness before she could fully process what had just happened. The sound of the door shutting like a final, brutal punctuation mark. The finality of it made her flinch, the sound echoing in the sudden, oppressive silence.

Friedrich didn't offer a touch, a comforting word, or even a coherent explanation for the abrupt and devastating rejection. He simply bolted. A wave of shame, hot and stinging, washed over her. Dorothea trembled as she pulled the covers up to make herself half decent, still feeling the throbbing ache of unfulfilled pleasure across her body, the hypersensitivity of her breasts, the emptiness between her legs. Dorothea cradled herself, her body remembering what her mind was trying desperately to forget; his touch, his heat, the echoes of both their moans that clung to her like a second skin. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Tears of confusion, of hurt, of a deep and unexpected humiliation.

Dorothea felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly unwanted.

[littleragondin]

9 Fandom Peeps to Get to Know Better:

I have been tagged by @my-rose-tinted-glasses and @troubled-mind, thank you both! (っ˘ω˘ς )

3 Ships You Like: Currently, I am still basking in the warmth and kindness of Kasuga and Nomoto from She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat (probably going to be stuck there for a while ngl).

I am also still quietly invested in Zorro x Luffy from the One Piece Live Action, in a way I haven’t been since I read the first two dozens volumes of One Piece about… twenty years ago …

And I have restarted Khun Chai so the itch is back for Tian and Jiu.

First Ship Ever:

Not sure about first ship ever, but I saw something about Peach Girl the other day, and I was reminded of how hard it was for me to decide if I wanted her to end with Toji or Okayasu lol (this and Evangelion were my first manga ever)

Otherwise in the first ones, there is GaaLee from Naruto I guess. I think that’s the first story where I really started shipping/writing and reading fics/and swapping the characters around.

Last Song You Heard:

It's a Fry and Laurie kinda evening. Gosh, I still know the lyrics by heart...

Favorite Childhood Book:

I used to read so much (where has all that reading time gone etc…) so it changed often. But I was a huuuuge fan of Artemis Fowl (he was a genius! And a villain! And he loved his mom!! and Holy was so badass!).

There was also a french SF series for kids, Kerri et Megane, that I loved SO much (they were ‘orphans’ who in the first volume hide in a spaceship to try to find Kerri’s parents), and it had gorgeous illustrations and I was obsessed.

Currently Reading:

I am in a terrible reading slump I’m afraid. I need to finish Love in the Big City (part 3 kinda broke my heart so I’m having trouble getting back on the saddle), as well as Flux by Jinwoo Chong, and I have started Textual Poachers by Henry Jenkins. So instead of reading any of that, I restarted Escalier C by Elvire Murail – that I have read a dozen times already but what can you do.

Currently watching:

Same thing, I guess. Things are going slow here too. Week to week I am keeping up with Sukiyanen kedo do yaro ka and 23.5 degrees (yes yes there is only one episode out but it still counts). I am also slooooowly catching back up on Ossan’s Love Returns, Kamen Rider Revice, and Pale Moon, as well as working my way through Leverage (I’m halfway through season 4). And I am binging Khun Chai again right now, for comfort.

Currently consuming:

I just finished a cassoulet (sponsored by my brother who seems to always worry that I will forget the taste of French food and sent me home with cans of food this year) and am eating a yogurt to top it off.

Currently craving:

Some sushis (unattainable) and some mango ice cream (more attainable once I go grocery shopping I guess).

If you feel so inclined (but of course no pressure) I will tag @benkaaoi @sparklyeyedhimbo @petrichoraline @gillianthecat @bengiyo @isaksbestpillow and also @scienceoftheidiot and @coquelicoq .｡.:*☆

[killjoy-prince]

aaaaaaaaaaaa my legs are sooooo sore

[todayisafridaynight]

Okay I know Ichi’s crazy hair is what makes us smile and go absolutely insane… but when I see him with his punch perm I forget how to breathe. 🥵

HE IS VERY HANDSOME WITH HIS PUNCH PERM THAT A VALID REACTION TO HAVE

[halfdeadwallfly]

anyway today i told the man i think i'm falling in love with that he should never have children. in other news he liked my instagram story post about communism

[restistance]

would you believe me if i said… that i am on my second hannibal rewatch in as many months…

[madamechrissy]

Cursed Promises

Pairings: Sukuna x Fem reader

CW: This chap, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, Sukuna calls you little bunny lmao, soft Sukuna in places, reader is a lil innocent thing, gonna get A LOT freakier as we go, true form Sukuna

Summary: You have been promised to Ryomen Sukuna, King of curses, for as long as you've been alive, ostracized from your village, 'special'. Now you are to marry him, sight unseen. People everywhere fear him, but will you find yourself intrigued by him. Just who is the King of Curses to his new wife? Arranged marriage au

A/N: Finally writing Sukuna oof I'm nervous aha- SMUT with feelings. Gonna be like four parts to this, so a short fic! Monsterfking and fluff lol- Taglist open <3 Comments/ reblogs appreciated ❤️

Part Two>>>

Part One

Today, you are to marry King Ryomen Sukuna, the demon king of curses, you’ve known this your whole life, this is what you were chosen for. The special girl in your village raised to one day be his bride, however you did not feel special growing up, if anything you were just different. You could not even play with other children normally, you had to have special care taken, and others whispered of you.

You were now twenty years old, the wedding was supposed to be a couple of years ago, but was put off due to Sukuna being away during a war, battling and being gone for long. He was now back, and claiming what was his, though you had never even met him, you had heard the tales, the frightening ones of him, how he ransacked villages, ended lives.

Your village was protected and saved because of you, as if you’re a sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter, a thing to be whispered of, because you alone possess energy, energy you truly have no clue of, but it makes you special. You now are standing in the most beautiful and elegant robes, everyone was speaking of your beauty, smiling at you, but you saw it, the fear in their eyes.

The tears in your mother’s eyes, and the sullen look on your father’s face, even your terrified little siblings, and you have to wonder, is he so terrible and cruel? And is your life over already? You take several breaths, clutching the flowers in your hand so tightly a thorn pricks your finger, crimson blood dripping down.

You peer at the finger, sighing now, inside the high castle walls of the king, contemplating how everything had happened so quickly. Even knowing your life belonged to him, you still lived relatively normal, until that royal emissary had come, and told you now was the time, the great honor bestowed upon you.

The way they speak of him… Would you even survive?

Your steps feel heavy as you walk through the halls of the palace, your heels clicking on stone floors, decked out in royal, beautiful robes, guards on the other side of you, for if you choose to run you will be captured. You knew that, and had no intention of running, for you want your family and the village to be safe, even if they seemingly threw you to the wolves.

Or, wolf that is.

Your heart beating a frantic rhythm in your chest, you try to stop your heavy breaths, to slow them, as the guards open the ornate doors, revealing the enormous room before you, where many have gathered to see. You look down at the floor beneath you, trembling at the thought, feeling his immense presence before you even look upon him.

It was as if the entire room trembled in fear from him, and you could feel it, his gaze upon you, as you continued to step slowly, one foot in front of the other, now the eyes of everyone in the room were on you. You feel the weight of this arranged marriage heavy on your shoulders, the fate of so many depend on it.

You finally get closer and look up slowly, studying his form in his white robes, thick and muscled and so tall, so big he towers over everyone. You trail your gaze up his broad chest, to his four broad arms, the veins wrapping around each forearm, huge hands on each one with long black nails, like daggers. You nearly trip then, and one of his large hands grasps your waist, taking it over like you’re nothing.

You’re shaking now, eyes darting up to his face, an arrogant smirk on it, and ruby red eyes staring down at you. Four of those eyes, assessing you in that gown, his long fingers curling at the nip of your waist, burning you through the robes. His presence is so intimidating and intense, but…

You’re not scared?

His hand feels so… you cannot describe it, the burn of his touch, the insane feelings you’re having all at once, like you can’t breathe. He’s so huge everyone has to crank their necks, you feel so small in his grasp, next to him, barely reaching his chest, which you see somewhat from the opening of his robes, the strong muscles and taut skin, before darting back to his face.

“Tch, clumsy girl.” He huffs, setting you in front of him now, and you curtsey low in your robes, eyes down.

“Forgive me, my King.” You murmur, trying to be obedient, it’s what you were taught, right? He scoffs, crossing one set of his arms, tilting his head at you, he has shockingly light pink hair, a color you’ve never seen, raising a dark arrogant brow, the candles are flickering and casting shadows in the grand hall, making him look even more intimidating.

“Hmm.” Is all he responds, taking your hand in one of his, it absolutely swallows yours, and you both turn to look at the orator, who now will start the ceremony, and you stand and bow your head, as he locks you both together.

You are now Ryomen Sukuna’s bride.

You look up as he is supposed to kiss you, it would be your first kiss, he leans so low, bending at the waist, and you prepare for it, shutting your eyes, how would it be, to kiss the King of Curses? However he merely brushes his lips against yours for a brief moment, before stepping away, and announcing you as his bride.

The anticipation kills you every moment, as you watch his concubines dance for him, but his ruby eyes keep flickering back to you, constantly, even as he drinks from his golden goblet, and even as several women run their hands on his chest. You think that’s for the best, perhaps he will have no interest in you, for you’re a simple village girl, many speak of your beauty, but you’re not worldly or experienced like them.

Perhaps he will not do more than what is necessary, and spare you from supposed cruelty. You’ve heard so many tales of what he has done, however you did not feel any cruelty when he held you, when he brushed his lips upon yours, but maybe you’re a bit naive, so sheltered to be the perfect wife for him.

You’re taken to your new chambers now, they are luxurious and beautiful, regal and fit for a Queen. You are a Queen, aren’t you now? It’s insane to take in, while your lady’s maid begins undressing you, you take in the surroundings, the red and gold ornate decorations, the low bed that has a canopy above it, draped with the same white and gold Sukuna himself wears.

Your peer in the looking glass, draped in a thin red yukata, with nothing underneath, your breasts are apparent, the opening exposing the valley between them, making your cheeks heat up. You feel the silk against your bare skin, floating across your body, knowing you’re naked under it makes you so nervous, as you know your duty will be to give the King his heirs.

You have very little knowledge, your mother had said to lay there and endure it, and that you would love your children, so that would get you through. The thoughts about that are purely horrific, you do not know anything aside from that, that he would lay on top of you and give you babies. You also know men seek pleasure elsewhere, not with their wives.

You don’t know what to think, but your heart falters when the door to your chamber opens, and Sukuna’s standing in your doorway, so massive he takes it over entirely. His eyes glint as he studies your body slowly, his sharp tongue darting to lick a lower lip, you fiddle nervously with your hands as he shuts the door behind him with a resounding click.

“My king, I hope I please you.” You say, dipping obediently, and he laughs then, the sound booming, a snarky look on his face.

“You’re trained to say everything right, perfect little thing huh?” He walks to you, one of his hands tilting up your chin, the sharp black nail pressing under it.

“I am meant to bear your children. It’s my duty.”

He scoffs now. “Your duty, hmm? Tell me, are you afraid of me little bunny?” You glare then, earning his chuckle.

“Little bunny!”

“A lamb for slaughter, surely, but also a little bunny frozen, afraid of the big bad wolf hmm?” His hands trail down the edges of your wrapped kimono, you struggle to keep any composure.

“You need not tease me, I know how it’s done.”

He’s grinning now with his sharp teeth, his two bottom eyes squinting to almost lines, the top two crinkling at the corners. “Oh, show me then, wife.”

You stomp over to the bed now as he laughs, taking several breaths and laying on your back, staring up at the canopy. Now he’s laughing louder, and you peer your head down. “What, you’re supposed to… give me babies.”

“Holy fuck this is rich.” He snorts now, walking to you, hovering over you.

“Well I know I… here.” You slip the knot of your robe off, baring your body then, and watch his breath catch, desire flaring in his eyes. “I’m supposed to be naked for you… do I displease?” You ask, as he backs away then.

“Displease… foolish brat.” He looks away for a moment, before exhaling and sitting you up on the bed instead, eyes drinking in every bit of your body slowly, tantalizingly, you’re breathing even faster, knees knocking from your nerves. “You’re terrified.”

“I am not! You may… do it.” You spread your thighs, eyes shut now, and he sighs, two of his hands slipping up your thighs now, the other two cupping your face, surprising you.

“You think it will be so terrible, your duty?” He speaks through gritted teeth, you keep your eyes shut, staying still.

“My mother said I shall endure it.” He sighs now, tracing your jaw, his huge hands surprisingly delicate, then you gasp as his other hands sliding up your thighs grow tongues. “Ah! What!?”

Your eyes lock onto his, and he’s so close you can inhale him, this musky heady scent that makes your tummy clench. “You think I, King of curses, don’t please those who enter my bed?”

“I… you mean all those girls?”

He tilts his head, the tongues lapping at your skin again. “I’m in here, aren’t I?”

“But you’ll find pleasure with them, I am only your duty.” You murmur, looking down, he hums to himself.

“Tch, you are… your body…” He trails off then, sighing. “I will not sleep with you tonight.”

“So I do displease!” You blink back tears.

“God you’re quite annoying. Just… shut up.” You glare now, and he grins. “I like that angry look, little bunny.”

“I am not a bunny! I… ah!” Sukuna’s hands are slipping up your thighs further, his other two sliding to your breasts, exhaling as he squishes them, black nails pressing into tender flesh, but it feels so good. You’re getting wet between your thighs, confusing and embarrassing you, making you pull away.

“Ah-ah, brat. Where do you think you’re going?” He’s moaning now, kneeling between your thighs, the King is kneeling before you!? It seems like insanity, his hot breaths now between your thighs, his eyes drinking you in. “Fuck, look at you.”

“Y-you said you will not lay with me tonight? Please don’t look at me there like that, I’m all…”

“Soaking wet.” He slides his long tongue against your soppy wet cunt now, licking a stripe up your slit as he moans. “Fuck you taste good.”

“What are you doing! I… ah… mmm!” Sukuna has two hands shoving your thighs wide, as you go to pull his head off you, the sensations of his wicked tongue are so overwhelming, only for him to moan when your fingers entangle in his pastel locks, two eyes glaring up as his tongue flicks on your clit, making you gush. “My king… I…”

“I want you to cum all over my face, be good for me bunny, would you? If you do a good enough job, I’ll reward you tomorrow.”

“A good job!? This is wicked… it feels… s’good- ah!” Your head is thrown back now, and you’re shoving his face against your cunt, you gasp then, realizing your folly. “I’m so sorry-”

“Shut your mouth, I only want to hear your cries.” His head dips back between your thighs, tongue lavishing your velvety walls, you’re gushing honeyed arousal all over his handsome face, yes he is handsome to you. You’re not afraid of him right now, especially as he’s touching you everywhere.

You’re crying out and shaking, thighs struggling to close, but he holds them firm, his other hands squishing your breasts again, tongues on his palms lapping at the sensitive peaks of your nipples. His tongue is fucking into you, one of his rough fingers rolling your clit now, making you go fuzzy, your walls are pulsing around his wet muscle, clit twitching under his fingertip.

You feel tension pooling in your tummy, feel yourself getting hotter, on edge, like something is ready to explode, overwhelming you, you’re sobbing almost, tears flowing but they’re from the insane pleasure. How his big hands grip you so tight you’ll bruise, how his tongue’s devouring you, you can hear yourself, how wet you are, mixing with your hoarse moans.

You never knew your duty would feel like this, you never knew you could crave a demon king’s touch, and you certainly never knew his tongue could bring you to the brink of ecstasy, or that he would want to give you pleasure. His eyes glint up at you, as he flicks his tongue faster, his hands pinching your nipples, the pleasure making your eyes roll back in your skull.

Your toes curl, draped over his broad shoulders, as he works you more and more, everything is heightened, you can barely see, hearing the squelching wetness, hearing him drinking you. “Ngh- my King-”

“Cum, let me feel you. Drink you.” He whispers, and you have no clue what he means, he sees it clearly. “Release, now. An order.” There’s the military leader, the demanding king, but it just makes you wetter for him, makes your hips arch up for more of his caresses.

You nod weakly and he groans, his tongue lapping you up, his hands massaging your breasts, making your back arch, so filled with pleasure, and for the first time in your life you feel desired, you feel alive. Your first orgasm rocks through your body, your cunt clenching around his tongue, your body shaking, your heart racing, your eyes blurry with the intensity. 

“Oh my god… oh my!” You’re soaking his face, taut nipples lavished by his tongues, and he’s smiling against your cunt, you feel his lips curve, tongue sliding out to flick up to your sensitive clit, watching you shake violently, walls fluttering around nothing as you breathe in heavy pants. “I… we… you…”

Sukuna pulls back then, smiling smugly up at you, licking his lips clean, your juices glistening on his tongue, even the strong jut of his chin is coated in you. “Good girl, now how is your duty going?”

“I… I cannot think.” You whisper, he leans up over you, his heavy, tattooed chest weighing on your soft breasts. Your hand touches his chest tentatively, feeling the burning hot skin, the strong muscles, his steady heart beat.

“You taste so sweet, little prey.” He kisses you then, not a kiss like the wedding, no it was brutal, taking you over, and you embarrassingly taste yourself, surprised at how the flavor is. His tongue darts in your mouth, his four hands gripping your waist and hips as he presses you into the bed, you gasp as you pull back. “Ah, those eyes, already drunk off me.”

You look at his lips, tracing them with your finger tips, his quiet moan does not escape you. “Do I do it back? The…”

He’s chuckling at you, making you angry again, a sarcastic look on his face, a brow raised. “What a slutty virgin, you wish to suck my cocks?”

You blink. “Cocks!? Two!?”

He’s laughing now, kissing down your jaw, moaning against your ear as you tremble under him. “You’re so tiny, it would be so easy to break you. So fun to break your pretty little head.”

That only serves to make you wetter, and he notices, moaning as you feel hardness between your thighs, under his robes. You tentatively raise your hips, earning his hiss, him pinning your hips down, thumbs pressing into your pelvis. He looks down at you with four dilated eyes, tongue licking his lower lip, one of his other hands brushing back your hair.

“Mmm, you will go to sleep, and tomorrow, I shall show you how much more there is to your duty than just bearing my children.” He says, you nod carefully as he stands up, leaving you on the bed, breathless, overwhelmed.

“And will you… lay with those concubines?”

He raises a brow, eyes trailing down your body. “Will that anger you, little bunny? Should I be afraid of your little paws?”

“It would upset me.” You say, pouting now, and he glares, clearly irritated. He then rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“Tch, already annoying me. Fine then.”

“Really?” You sit up, hopeful, suddenly craving more of him, your hands slipping up his strong biceps, you watch his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Yes, irritating creature. Now go to sleep.”

“Will you sleep with me?”

“Sleep in bed with you? No, I need to care for my precarious situation, caused by a bratty new bride.” You giggle and he glares, sobering you up. “You’re giggling at me, the king?”

“N-no. Sorry, my King. I shall see you in the morning.” You say softly now, he scoffs once more, eyeing your body lustfully as you slip back on your robe.

“Tsk.” Is all you get, as he leaves you alone in your chambers. You hesitantly touch yourself, seeing the sticky, glittering wetness still left, from your arousal and his tongue.

Lay there and endure? More like lay there and beg for more and more, blinding fucking pleasure from his tongues. Perhaps everything you think is completely wrong? What more is there to your duty, if you can call it that? You simply must know… and you’re very curious about his… cocks, fuck just the thought makes your pussy clench.

You’re snuggling up to a satin pillow in your new bed, lewd insane images flitting your mind, and for some reason you’re able to shut your eyes, and fall fast asleep, still feeling his touch on you.

Part Two

[kuiinncedes]

bfskflkdsjf

[enhaflixer]

psh - BOUND & BEYOND - marriage law au! PART 1

A MARRIAGE LAW HARRY POTTER AU SUNSHINE X GRUMPY 2 LOVERS FIC!! PART 2

wizard diplomat grumpy!sunghoon x witch healer sunshine f!reader

warnings: sex lol, hes emotionally unavailable and it hurts, he also might be a bit mean but its okay.

-

Park Sunghoon had never lost a diplomatic negotiation until today.

As Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, he'd built his career on careful strategy and perfect control. Foreign dignitaries feared his unflappable composure. Fellow department heads envied his meticulous preparation. Even the Minister himself sought Sunghoon's counsel on matters requiring delicate handling.

But against the Marriage Unity Act, all his diplomatic skills had proven worthless.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Park, but your final appeal has been denied," said Matilda Fairweather, the pinch-faced witch from the newly established Marriage Compliance Division. Her tone suggested she wasn't sorry at all. "The magical compatibility readings are among the highest we've recorded. The match stands."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened, the only visible sign of his fury. "Magical compatibility has nothing to do with personal compatibility. You're binding strangers together based on theoretical readings."

Fairweather's thin smile didn't reach her eyes. "The law is quite clear, Mr. Park. Magical compatibility is the primary consideration. Personal preferences are secondary to the greater good of wizarding society."

"And forcing strangers to marry serves the greater good how, exactly?" His voice remained low and controlled, but the edge in it could have cut glass.

"By creating magically powerful unions capable of producing the next generation of witches and wizards," she replied, the rote answer suggesting she'd delivered it dozens of times already. "The population numbers don't lie, Mr. Park. Without intervention, we face magical extinction within three generations."

Sunghoon knew the statistics. He'd studied them extensively during his three appeals. But statistics didn't justify stripping away individual autonomy—especially not his.

"I understand tomorrow is the deadline for your compliance," Fairweather continued, consulting a file. "Your match has already submitted her paperwork accepting the union. The ceremony is scheduled for nine o'clock tomorrow morning, after which you'll have twenty-four hours to establish cohabitation."

"Twenty-four hours," Sunghoon repeated flatly. "The original directive specified thirty days."

"The timeline has been... adjusted," Fairweather said with bureaucratic indifference. "Experience has shown that prolonged separation after matching leads to decreased compliance rates. Twenty-four hours ensures the bonding process begins promptly."

Bonding process. As if they were magical creatures being bred in captivity rather than human beings with established lives and careers.

"And if my residence isn't suitable for immediate cohabitation?" he asked, though he knew his immaculate home with its three bedrooms and precise organization was more than adequate.

"Then the Ministry has prepared standard accommodations for newly matched couples," Fairweather replied, producing a pamphlet depicting a depressingly bland apartment building. "Though given your position, I imagine your residence will meet requirements."

The implied threat was clear: comply or be relegated to Ministry housing, where monitoring would be even more invasive.

"Fine," Sunghoon said, rising from his chair with fluid grace that belied his inner tension. "If there's nothing else, I have work to do."

"Just one more thing," Fairweather said, handing him another pamphlet. This one depicted a smiling couple surrounded by animated text about "Building Marital Compatibility" and "Fulfilling Union Requirements." "The complete timeline for compliance milestones. Shared sleeping quarters by three months, consummation by one year, conception efforts beginning by year two. All subject to regular Ministry verification."

Sunghoon took the pamphlet between two fingers as if it might contaminate him. "Ministry verification of consummation? You can't be serious."

"Detection charms," Fairweather clarified with clinical detachment. "Non-invasive but highly accurate. The Privacy in Marriage Act of 1753 prevents direct observation, but magic leaves traces, Mr. Park. The charms merely detect those traces."

The casual way she discussed monitoring intimate acts made Sunghoon's skin crawl. "How reassuring," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm that seemed to pass entirely over Fairweather's head.

"Indeed. Many couples find the structure helpful in developing genuine bonds." She returned his file to a towering stack on her desk. "Nine o'clock tomorrow, Conference Room B. Your match has been notified. Do try to arrive on time."

Dismissed like a first-year clerk, Sunghoon exited the Marriage Compliance Office with his dignity intact but his future irrevocably altered. He'd known from the moment the Marriage Unity Act passed that he would likely be affected—single, magically powerful, and within the specified age range, he was an obvious candidate. But he'd believed his position and influence would secure him an exemption.

He'd been wrong.

Tomorrow, he would be legally bound to a virtual stranger. And not just any stranger, but the one person in wizarding Britain whose very existence seemed designed to disrupt everything he valued.

Y/N L/N. Pediatric Healer at St. Mungo's.

He'd encountered you exactly twice, and both meetings had left him with the unsettling feeling of having been caught in a hurricane of warmth and chaos. The first time had been at a Ministry function honoring medical innovation, where you'd received an award for your work with children suffering from unstable magic. Instead of the proper, reserved acceptance speech expected at such events, you'd told a story about a seven-year-old patient that had the entire room first laughing, then wiping away tears, and finally erupting into the kind of genuine applause rarely heard at Ministry functions.

Sunghoon had watched from the back of the room, increasingly uncomfortable with the emotional display. You'd broken every rule of formal Ministry presentations and somehow emerged triumphant, leaving the podium surrounded by people drawn to your genuine warmth like moths to a flame.

The second encounter had been at St. Mungo's, when he'd reluctantly accompanied the child of a visiting dignitary who'd been injured during an international portkey journey. You'd swept into the examination room in lime-green healer robes personalized with embroidered stars and moons, your whole being radiating such cheerful competence that the sobbing child had immediately quieted.

You'd barely acknowledged Sunghoon's presence, focused entirely on your small patient, kneeling to eye level and speaking in the kind of warm, engaging tone he associated with people who genuinely enjoyed children—a foreign concept to him. Your office, glimpsed through an open door, had been a riot of color and movement: animated drawings covered the walls, magical plants bloomed in every corner, and enchanted toys danced on any available surface.

Everything about you—from your bright laugh to your obvious comfort with disorder—represented the antithesis of Sunghoon's carefully structured existence. And now, by Ministry decree, you would be his wife.

The thought was so absurd that he might have laughed if he were the type of man who laughed at anything.

Conference Room B had been superficially transformed for its role as a wedding venue. Someone—presumably not the Ministry—had conjured garlands of flowers that draped the usually austere walls, and the harsh magical lighting had been softened to a warm glow. The effect was like putting a party hat on a troll: fundamentally incongruous but somehow endearing in its attempt.

Sunghoon arrived fifteen minutes early, as was his habit for all appointments. He was surprised to find the room already occupied—not by Ministry officials, but by you.

You stood by the window, adjusting a vase of wildflowers that certainly hadn't been provided by the Marriage Compliance Office. At the sound of the door, you turned, and your face bloomed into a smile so genuine it seemed to brighten the enchanted lighting.

"Good morning!" you greeted, as if this were a pleasant social gathering rather than a forced legal proceeding. "I hope you don't mind the flowers. I couldn't bear the thought of getting married in a room that looked like a place where people receive tax audits."

Your robes were a soft blue that complemented your complexion, with tiny embroidered stars at the cuffs and collar—similar to the ones you'd worn at the hospital, but more elegant. Your hair was styled simply but beautifully, and despite the circumstances, your eyes held a warmth that seemed to be your natural state rather than a cultivated expression.

Sunghoon, dressed in immaculate formal robes of deepest charcoal, felt suddenly severe in comparison. "This isn't a wedding," he said flatly. "It's a legal formality. Decorations just waste time."

Your smile dimmed slightly, but you rallied with visible determination. "Well, yes, but that doesn't mean it has to feel like signing a business merger in a dungeon, does it? It's still our wedding day, even if the circumstances are... unusual."

Our wedding day. The phrase made something in Sunghoon's chest constrict uncomfortably. This wasn't a wedding in any meaningful sense—it was a legal proceeding mandated by an overreaching government.

"I brought something for you," you said, reaching into a small bag to produce a boutonnière—a single blue flower with a sprig of greenery. "I know this isn't a traditional wedding, but I thought... well, it might make it feel a bit more special."

Sunghoon stared at the offering, momentarily at a loss. In his numerous appeals and countless mental preparations for this day, he had never once considered that you might approach the situation with such... sentimentality.

"No," he said simply, not bothering to soften his rejection.

Your hand, still extended with the boutonnière, faltered visibly. For the first time, uncertainty crept into your expression, the sunshine dimming behind gathering clouds.

"Oh," you said softly, withdrawing your hand. "Of course. I just thought..."

You didn't finish the sentence, but Sunghoon could read the disappointment in the slight slump of your shoulders, the way your smile became something practiced rather than natural. It was remarkable, really, how transparent your emotions were—like watching weather patterns move across an open sky.

He moved to speak, “Uh, I just-“

The Ministry official arrived then, saving him from having to respond. You quickly tucked the boutonnière back into your bag, straightening your robes and visibly composing yourself.

"Good morning," said the official, a harried-looking witch with ink-stained fingers. "Y/N L/N and Park Sunghoon?" At your nods, she continued briskly, "I'm Cordelia Figg, Marriage Registration Office. I'll be conducting your binding ceremony today."

She set a stack of parchments on the table, glancing around at the flowers with mild surprise. "Oh. Someone's made an effort."

"That would be me," you said, your smile returning, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. "I thought a few flowers might brighten things up."

"Very nice," Figg said, clearly indifferent. "Now, shall we begin? The Ministry has seventeen ceremonies scheduled today, and we're running behind already."

The ceremony was mercifully brief. Names confirmed, magical compatibility verified (with a begrudgingly impressed "Highest reading this week" from Figg), and binding vows recited—not traditional wedding vows of love and devotion, but Ministry-approved declarations of compliance with the Marriage Unity Act.

When it came time to sign the marriage certificate, you hesitated fractionally, your quill hovering above the parchment. Sunghoon, watching your profile, saw something like resignation pass across your face before you signed with a surprisingly elegant flourish.

He added his own signature beneath yours, the document glowing briefly as the magical binding took effect.

"Congratulations," Figg said with the enthusiasm of someone announcing a mandatory tax filing. "You are now legally bonded under the Marriage Unity Act." She handed each of you a copy of the certificate. "You have twenty-four hours to establish a shared residence and file your cohabitation notification. Failure to comply will result in immediate relocation to Ministry housing."

You tensed slightly at the timeline, though Sunghoon had expected it after yesterday's meeting.

"Additionally," Figg continued, consulting her notes, "your first compatibility assessment is scheduled in two weeks. A representative from the Marriage Compliance Office will visit your residence to verify appropriate cohabitation and evaluate initial bonding progress."

"Two weeks?" you asked, surprise evident in your voice. "I thought the first assessment wasn't until the one-month mark."

"The timeline has been adjusted," Figg replied, echoing Fairweather's words from yesterday. "Experience has shown that early intervention improves long-term compliance."

Sunghoon noted the tightening around your eyes—the first sign of genuine distress you'd shown. "What exactly are you looking for in this assessment?" he asked, his tone making it clear he expected a direct answer.

"Standard evaluation of living arrangements, observation of interaction patterns, basic questions about your developing relationship," Figg recited. "Nothing invasive at this stage. That comes later."

The casual acknowledgment of future invasions of privacy made your eyes widen slightly.

"Is that all?" Sunghoon asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"Just one more matter," Figg said, producing two small velvet boxes. "The Ministry provides standard binding rings. You're required to wear them at all times as visual indicators of your matched status."

She opened the boxes to reveal two plain gold bands. Nothing distinctive, nothing personal—just visible symbols of Ministry control.

"The rings are enchanted to monitor basic health status between matched pairs," Figg explained, "and contain locator charms that activate in emergencies. They also warm slightly when in proximity to each other, encouraging regular contact."

"So they're tracking devices," Sunghoon said, making no move to take the box.

Figg's expression hardened slightly. "Health and safety measures, Mr. Park. Standard for all matched pairs."

You reached for your box with visible reluctance, opening it fully to examine the ring inside. "It looks like a normal wedding band," you observed quietly.

"That's the intention," Figg replied. "To all external appearances, matched pairs should resemble traditional marriages. Public confidence in the program depends on perceived normalcy."

Sunghoon couldn't quite suppress a derisive sound at that, earning a sharp look from the official. He took the remaining box with precise movements that conveyed his displeasure without requiring words.

"The rings must be placed on each other," Figg instructed. "Part of the binding magic."

This, Sunghoon hadn't anticipated. The exchange of rings implied a level of personal involvement he'd expected to avoid. From your hesitation, he suspected you felt the same discomfort, though likely for different reasons.

"I can go first," you offered after a moment, removing the larger ring from its box. Your hand trembled slightly as you held it, and Sunghoon was struck by the realization that despite your attempts at cheerfulness, you were just as unsettled by this forced union as he was.

He extended his left hand, and you carefully slid the ring onto his fourth finger. The metal was cool for a moment, then warmed against his skin as the magic activated. He felt a curious sensation—like a door opening somewhere in his mind, creating an awareness of your presence that hadn't existed before.

"Your turn," you said softly, offering your own hand.

Sunghoon took the smaller ring from its box, noting the delicacy of the band compared to his own. Your fingers were slim but strong—healer's hands, steady in crisis but gentle with the vulnerable. He slid the ring into place with efficient movement, careful to maintain a professional distance despite the intimate gesture.

You inhaled sharply as the ring settled, your eyes widening slightly. He wondered if you felt the same strange awareness that he did—like a compass suddenly oriented toward magnetic north.

"The binding is complete," Figg announced, gathering her papers. "You'll receive an owl with the exact time of your first assessment. Remember, cohabitation must be established within twenty-four hours."

And with that anticlimactic conclusion, you were married.

Figg departed with brisk efficiency, leaving you and Sunghoon alone in the flower-decorated conference room, newly minted spouses with nothing to say to each other.

You were the first to break the silence. "So... twenty-four hours," you said, your voice determinedly bright despite the strain evident around your eyes. "That's not much time to arrange a move."

"No," Sunghoon agreed shortly, already thinking through logistics. "Where do you live?"

"Diagon Alley," you replied. "Above the apothecary. It's small but convenient for hospital shifts."

He nodded once, decision made. "We'll use my place. It's bigger, has three bedrooms, good security. Bring what you need today, the rest can come later."

The practicality of his response seemed to steady you somewhat. "That makes sense. Though I should warn you, I have a cat, Nyx. She's part of the non-negotiable package."

A cat. Of course there would be a pet. Sunghoon's jaw tightened again. "Just keep it off the furniture."

"She's very well-behaved," you assured him, though your expression suggested the cat might have opinions on the matter. "Thank you for offering your home. I know this isn't... well, what either of us would have chosen."

The simple acknowledgment of their shared predicament was unexpected. Sunghoon had prepared for tears, for anger, for manipulative emotional displays—not for this straightforward acceptance coupled with determined grace.

"Neither of us has much choice," he said, his tone less harsh than before. "We might as well make it workable."

You studied him for a moment, head tilted slightly as if trying to read something in his guarded expression. "You're taking this remarkably well," you observed. "I've been fluctuating between panic and hysterical laughter since I got the letter."

The candid admission surprised a nearly imperceptible quirk of the lips from Sunghoon—not quite a smile, but the closest approximation he'd shown all day. "Years of dealing with difficult diplomats," he said by way of explanation. "I've handled worse than this."

"I'm not sure whether to be relieved or offended by that comparison," you said, attempting a tentative smile. "Though I doubt your diplomatic training covered forced marriage."

"It did not," he confirmed, and if his tone held the faintest trace of dry humor, it was gone too quickly to be certain.

You glanced at the flowers you'd brought, now looking somewhat forlorn in the empty conference room. "I should clean these up before we go."

"Leave them," Sunghoon said, surprising himself slightly. "The next couple might need them more than we did."

Something in your expression brightened at this small consideration—disproportionately, in his view, to the minor gesture. "That's... surprisingly thoughtful."

Sunghoon shifted uncomfortably. He didn't do thoughtful. Practical, efficient, fair, but not thoughtful. "It's just efficient. Cleaning up would waste time we don't have."

"Right," you said, though your smile suggested you didn't entirely believe his explanation. "Efficient. Of course."

As you gathered your few belongings, Sunghoon found himself studying the ring now encircling his finger. The magic hummed just below his awareness, a constant reminder of the connection that had been forced upon him. When you moved toward the door, he felt a slight warmth from the metal—the proximity alert Figg had mentioned.

"Shall we?" you asked, pausing at the threshold.

Sunghoon nodded once, following you from the room. As the door closed behind them, he caught a final glimpse of the flowers brightening the sterile Ministry space—a small rebellion against institutional coldness that seemed to embody your approach to this entire situation.

It occurred to him, with unwelcome clarity, that navigating life with someone who met adversity with flowers and determined optimism would require reserves of patience he wasn't entirely sure he possessed.

This, he suspected, was going to be significantly more complicated than any international negotiation he'd ever handled.

Journal Entry: 14 March 2023

Day one of cohabitation with Y/N. Initial observations:

The woman is incapable of following basic organizational systems. I left a detailed orientation packet on her nightstand. Found it this morning with doodles in the margins. DOODLES. On a carefully prepared document.

Her belongings have already invaded common spaces. Colorful throw pillows appeared on my sofa. Books stacked at odd angles on the side table. Even the bathroom isn't safe. Potions bottles everywhere, none arranged by size or purpose.

The constant humming and talking to herself is worse than I anticipated. Also talks to the cat as if it understands English.

Speaking of the cat - it's staring at me. Constantly. Follows me from room to room. I've done nothing to encourage this behavior. Today it had the audacity to sit on my chair and stare until I gave it a treat. Not sure why I complied. Temporary lapse in judgment.

Sleep was difficult. The awareness of another person in the house is... distracting.

Y/N herself is less irritating than expected. She's handling the situation with surprising practicality, despite the excessive cheerfulness. 

The Ministry assessment is in 13 days. Need to create the appearance of "bonding" without actually changing anything. Should be straightforward enough. Just need to ensure she doesn't rearrange anything else in the meantime.

Initial verdict: Not quite as bad as projected. Still completely unacceptable.

— S.

-

Three days into your cohabitation, and you'd already established that Park Sunghoon's morning routine was inflexible. He woke at exactly 5:30 AM, spent forty-five minutes in the bathroom, and left for the Ministry at 7:15 AM sharp. The presence of a new wife apparently didn't warrant any adjustments to his schedule.

Your own hours at St. Mungo's were far less predictable. As a pediatric healer, you worked rotating shifts across days, evenings, and occasional nights. This morning, you were due at the hospital by 8:00 AM, putting you on a collision course with Sunghoon's immovable morning ritual.

At 6:10 AM, you stood outside the bathroom door, shifting from foot to foot, your patience wearing thin.

"Sunghoon?" you called, knocking lightly. "I really need to get ready for work."

Silence. Either he couldn't hear you over the shower, or he was deliberately ignoring you.

You knocked again, louder this time. "Sunghoon, I have rounds at eight!"

The water shut off abruptly. A moment later, the door opened just enough to reveal Sunghoon's face, his hair still wet, eyes narrowed with obvious irritation.

"I'm not finished in here," he said flatly.

"I know that," you replied, trying to keep your voice even. "But unlike you, my schedule changes day to day, and I need to be at St. Mungo's by eight. Could you please finish up so I can get ready?"

Sunghoon stared at you for a long moment. "This disrupts my schedule."

"Yes, I'm aware," you said, your famous patience beginning to fray. "But unless you want me to show up for work in yesterday's robes with unbrushed teeth, we need to adjust."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. "Five minutes." The door closed before you could respond.

True to his word, exactly five minutes later he emerged fully dressed in impeccable Ministry robes, not a hair out of place. How he managed to transform from shower-damp to completely presentable so quickly remained a mystery.

"Thank you," you said, genuinely grateful despite his obvious annoyance. "I promise we can work out a better schedule."

Sunghoon stepped aside with a grunt that might have been acknowledgment. "Figure out a system for the bathroom. This isn't working."

"Tonight?" you asked, already closing the bathroom door.

He nodded once, already walking away.

The bathroom, like the rest of Sunghoon's home, was impeccably organized. Everything was precisely arranged, from the towels to the toiletries. Despite his hasty exit, there was no evidence he'd been there—no steam on the mirror, no water drops, not even a damp towel.

You couldn't help comparing it to your old bathroom, with its cheerful clutter of hair potions and colorful healing salves. You'd tried to contain your "mess" (as Sunghoon had bluntly called it) to your designated spaces, but the bathroom was necessarily shared.

As you showered, you wondered how long before Sunghoon lost his mind completely at having to share his perfectly ordered world with someone who considered "sort of organized" a major achievement.

-

Sunghoon returned from work that evening to find his kitchen transformed. Cabinet doors stood open, cookware rearranged, and something simmered on the stove, filling the air with rich aromas.

You stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with practiced precision. Music played softly from a wireless on the windowsill, and Nyx sat on a kitchen chair—flagrantly violating his "no pets on furniture" rule—watching with obvious interest.

"Hi," you said, looking up with a warm smile. "I thought I'd make dinner for both of us. Seemed silly to cook separately."

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, gaze lingering on the kitchen timer that had been moved from its designated spot. "I eat at seven. Sharp."

"Perfect timing then," you replied, undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. "That's exactly when this will be ready. Nothing fancy, just stew."

Before he could respond, Nyx jumped down and wound herself around his ankles, nearly tripping him.

"Your cat is trying to kill me," he muttered, regaining his balance with a scowl.

You laughed, the sound bright in his usually silent home. "She's saying hello. Though with cats, the line between greeting and attempted murder is admittedly thin."

Nyx continued circling his legs, purring loudly despite the minimal acknowledgment from Sunghoon.

"I have work to finish," he said, carefully stepping around the cat. "Let me know when dinner's ready."

"Of course," you agreed, turning back to your cooking. "Oh, Sunghoon?"

He paused in the doorway, looking back with obvious impatience.

"About this morning," you continued. "I made a schedule of my shifts for the next two weeks. Maybe we could coordinate so we're not fighting over the bathroom?"

You pointed to a colorful chart on the refrigerator, held up by a magnet shaped like a frog. You'd detailed all your shifts and bathroom times with different colors.

Sunghoon stared at it longer than necessary, clearly caught off-guard. He'd expected complaints or demands, not a practical solution that actually respected his need for routine.

"Fine," he said finally, though his tone was notably less harsh. "I'll look it over."

Your smile brightened, as if he'd offered high praise instead of grudging acceptance. "Great! I know neither of us wanted this arrangement, but we might as well make it work, right?"

Sunghoon just grunted in response and retreated to his study, unable to formulate a proper reply to your persistent optimism.

Once safely behind his desk, he found himself staring blankly at his work, distracted by the unfamiliar sounds and smells filtering through the house. Even here in his private sanctuary, your presence seemed to permeate everything. The house felt different—warmer, more alive somehow.

The Ministry ring warmed slightly on his finger, a constant reminder of your presence elsewhere in the home. The sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant, which was perhaps the most disturbing part of all.

-

Dinner proved surprisingly tolerable. The stew was excellent—rich and flavorful. Despite himself, Sunghoon finished his entire bowl, a fact that seemed to please you immensely.

"There's plenty more if you want seconds," you offered, your own bowl already empty.

"This is enough," Sunghoon replied, though he wouldn't have minded more. Taking seconds felt strangely like admitting defeat.

"So," you said after a moment, "how was your day?"

The question caught him off-guard. No one ever asked about his day. His evenings typically passed in complete silence, with no expectations of small talk or social niceties.

"Fine," he said finally. Then, after a brief internal debate: "The Bulgarians are being difficult about potion imports."

To his surprise, you didn't just nod politely and change the subject. "Is that the nightshade derivatives issue? I read about it last week."

Sunghoon looked up, reassessing you. "Yes. They've implemented restrictions that violate Section Seven of the International Trade Agreement."

"Because of the poisoning cases?" you asked, seeming genuinely interested. "We had a child on the ward who got sick from a poorly regulated Sleeping Draught from Eastern Europe. Really bad situation."

"Exactly why proper regulation matters," Sunghoon said, finding himself drawn into the conversation despite his intention to keep dinner brief. "Bulgaria's unilateral action undermines the existing framework without actually fixing the problem."

You nodded thoughtfully. "I can see both sides. As a healer, I want the strictest safety standards for potions. But I also understand why uniform international rules matter."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive," Sunghoon found himself explaining. "A coordinated approach gives both safety and consistency."

The conversation flowed with unexpected ease as you discussed the intersection of international policy and healing practices. Sunghoon was reluctantly impressed by your insights. This wasn't the mindless chatter he'd expected but an actual exchange he found... almost engaging.

He was so focused on explaining a particularly complex regulation that he didn't notice Nyx jump onto the table until she was approaching his plate with determined interest.

"Nyx!" you exclaimed, reaching for the cat. "No, we don't do that!"

Sunghoon had already moved his plate away from her investigative nose. "Your cat thinks rules don't apply to her."

"She's testing boundaries," you said, scooping her up and removing her from the table. "She does this with every new place. Sorry—I should have warned you she'd try to take over the dining area."

"Take over?" Sunghoon repeated, eyeing the cat with new understanding.

"She's checking if you'll enforce rules or if she can gradually claim the house as her domain," you explained with a smile. "Classic cat power move."

"So she's deliberately challenging my authority," Sunghoon said, a hint of grudging respect in his voice as he studied the cat's unrepentant face.

"Exactly," you laughed. "It's basically a hostile takeover attempt, just with more fur and purring."

To your surprise, the corner of Sunghoon's mouth twitched slightly. "Tell your cat that I don't negotiate with terrorists, regardless of how fluffy they are."

"I'll relay the message," you replied with mock seriousness, "but fair warning—she's been known to leave hairball 'presents' for those who resist her rule."

This time, Sunghoon's almost-smile was more visible. Something about your willingness to joke about the situation without mocking his need for order was strangely disarming.

The rest of dinner passed in conversation focused mainly on the upcoming Ministry assessment. You both agreed on minimal compliance—showing just enough "bonding" to satisfy the bureaucrats without crossing Sunghoon's carefully drawn boundaries.

"I should probably put a few more of my things in the living room," you suggested as you gathered the dishes. "Nothing overwhelming, just enough to show we're sharing space."

"Makes sense, although you already have," Sunghoon agreed, rising to help with cleanup—a small but notable departure from his usual habits. "They'll look for signs we're actually living together, not just occupying the same house."

"Maybe a couple of photos? One of my healing journals on the coffee table?"

"Fine," he said, the word less clipped than usual. The excellent meal had perhaps mellowed his typical resistance, or maybe he simply recognized that some concessions were necessary to keep the Ministry off their backs.

After dinner, you retreated to your room, leaving Sunghoon to his evening reading. The house settled into quiet, punctuated only by your occasional movements upstairs and Nyx's determined patrols of the hallways.

-

The morning that changed everything came on your fifth day together.

Despite your carefully coordinated bathroom schedule, an emergency at the hospital had disrupted everything. Called in at three AM, you hadn't returned until nearly dawn, forgetting that 5:15 was exactly when Sunghoon would be waking up.

You were halfway through your shower when the bathroom door opened.

Sunghoon, still half-asleep, was two steps into the room before registering the running water and steam.

"Shit—sorry," he said, suddenly alert. "Didn't know you were back."

"Emergency case," you called over the water. "Completely lost track of time!"

"I'll come back—" Sunghoon began, when his retreat was interrupted by Nyx darting between his legs, nearly knocking him off balance.

What happened next unfolded too quickly to prevent. Sunghoon stumbled against the sink, knocking your bottle of Madame Mimosa's Magnificent Moisture Potion to the floor. It shattered, immediately releasing both its contents and its powerful enchantment.

The bathroom instantly filled with fragrant mist smelling of honeysuckle and vanilla. The moisture-enhancing charm transformed the already steamy bathroom into a tropical greenhouse.

"What the—" you gasped, shutting off the water and grabbing a towel.

"Goddamn magical beauty products," Sunghoon muttered, already looking for something to clean up the mess.

You stepped forward to help when your foot hit a slick patch. With a startled yelp, you lost your balance as the towel began to slip.

Sunghoon moved with surprising speed and grace, catching you firmly by the arms before you could fall. The towel stayed in place, though precariously low.

For a breathless moment, you found yourself held securely in his grip, your face inches from his. Through the enchanted mist, you saw his eyes darken as he registered your proximity. Water droplets clung to your skin, and you became acutely aware of how little separated you—just a damp towel and his rapidly dampening clothes.

"Thanks," you said softly, suddenly very aware of how strong his hands felt.

Sunghoon seemed to realize he was still holding you. Rather than jerking away awkwardly, he released you with controlled deliberation, his hands sliding down your arms before dropping to his sides.

"I should let you finish," he said, his voice lower than usual. "We can deal with this mess later."

He left with surprising composure despite his now damp clothes and the way his normally perfect hair had started to curl against his forehead.

When you emerged thirty minutes later, the house was quiet. On the kitchen counter, you found a note in Sunghoon's precise handwriting:

Early meeting at the Ministry today. Back this evening. —S

Beneath it lay a small velvet pouch containing a vial of Madame Mimosa's Magnificent Moisture Potion—the exact product that had shattered.

He'd replaced your broken cosmetic. Such a small gesture, yet as you held the vial, you felt a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with moisture potions.

Somewhere beneath that grumpy exterior, Sunghoon had not only noticed what you used but gone out of his way to replace it without being asked.

Maybe there was hope for this arrangement after all.

-

That evening, Sunghoon returned to find dinner waiting—a peace offering of sorts for the morning's disruption. He entered the kitchen cautiously, as if expecting another magical mishap.

"I promise there are no moisture potions involved in tonight's dinner," you said with a smile that acknowledged the morning's awkwardness without dwelling on it.

"Good to know," Sunghoon replied, and if his voice sounded less irritated than usual, you chose not to comment.

"Thank you for replacing my potion," you said as you served the food. "You really didn't have to do that."

Sunghoon focused intently on arranging his napkin, clearly uncomfortable with gratitude. "It was my fault it broke."

"Still, it was thoughtful," you persisted, unwilling to let the kindness go unacknowledged.

Sunghoon just shrugged, visibly uncomfortable. "I updated the bathroom schedule to include emergency shifts," he said, obviously changing the subject. "There's a buffer period built in now."

"Perfect," you replied, allowing him the redirect. "I've also moved my potions to a safer spot. Though I can't promise Nyx won't continue her reign of terror."

As if summoned, the cat appeared in the doorway, yellow eyes fixed on Sunghoon with unusual interest.

"Your cat is staring at me again," he said, eyeing Nyx warily. "It's unnerving."

"She's decided you're interesting," you said with a smile. "I've never seen her take to anyone so quickly."

"I haven't done anything to encourage her," Sunghoon muttered, though he didn't object when Nyx jumped onto the empty chair beside him and settled in to watch the meal.

"Some people just have that effect on animals," you suggested, hiding a smile as you noticed how Sunghoon had shifted to accommodate the cat's presence.

"No, she's definitely plotting something," he replied, though without real heat. "She knows I don't like her on the furniture, so she does it more often. She's probably enjoying my irritation."

"That's... actually spot-on cat psychology," you admitted, impressed despite yourself.

Neither of you mentioned the morning's encounter directly, but something had shifted between you. As you cleared the dishes together—a small routine that had developed without discussion—you found yourself wondering if Sunghoon was as aware of you now as you suddenly were of him.

Because in that moment in the steamy bathroom, you'd noticed things about your Ministry-assigned husband you'd been ignoring: the strength in his hands, the heat of his skin through damp fabric, the way his eyes had darkened when they met yours.

Physical attraction. Exactly the complication neither of you needed.

But as you watched him methodically drying dishes, his movements controlled yet oddly graceful, you wondered if he'd noticed something too—something that had sent him to the Ministry for the day, something that had prompted him to replace your broken potion with such uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.

The Ministry ring warmed slightly on your finger, as it always did when you were near him. But for the first time, you wondered if the enchantment was merely enhancing something that might have developed naturally, given time and proximity.

A dangerous thought, and one you quickly dismissed. This wasn't a love match but a Ministry arrangement. Developing feelings for a man who clearly valued order and emotional distance above all else would only make an already challenging situation unbearable.

Still, as you bid Sunghoon goodnight and headed upstairs, you couldn't quite forget the look in his eyes through the enchanted mist, or the careful strength of his hands as they steadied you.

Some boundaries, it seemed, were proving more difficult to maintain than others.

-

Journal Entry: 18 March 2023

This morning's bathroom incident requires documentation before I forget the details.

Thanks to Y/N's emergency shift and that damn cat, we had a collision in the bathroom. A bottle broke, releasing some kind of moisture enchantment that turned the bathroom into a steam room. She slipped, I caught her, and for a moment things got...complicated.

She was wearing only a towel. Her skin was wet. I could smell honeysuckle everywhere. And for a few seconds, I couldn't think straight.

Basic attraction. Nothing more. Just biology responding to an objectively attractive woman in close proximity. Doesn't mean anything.

Replaced her broken potion on the way to work. Simple courtesy since I knocked it over. She's reading too much into it, calling it "thoughtful." It was just fixing a mistake.

I need to be more careful about maintaining distance. Too easy to slip into casual intimacy in a shared living space. The proximity is...distracting.

— S.

-

The notes began on your seventh day of cohabitation.

The first appeared on the kitchen counter:

Second cabinet from the left has tea. Purple tin is good for early shifts. —S

More notes followed, appearing with increasing frequency throughout the house:

Book on Eastern European healing techniques is on the third shelf. Might help with your case. —S

Chair by the east window has the best light for reading. —S

Each note was brief and practical, yet together they revealed something unexpected: Sunghoon was paying attention to the minute details of your habits, preferences, and needs.

"Your husband keeps leaving me instructions," you told Nyx as you discovered yet another note, this one attached to a vial of headache potion after a difficult shift. "As if I can't possibly function without his guidance."

Nyx, curled on your pillow, regarded you with knowing yellow eyes.

"Okay, fine," you conceded. "The headache potion is actually thoughtful."

The strangest part was that Sunghoon never mentioned the notes. Not when you used the recommended tea, not when you sat in the supposedly optimal reading chair. He merely inclined his head slightly when he noticed, acknowledging without actually having to talk about it.

It was as if the notes allowed him to be attentive without the discomfort of direct personal interaction—a buffer that let him care from a safe distance.

"The Ministry assessment is in three days," Sunghoon announced over dinner. "We need to discuss strategy."

"I've been leaving some of my things in the common areas," you offered. "Signs of shared space, like we talked about."

"Good," Sunghoon said. "That covers the basics. But they'll be looking for signs we're comfortable with each other."

"So we need to act like we don't hate each other," you summarized. "That shouldn't be too difficult. I don't actually hate you, despite your militant organization of spice jars."

Something that might have been amusement flickered in Sunghoon's eyes. "The spice system makes perfect sense. And I don't..." He paused, as if the words were difficult to form. "I don't mind having you here. As much as I thought I would."

Coming from Sunghoon, this was practically a declaration of fond attachment.

"For the assessment, we'll need to look comfortable with physical proximity," he continued. "They watch for casual contact."

"Casual contact?" you repeated, feeling inexplicably nervous. Since the bathroom incident, you'd both been careful to maintain personal space. The thought of deliberately breaching that boundary sent an unexpected flutter through your stomach.

"Hand touches. Sitting close. Basic couple things." His tone was matter-of-fact, but you noticed how his fingers tightened slightly around his water glass.

"Right," you agreed, trying to match his casual tone despite the warmth creeping up your neck. "Just normal married-people stuff."

An awkward silence fell, broken only when Nyx jumped onto the table and began examining Sunghoon's water glass.

"Your cat is still testing me," Sunghoon observed, making no move to remove her.

"She likes you," you said.

"Cats like people who ignore them," Sunghoon replied, though he unconsciously extended a finger to scratch behind Nyx's ear. "Perverse creatures."

"Is that why you leave notes instead of talking to me directly?" The question escaped before you could reconsider it.

Sunghoon looked up sharply. "The notes are practical. They avoid unnecessary conversation."

"They're about which chair gets the best light and which tea I might like," you pointed out gently. "Not exactly essential information."

"Writing is more direct."

"And less personal," you added. "You don't have to look at me or deal with my response if you just leave a note."

"The notes keep things simple," he said, his expression closing off. "The Ministry wants us to live together. They don't require us to be best friends."

The coldness in his voice stung more than it should have. After all, this was a Ministry arrangement, not a love match.

Still, when you climbed into bed that night, you were surprised to find a new note on your pillow:

Found an error in that healing text you're reading. Page 394 has wrong moonflower dosages for children under seven. I made a correction in the margin. —S

Below his usual initial was an additional line:

Your input on the Bulgarian negotiations was helpful. They accepted our proposal.

You stared at the note, reading and re-reading the second part. It wasn't exactly effusive praise, but coming from Sunghoon, it was practically a standing ovation.

In a note, of course—heaven forbid he mention it in person—but still.

As you placed the note on your bedside table, you noticed something else: your wand, which you'd left on the dresser as usual, had been moved to the bedside table exactly as Sunghoon had suggested in his earlier note.

You'd moved it without even thinking about it, automatically following his "more efficient" arrangement.

The realization made you smile despite your lingering hurt from dinner. Perhaps, in your own way, you were both adjusting to each other—his brief notes, your gradual adoption of his systems. Not a traditional foundation for a relationship, certainly, but a form of communication nonetheless.

With the Ministry assessment rapidly approaching, you supposed any form of connection, however peculiar, was better than none at all.

-

"We should adjust how we sit," Sunghoon announced the following evening as you both stood awkwardly in the living room, attempting to "practice" looking like a comfortable couple.

"What's wrong with how we sit?" you asked, looking at the sofa and chairs that had been in their precise positions since you moved in.

"We sit too far apart," he said bluntly. "You're always in the armchair, I'm at the opposite end of the sofa. Real couples sit closer."

You glanced between your preferred chair and Sunghoon's usual spot at the far end of the sofa. He wasn't wrong—you'd naturally established territories as far from each other as the room allowed.

"So we should sit closer together when they visit?" you suggested.

"We should practice now, so it looks natural," Sunghoon said, moving toward the sofa with visible reluctance. "Forced closeness will look just as suspicious as sitting across the room."

You fought back a smile at his serious approach to what was essentially "pretending to like each other." It was so very Sunghoon to treat casual affection as something that needed rehearsal.

"Alright then," you said, settling onto the sofa at what you judged to be a friendly but not intimate distance. "Like this?"

Sunghoon studied the space between you with a frown. "Still too formal." Before you could respond, he shifted closer, not quite touching but near enough that you could feel the warmth emanating from his body.

"Couples who are getting comfortable with each other sit about this far apart," he said. His tone was practical, but you noticed how carefully he was holding himself, as if afraid to relax into the sofa cushions.

"You've really researched this, haven't you?" you asked, unable to keep the amusement from your voice.

"I looked into what Ministry inspectors look for," Sunghoon said defensively. "I don't want to fail over something as simple as sitting arrangements."

"Of course," you murmured, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The scent of his cologne—something clean and subtle that you'd begun to associate with his presence—seemed more noticeable at this distance.

"We should practice casual touch too," Sunghoon continued, though you noticed the slight tension in his jaw. "Hand touches. Arms brushing. Normal couple things."

You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. "That makes sense. Should we, um, go for it?"

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, with what appeared to be forced casualness, Sunghoon extended his hand, palm up, between you.

"Hand holding is pretty basic," he said, his voice lower than usual. "Nothing complicated."

You placed your hand in his, expecting a brief, perfunctory touch. Instead, his fingers closed around yours with a gentle pressure, his palm warm and surprisingly soft against your skin.

"This is the kind of thing they'll expect to see," he explained, his eyes fixed on your joined hands. "Just casual touch."

"Right," you agreed, trying to ignore the way your pulse had quickened. "Casual."

You couldn't help but notice how neatly your hand fit in his, how the simple contact somehow felt both ordinary and intimate at once. Sunghoon's thumb moved slightly, a small brush against the side of your hand that might have been unconscious but sent a surprising tingle up your arm.

"How long do we need to practice this particular touch?" you asked, attempting humor to mask your unexpected reaction.

Sunghoon looked up, and for the first time you noticed the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. "A few seconds is enough for a casual touch," he said. "Any longer means something else."

"And what might that be?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, softer and more genuine than you'd intended.

Something shifted in Sunghoon's expression—a momentary crack in his carefully maintained armor. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes, the movement so quick you almost missed it.

Before he could answer, the front door wards chimed with an unfamiliar pattern.

Sunghoon dropped your hand and stood in one fluid motion, suddenly all business. "Ministry officials."

"But the assessment isn't until tomorrow," you said, rising as well.

"They do surprise visits," Sunghoon replied, straightening his already immaculate robes. "To catch couples off guard."

The wards chimed again, more insistently.

"Do we look okay?" you asked, smoothing your own robes nervously.

Sunghoon's eyes swept over you briefly. "You look fine. Just try to seem comfortable with me."

"That makes two of us," you murmured, earning a brief, startled glance from him before he moved to answer the door.

You settled back onto the sofa, trying to appear relaxed rather than like someone who had just been practicing hand-holding with her reluctant husband.

You heard the door open, Sunghoon's polite greeting, then he returned to the living room with a short witch with iron-gray hair. A clipboard hovered beside her with a self-writing quill poised above it.

"Mrs. Park," the witch said, her eyes sharp behind square spectacles. "I'm Inspector Howell from the Marriage Compliance Office. This is a standard preliminary assessment visit."

You rose, offering your hand with what you hoped looked like genuine welcome. "It's nice to meet you, Inspector. We were expecting you tomorrow."

"That's the official assessment," Howell replied, shaking your hand briefly. "This is a preliminary observation to establish baseline interaction patterns."

"I see," you said, though you didn't really. The Ministry's procedures seemed designed to maximize discomfort. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you. This will be brief." Howell's gaze swept the living room, taking in the signs of cohabitation—your books on the side table, the colorful throw on the armchair, Sunghoon's journals now mingled with yours.

"You've established shared living space," she noted approvingly. "And you use the common areas together rather than separately."

"We were discussing some international trade regulations," Sunghoon said, moving to stand beside you—not touching, but close enough to signal connection. "Y/N's experience with imported potions has been valuable."

You glanced at him in surprise. It wasn't exactly what you'd been discussing, but it wasn't entirely false—you had spent several dinner conversations on that topic.

"Professional collaboration is a positive sign," Howell said, making a note. "The Ministry encourages pairs to find connections beyond mere cohabitation."

"We're finding we have more in common than we expected," you offered, unconsciously leaning slightly toward Sunghoon.

Howell observed you both with clinical assessment. "Your physical comfort indicators are minimal," she observed, making another note. "Body language suggests formality rather than developing intimacy."

Without thinking, you reached out and touched Sunghoon's arm—a light, casual contact that might look natural between a developing couple.

"We're still getting used to each other," you explained, your fingers resting on his sleeve. "But it's getting easier."

To your shock, Sunghoon's hand came up to cover yours, his touch warm and sure. The gesture was so unexpected you almost pulled away, but the gentle pressure of his fingers kept yours in place.

"We're making progress," he agreed, his voice perfectly steady despite the unexpected touch he'd initiated.

Something flickered in his eyes as he looked down at you—a brief, unguarded moment when the mask slipped and you glimpsed something that looked remarkably like genuine attraction before his diplomatic expression returned.

Howell watched this exchange with sharp eyes, her quill making rapid notes. After a moment, she gave a curt nod. "Acceptable for preliminary stages. You'll need to demonstrate further development at your official assessment."

"We understand," Sunghoon said smoothly, though his hand lingered on yours a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing.

"Good. Your official assessment remains scheduled for tomorrow at two o'clock." Howell consulted her clipboard one final time. "Be prepared for a more comprehensive evaluation."

With that, she departed as abruptly as she'd arrived, leaving you and Sunghoon in a suddenly charged silence.

"Well," you said, your skin still tingling where his fingers had pressed against yours. "That was unexpected."

"The Ministry likes surprise inspections," Sunghoon replied, moving away to put more distance between you. "It prevents couples from rehearsing."

You nodded, trying not to feel hurt by how quickly he'd reestablished space after the inspector left. "Quick thinking with the hand thing. Very convincing."

Sunghoon glanced at you, something flashing in his eyes that was gone too quickly to identify. "It was the logical response to her comment about formality."

"Right," you agreed, forcing a smile. "Logical."

An awkward silence fell, broken when Nyx sauntered into the room. With impeccable timing, she assessed the tension and promptly jumped onto Sunghoon's favorite chair.

"Your cat has the worst sense of boundaries I've ever seen," Sunghoon observed, though there was no real bite to his words.

"She's just letting you know who's really in charge here," you said, grateful for the tension breaker.

The corner of Sunghoon's mouth twitched upward. "Then she should be conducting our Ministry assessment. She'd have everyone properly trained in no time."

Your laugh filled the room, genuine and relieved. "She'd have the inspector bringing her treats within minutes."

Sunghoon's almost-smile lingered for a moment before he turned toward his study. "I need to finish some work. We should practice again tomorrow before the official assessment."

"Looking forward to it," you replied, surprised to realize you meant it. Despite the awkwardness, there had been something undeniably... intriguing about those moments of closeness.

Sunghoon paused at the doorway, his expression unreadable. "You did well today. Quick thinking."

Coming from him, it was high praise. You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest at the rare compliment. "We make a decent team when we try."

He nodded once—not quite agreement, but not denial either—before disappearing into his study.

Later that evening, you found a new note on your pillow:

Would like your thoughts on the childhood magical stabilization research for our Eastern European initiative. Your perspective would be valuable. —S

Below, in a less formal postscript:

You have good instincts for dealing with Ministry officials. The arm touch was effective.

You smiled, running your fingers over his neat handwriting. A professional consultation request and what might actually be a genuine compliment, all in one note. For Sunghoon, this was unprecedented.

As you settled into bed, Nyx claiming her usual spot by your pillow, you found yourself thinking about the moment Sunghoon's hand had covered yours—not the practiced touch during your rehearsal, but the instinctive way he'd reached for you during the inspection. There had been something natural in that gesture, something that felt less like performance and more like genuine connection.

And that brief, unguarded look in his eyes...

You pushed the thought away. This was a Ministry arrangement, not a romance. Developing feelings for a man who kept himself behind such carefully constructed walls would only lead to disappointment.

Still, as you drifted toward sleep, you couldn't help remembering the warmth of his palm against yours, the surprising gentleness of his touch, and the fleeting moment when his eyes had revealed something his words never would.

-

Journal Entry: 21 March 2023

We had a surprise Ministry inspection today. Howell called us out for looking "formal" with each other. Like we're supposed to be madly in love after two weeks of forced cohabitation.

Need to fix this before tomorrow's real assessment. Y/N has good instincts for this stuff - grabbed my arm at the perfect moment when Howell was watching. I covered her hand without thinking about it. Worked well - the inspector bought it.

The hand-holding practice earlier was... distracting. Shouldn't have been. It's just holding hands, for Merlin's sake. I've touched plenty of women before without losing focus. Something about Y/N's hand in mine made it hard to think straight. Probably just the stress of the situation.

Y/N keeps using the chair by the east window I mentioned in my note. She moved her wand to the bedside table too. At least one of us is listening to reasonable suggestions.

The cat has claimed my reading chair. Again. I don't have the energy to fight a territorial war with a cat while dealing with Ministry inspections. Pick your battles, as they say.

11 days until the three-month assessment with the sleeping arrangements check. We'll deal with that when we have to. One crisis at a time.

— S.

P.S. Her laugh makes the room feel different. Less empty somehow. Just an observation.

-

"Don't you think we're approaching this all wrong?" you asked, setting down your teacup.

It was the morning before your official Ministry assessment, and tension filled the living room. You'd spent three days awkwardly "practicing proximity" with mixed results.

"Wrong how?" Sunghoon looked up from the notes he was reviewing.

"This—" you gestured between you "—all this practicing and measuring. It feels forced. The inspector already noticed we seem too formal."

"We need more practice," Sunghoon said, though he sounded less convinced than usual.

"I don't think we can rehearse our way into looking comfortable with each other," you said. "That's not how this works."

"What do you suggest, then?" His tone held a challenge, but his eyes showed genuine curiosity.

"I think we need to actually get comfortable with each other," you said. "Not just pretend. Real couples don't measure the space between them or time how long they hold hands. They have inside jokes, nicknames, shared habits."

Sunghoon's expression suggested you'd proposed something outlandish. "Nicknames."

"Yes, nicknames! Or at least using first names consistently. You still introduce me as 'Y/N L/N' to colleagues, like I'm a stranger rather than your wife."

"It's your name," he pointed out, frowning.

"Think of it diplomatically," you countered. "What creates stronger alliances - formal state dinners or casual meetings where leaders use first names and make personal connections?"

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered this. "The informal connections last longer," he admitted reluctantly.

"Exactly! We need to stop treating this like a performance and build some real connection."

Sunghoon studied you for a long moment. "Fine," he said finally. "What do you suggest beyond... nicknames?"

"For starters, you could actually look at me when we talk, instead of staring at the wall like you're afraid eye contact might kill you."

To your surprise, Sunghoon immediately shifted in his seat, turning to face you directly. His dark eyes met yours with unexpected intensity.

"Like this?" he asked, and there was something almost vulnerable in the question.

"Yes," you said softly, momentarily caught off-guard by the full force of his attention. "That's much better."

Nyx chose that moment to jump between you, settling possessively in Sunghoon's lap. For once, he didn't stiffen or push her away, his hands automatically adjusting to accommodate her.

"Your cat has no concept of personal space," he observed, though his fingers found the spot behind her ears that made her purr.

"She's shameless,your complaining holds no value to her," you agreed, watching with hidden delight as the cat nestled comfortably against him. "But she gets what she wants."

"Something you have in common," Sunghoon said, and you could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Tell me something about yourself that's not in your Ministry file," you said, seizing the moment. "Something personal."

Sunghoon was quiet so long you thought he might refuse. "I like autumn best," he said finally. "The colors, the crispness. It's... predictable but beautiful."

"And you?" he asked, the question awkward but clearly deliberate.

"Spring," you answered with a smile. "New beginnings, surprises, flowers appearing in unexpected places."

"Our preferences match our personalities," Sunghoon observed, surprising you with the insight.

He hesitated, then added: "My family moved constantly when I was young. My father's diplomatic postings."

"That must have been hard," you said gently. "Always being the new kid."

"I learned to adapt," he said with a shrug that didn't quite hide the old hurt. "New places, new rules."

"But lonely?" you suggested.

Something flashed in his eyes—vulnerability quickly hidden. "I got used to being on my own," he said simply, which wasn't a denial.

Then later, you came downstairs to find a note on the counter:

Early meeting about Bulgaria. Back by 1:00 for assessment prep. —S

Below, in less formal handwriting:

This morning's conversation was good. We should do that more.

As you made your tea, you noticed a small vase containing three perfect autumn leaves, their colors brilliantly red and gold, sitting on the table.

No note, no explanation. You touched one leaf gently, knowing Sunghoon had placed them there as a reference to your conversation.

From a man who communicated primarily through efficiency and structure, the gesture felt like something significant—a wordless acknowledgment that perhaps he was beginning to see you as more than just an inconvenient Ministry assignment.

The warmth that spread through your chest at the thought was dangerous, but increasingly difficult to ignore.

-

The official Ministry assessment arrived with all the subtlety of a rampaging hippogriff.

At precisely two o'clock, your fireplace flared green, and not one but three Ministry officials stepped through. Inspector Howell led the group, accompanied by a thin wizard with a monocle and a young witch whose Quick-Quotes Quill was already scratching away before she'd fully emerged from the flames.

"Mr. and Mrs. Park," Howell announced, brushing soot from her severe gray robes. "As scheduled, we're here for your first formal compatibility assessment."

Sunghoon, who'd been pacing the living room for the past half hour, immediately straightened his already immaculate robes. "Inspector. We've been expecting you."

"Indeed." Howell's sharp eyes took in the room, cataloging the small changes you'd made since her preliminary visit. More of your books mingled with Sunghoon's on the shelves. One of your cardigans was draped over the back of a chair. A half-finished game of wizard's chess sat on the side table.

"This is Examiner Finch," she indicated the monocled wizard, "and Record-Keeper Wilby." The young witch nodded, her quill still moving frantically.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," you offered, gesturing to the seating area where you and Sunghoon had spent the previous evening rehearsing.

"This won't be a comfortable assessment, Mrs. Park," Examiner Finch said, his monocle glinting. "The preliminary evaluation indicated minimal physical compatibility indicators. Today's assessment must provide evidence of progress."

Your stomach tightened. "Progress? It's only been two weeks—"

"Precisely the period when compatible matches typically demonstrate initial bonding behaviors," Finch interrupted. "The Marriage Unity Act is quite clear on expected timelines."

Sunghoon moved closer to you, his hand coming to rest lightly at the small of your back. The touch was so unexpected that you nearly jumped, but his steady pressure kept you in place.

"We understand the Ministry's expectations," he said, his voice even but with an edge of steel. "However, we believe in a measured approach to relationship development."

"Measured approaches rarely produce the magical bonding necessary for the program's success," Howell said, making a note on her clipboard. "We'll need to evaluate your physical compatibility more thoroughly today."

The assessment began with standard questions about living arrangements, daily routines, and shared activities. You described your coordinated bathroom schedule, joint dinners, and professional collaborations, carefully emphasizing the aspects of your lives that had genuinely begun to intertwine.

Throughout, Sunghoon kept his hand on your back or lightly touching your arm. Each contact sent a small shiver through you that had nothing to do with the Ministry's intimidating presence.

"Your living space shows adequate integration," Howell finally concluded. "However, we must now evaluate personal knowledge and physical comfort."

She nodded to Finch, who withdrew a small silver sphere from his pocket. "This is a Veridian Orb," he explained. "It measures truth and concordance between matched pairs."

He placed the orb on the coffee table, where it hovered slightly above the surface, pulsing with a soft blue light.

"You will be asked a series of questions about your partner," Finch continued. "The orb will measure your knowledge of each other and the authenticity of your responses."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he gave a curt nod. "Proceed."

The questions started innocuously enough. Favorite colors, preferred foods, daily routines. Thanks to your conversation the previous evening and Sunghoon's surprisingly attentive note-taking habits, you both answered with reasonable accuracy. The orb maintained its calm blue pulse.

Then the questions grew more personal.

"Mr. Park," Howell said, "describe Mrs. Park's reaction when she's particularly pleased about something."

Sunghoon hesitated only briefly. "She smiles first with her eyes before her lips follow. When she's genuinely happy, she makes a small sound—not quite a laugh—just before she speaks."

The orb pulsed slightly brighter. You stared at Sunghoon, startled that he'd noticed such a detail.

"Mrs. Park," Finch continued, "where does Mr. Park touch when he's feeling tense?"

Heat crawled up your neck. "He... adjusts his left cuff. Three times, always three precise movements."

Sunghoon's eyes flickered to you, a flash of surprise crossing his usually composed features. The orb glowed slightly warmer.

The questions continued, each more intrusive than the last. How does your partner sleep? What physical gestures do they find comforting? Have you noticed changes in their behavior when you're in close proximity?

With each answer, the tension in the room grew thicker. You found yourself hyperaware of Sunghoon beside you, the warmth of his thigh an inch from yours, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his fingers occasionally brushed yours when you both reached to adjust positions.

"The knowledge indicators are adequate," Howell finally announced. "However, physical comfort remains underdeveloped."

"What exactly are you expecting?" Sunghoon asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. "We've been married for two weeks."

"The most successful matches demonstrate natural physical affinity by this stage," Finch replied, adjusting his monocle. "Simple gestures of affection without hesitation or overthinking."

"I believe a practical demonstration is in order," Howell said, making another note. "Please show us how you typically interact when alone."

You froze. Beside you, Sunghoon went so still he might have been petrified.

"That's hardly appropriate," he said after a moment, his voice low.

"Mr. Park," Howell replied coldly, "nothing you do in your own home with your spouse is inappropriate. Unless, of course, there is no genuine interaction occurring, which would indicate non-compliance with the Marriage Unity Act's core requirements."

The threat hung in the air. Behind her, Record-Keeper Wilby's quill scratched ominously.

Sunghoon turned toward you, his expression unreadable. "May I?" he asked quietly, his voice pitched for your ears alone.

You nodded, heart hammering against your ribs. You'd expected perhaps a brief touch, maybe an arm around your shoulders.

Instead, Sunghoon's hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheekbone. The touch was so unexpectedly gentle that your breath caught.

"They're watching for authenticity," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Follow my lead."

Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn't a passionate kiss, but neither was it the clinical peck you might have expected. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft against yours, the pressure light but lingering. His hand slid from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a sureness that suggested this wasn't the first time he'd done this.

You found yourself responding without conscious thought, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. Beneath your palm, his heart beat a rapid rhythm that belied his composed exterior.

When he pulled back, his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them, pupils expanded to nearly swallow the brown. For a moment—just a moment—his careful mask slipped, revealing something raw and wanting beneath before he reconstructed his composed expression.

The orb on the table had changed from blue to a warm, pulsing gold.

"Well," Howell said, a note of surprise in her voice. "That's significantly more progress than your preliminary assessment indicated."

Finch cleared his throat, a faint color in his typically pallid cheeks. "Yes, quite. Physical compatibility appears to be developing appropriately."

Sunghoon's hand had returned to the small of your back, but there was a new tension in his touch. "Is there anything else, Inspector?" he asked, his voice remarkably steady.

"Just one more matter," Howell replied, consulting her clipboard. "Three-month milestone requirements. As you know, shared sleeping quarters will be required by that date. Our assessment then will include verification of appropriate accommodation arrangements."

"We're aware," Sunghoon said tersely.

"And the mandatory bonding retreat," Finch added. "All couples we see fit, in the program must attend the Ministry's three-day compatibility enhancement retreat at the three-month mark."

This was new information. You glanced at Sunghoon, whose jaw had tightened again.

"Compatibility enhancement retreat?" you repeated.

"A specialized program designed to accelerate the bonding process," Howell explained. "Under the supervision of marriage integration specialists, couples participate in therapeutic exercises to build natural physical and emotional connections."

Sunghoon's fingers pressed more firmly against your back. "And is this 'retreat' optional?"

"It's a mandatory component of the three-month compliance verification," Howell replied. "All couples we pick participate, no exceptions. You'll receive detailed information by owl next week."

The assessment concluded shortly after. As the green flames of the Floo died down behind the departing Ministry officials, an awkward silence fell over the living room.

Sunghoon had already moved away from you, putting his usual careful distance between you. His expression was closed, unreadable.

"So," you said finally, your voice not quite steady. "That was..."

"Intrusive," Sunghoon finished, his tone clipped. "But we passed. That's what matters."

You touched your lips, still feeling the phantom pressure of his. "About the... demonstration. I know that was just for show, but—"

"It was necessary," he interrupted, not meeting your eyes. "The orb measures genuine reactions. A clinical touch wouldn't have registered correctly."

"Right," you agreed, trying to ignore the twist of disappointment in your chest. "Smart thinking."

Sunghoon glanced at you briefly, something flickering in his eyes before he looked away. "I apologize if I overstepped."

"You didn't," you assured him quickly. "It was... convincing."

A heavy silence fell. The Veridian Orb still sat on the coffee table, its glow now faded to a dull bronze.

"This three-month retreat," you said finally. "That sounds..."

"Problematic," Sunghoon supplied, running a hand through his usually immaculate hair, mussing it slightly. "We'll deal with it when we have to."

He moved toward his study, clearly eager to escape the lingering tension between you. At the doorway, he paused, his back to you.

"You did well today," he said, his voice lower than usual. "The observation about my cuff adjustments... I didn't realize anyone had noticed that."

Before you could respond, he disappeared into his sanctuary, leaving you alone with the rapidly cooling orb and the persistent memory of his lips against yours.

You sank onto the sofa, trying to process what had just happened. The kiss had been for show, of course—a calculated move to pass the assessment. But there had been something in his eyes after, something unguarded and real that contradicted his dismissive words.

And now there was this "retreat" looming in the future. Three days of "therapeutic exercises" to build "natural physical connections." The very thought sent a flutter of both anxiety and something else—something you weren't quite ready to name—through your stomach.

Nyx jumped onto your lap, kneading your thighs with her paws as if sensing your turmoil.

"What am I getting myself into, Nyx?" you murmured, stroking her soft fur. "This was supposed to be simple. A paper marriage, minimum compliance, keeping our distance."

But nothing felt simple anymore. Not with the memory of Sunghoon's gentle hands and warm lips still so vivid. Not with the knowledge that he'd noticed tiny details about you that even you hadn't been aware of. Not with the Ministry pushing for even more intimacy in the coming months.

And certainly not with the realization that despite all your best intentions, you were beginning to want more than the careful distance Sunghoon insisted on maintaining.

As the afternoon light faded, you remained on the sofa, absentmindedly stroking Nyx while your thoughts circled around one unsettling truth: the Ministry might have forced you into this marriage, but they couldn't force the flutter in your chest when Sunghoon touched you. That had happened entirely on its own.

And judging by the way his heart had raced beneath your palm, you might not be the only one fighting an unwanted attraction.

-

The official Ministry assessment had gone better than expected. You'd passed, but something more significant had happened—something that changed everything between you and Sunghoon.

The following morning found Sunghoon in the back corner of the Leaky Cauldron, nursing a cup of tea while three of his oldest friends bickered over the last piece of treacle tart.

"It's mine by right of discovery," Jay insisted, his Ministry Legal Department badge slightly askew on robes that perpetually looked one charm away from respectability. "I saw it first."

"You've had two already," Jake countered, his Auror reflexes allowing him to snatch the plate before Jay could reach it. "Besides, Heeseung needs the sugar more than you do. Look at those eye bags—those magical bridge supports must be brutal."

Heeseung, who indeed looked exhausted from his latest Magical Construction project, just grinned and took advantage of their distraction to steal the tart for himself. "While you two were arguing, I was acting. Very Slytherin of me, wouldn't you say?"

Sunghoon watched this familiar chaos with the resigned expression of someone who'd endured it since their first year at Hogwarts. Fifteen years of friendship hadn't changed their dynamic—Jay still talked annoyingly, Jake still played peacekeeper while causing half the trouble, and Heeseung still quietly got his way while the others weren't looking.

"If you're done with the dessert theatrics," Sunghoon said, checking his watch, "I have fifteen minutes before I need to get back."

Jay rolled his eyes dramatically. "Still counting minutes, I see. Some things never change." He leaned forward, suddenly serious. "So, you finally cracked and asked for our help. Must be desperate."

"I didn't crack," Sunghoon replied, his tone defensive. "I just thought you might have some useful input."

"The great Park Sunghoon needs our advice on women that hate him," Jake grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"She doesn't hate him," Heeseung corrected, always the more tactful one. "She suggested nicknames, which means she's trying to make things work. That's encouraging."

Sunghoon's eyebrows rose slightly. "How did you know about the nicknames?"

"You literally started this conversation with 'Y/N suggested nicknames might help with the Ministry assessment,'" Jay reminded him. "We're not mind readers, you prat."

"So you want to know what to call her?" Jake asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Don't tell me the great Park Sunghoon is going to start saying 'sweetie' and 'darling' like a normal husband."

Sunghoon's expression suggested he'd rather drink bubotuber pus. "I just need to know what's standard. For the assessments."

The three friends exchanged a look Sunghoon had seen countless times—a silent "he's hopeless" communication that dated back to their Hogwarts days.

"What do you call your wife?" Heeseung asked Jay, steering the conversation toward actual help.

"Baby, mostly," Jay replied, grinning. "Or jagiya when I'm showing off my Korean."

"I use sweetheart with mine," Jake offered. "Sometimes baby when we're fucking and i’m really—"

"Just the name is fine," Sunghoon cut in before Jake could elaborate. Seven years of sharing a dormitory had taught him exactly where Jake's stories tended to go.

"I use 'angel' most of the time," Heeseung said, smiling fondly. "Sometimes 'doll' because of her collection. She can tell my mood by which one I use."

Sunghoon absorbed this information with a slight frown. The idea of using such terms still felt foreign.

"You don't have to force it," Heeseung added kindly, noticing his discomfort. "Maybe start with something simple. Her name, but said differently than you'd say a colleague's name."

"What's wrong with just using her name?" Sunghoon asked.

Jay snorted into his butterbeer. "Merlin's beard, Sunghoon. She's not a Ministry report you're filing."

"The assessment's over," Sunghoon said, redirecting the conversation. "What else am I missing?"

"Touch her," Jake said bluntly.

Sunghoon nearly choked on his tea. "What?"

"Not like that," Jake laughed. "Small things. Hand on her back when you walk together. Fingers brushing when you pass things. The little touches couples do without thinking."

"We've practiced appropriate proximity—"

"Practiced?" Jay interrupted, eyebrows shooting up. "Tell me you didn't schedule 'touching practice' like some kind of—"

Sunghoon's silence was damning.

"Bloody hell," Jay threw his hands up. "You can't schedule normal behavior. No wonder she suggested you try actually getting comfortable instead of pretending."

"She's right," Jake nodded approvingly. "Smart woman."

"How exactly am I supposed to develop 'comfort' on demand?" Sunghoon asked, frustration evident in his voice.

His three friends exchanged looks ranging from disbelief to pity.

"The same way you became friends with us," Jay said finally. "You spend time together. You pay attention to what she likes. You talk about things that aren't work."

"I pay attention," Sunghoon said defensively. "I know which tea she prefers after night shifts, which chair she likes to read in—"

"Do you tell her these things," Heeseung asked gently, "or just notice them?"

"I leave notes when relevant."

The collective groan from his friends turned heads at nearby tables.

"Notes," Jake repeated. "You leave your wife notes about her tea preferences."

"It's efficient."

"But not personal," Heeseung pointed out. "When's the last time you complimented her?"

The question caught Sunghoon off-guard. "What?"

"You know," Jake said slowly, "told her something nice about her. That she looks pretty. That she's smart. That you like her laugh. Anything."

Sunghoon frowned slightly. "I mentioned her bathroom schedule was well-designed."

Jay dropped his head to the table with a thunk. "We're all doomed."

"I also told her that her insights on Bulgarian potion regulations were useful," Sunghoon added, feeling oddly defensive.

"That's... something, at least," Heeseung conceded. "Professional respect is a start. But maybe try something more personal?"

"Like what?"

"Tell her she looks nice," Jake suggested. "Or that you like being around her. Small things."

Sunghoon considered this. There were, in fact, several qualities he'd noticed in you that deserved acknowledgment. Your persistent optimism despite difficult circumstances. The focused competence you showed when discussing healing cases. The way your entire face lit up when you laughed.

"I'll think about it," he said finally, checking his watch. "I need to go."

"Think fast," Jay advised, stealing the last bite of Heeseung's tart. "Connection isn't something you can plan like a diplomatic negotiation. Sometimes you just have to let yourself feel things."

"And Sunghoon," Heeseung added as they stood to leave, "we're giving you a hard time, but we're on your side. It's a terrible situation, but she sounds decent. Maybe it won't be as bad as you feared."

"Maybe," Sunghoon admitted, a rare moment of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Thanks for the advice," Sunghoon replied, his tone dry but not entirely ungrateful.

Back at the Ministry, Sunghoon found himself replaying his friends' advice while finalizing the Bulgarian trade agreement. Their suggestions, while buried in unnecessary teasing, weren't entirely without merit.

After sending the final draft to the Bulgarian liaison, he made a detour to the Ministry atrium's small conservatory. After checking no one was watching, he carefully selected three perfect lilac flowers from a charmed flower grove that cycled through seasons.

They weren't a traditional gift, but they were a reference to your conversation—a silent acknowledgment that he had listened and remembered what you'd shared.

As he arranged the lilacs in a small vase on the kitchen table that evening, Sunghoon admitted to himself that he actually wanted to see your reaction when you discovered them. Not just for the assessment. Not just for show.

A troubling realization, indeed.

-

Two days after the Ministry assessment, you noticed subtle but unmistakable changes in Sunghoon's behavior.

It began at breakfast. You'd come downstairs to find him already seated at the table, the Prophet open before him, a cup of tea steaming at his elbow. Nothing unusual there. But when you entered the kitchen, he looked up immediately—not the brief, perfunctory glance you were accustomed to, but an actual pause in his reading, his eyes meeting yours directly.

"Good morning," he said, his tone lacking its usual clipped efficiency.

"Morning," you replied, slightly thrown by the attention. "Sleep well?"

"Adequately," he answered, watching as you moved to prepare your tea. Then, with visible deliberation: "And you... angel?"

The endearment came out so awkwardly that you nearly dropped your mug. It sounded foreign in his mouth, as if he were attempting to speak a language he'd only read about in books. You turned slowly to find him looking faintly uncomfortable, a hint of color high on his cheekbones.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, certain you must have misheard.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, his discomfort visibly increasing. "I was attempting a term of... affection," he said stiffly. "If it's unwelcome, I won't repeat it."

The realization that Park Sunghoon was genuinely trying to use a pet name—and doing it so badly—created a warm bubble of amusement in your chest.

"It's not unwelcome," you assured him, hiding your smile by turning back to your tea preparation. "Just unexpected."

"Noted," he said, his usual crispness returning as he retreated behind his newspaper.

You thought that might be the end of it—a single awkward attempt never to be repeated. But that afternoon, as you sat in the living room reviewing patient files, Sunghoon surprised you again.

He entered from his study, a stack of parchment in hand, and paused by your chair. "I've been reviewing the childhood magical stabilization protocol you mentioned," he said. "Your approach is quite innovative... baby."

The endearment was even more stilted than the first, tacked onto the end of his sentence like an awkward afterthought. This time, you couldn't suppress your laugh.

Sunghoon's expression closed immediately. "You find it amusing."

"No—well, yes," you admitted, your smile softening the words. "But not in a bad way. It's just... very clearly not something you're comfortable with."

"Comfort develops with practice," he said defensively. "All skills require initial periods of inadequacy."

Understanding dawned. "Are you... practicing endearments on me?"

The color on his cheekbones deepened slightly. "The Ministry assessment demonstrated our need for increased displays of familiarity," he said, not quite meeting your eyes. "Verbal indicators of affection are standard components of marital communication."

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh again. It was so very Sunghoon to approach pet names as a skill to be mastered through deliberate practice.

"You don't have to force yourself," you told him gently. "The assessment went fine."

"It was adequate," he corrected, "but future evaluations will require deeper evidence of bonding. Advance preparation is practical."

Before you could respond, Nyx darted into the room, weaving between Sunghoon's legs with her typical disregard for personal space. To your surprise, rather than stiffening or stepping away, Sunghoon merely looked down at the cat with a slight frown.

"Your tactical timing remains impeccable," he told Nyx, who meowed back as if responding to the observation.

You watched in fascination as Sunghoon lowered himself to the sofa, still holding his parchments, and allowed Nyx to jump onto the cushion beside him without protest.

"She's really taken to you," you observed, pleased by the unexpected truce between your cat and your reluctant husband.

"She's persistent," Sunghoon replied, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. "I've determined that resistance requires more energy than accommodation."

"A diplomatic solution," you said, smiling. "Very on-brand for you."

Something that might have been the ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Effective negotiation often requires strategic concessions."

The conversation lapsed into comfortable silence as you both returned to your work, the only sounds the occasional rustle of parchment and Nyx's rumbling purr. It wasn't until you rose to make a fresh cup of tea that Sunghoon spoke again.

"Would you like me to prepare that... sweetheart?"

The third endearment was no less awkward than the previous two, but something about his determined persistence was oddly endearing.

"Thank you, but I've got it," you replied, fighting another smile. "You know, Sunghoon, you really don't have to keep doing this."

He looked up, his expression serious. "Is it objectionable?"

"No," you assured him. "Just unnecessary. And clearly uncomfortable for you."

"Discomfort is temporary," he said with characteristic stubbornness. "Adaptation requires consistent effort."

You studied him for a moment, a new understanding dawning. This wasn't just about Ministry assessments. In his own way, Sunghoon was genuinely trying to build something more comfortable between you—following the advice you'd given him about creating real connection rather than rehearsed proximity.

"Well, if you're determined to practice," you said lightly, "maybe focus on one or two that feel less unnatural to you. And perhaps use it when it actually fits the moment, not just randomly inserted into conversation."

Sunghoon considered this suggestion with the same gravity he might give an international treaty amendment. "A logical approach," he conceded. "Which would you recommend?"

The question caught you off guard. "It's not really about what I recommend," you explained. "It's about what feels natural to you when you look at me."

He studied you then, his dark eyes surprisingly intense. The scrutiny might have been uncomfortable if not for the genuine consideration behind it. After a moment, he nodded once, as if coming to a decision.

"Angel," he said simply. No sentence wrapped around it, no awkward placement—just the word itself, spoken with unexpected softness, “or Baby, I’m more determined to conquer that one.”

Something fluttered in your chest at the simple declaration. "Those ones definitely sound more natural," you managed, your voice not quite steady.

Sunghoon nodded again, apparently satisfied. "Angel," he repeated, testing the word. "Yes, that seems most appropriate."

The moment hung between you, charged with something neither of you was quite ready to name. Then Nyx broke the tension by standing abruptly, stretching, and deliberately knocking one of Sunghoon's parchments to the floor.

"Your cat requires remedial boundary training," Sunghoon observed, though there was a hint of something almost like humor in his voice.

And just like that, the unusual intensity dissolved, replaced by the comfortable routine of your shared domestic life. But something had shifted, however slightly. Sunghoon didn't use any more endearments that day, but his eyes lingered on you more often, and there was a new thoughtfulness in his expression when he caught you watching him.

That evening, as you prepared for bed, you found a note on your pillow:

Your suggestion regarding term selection was efficient. Implementation will continue at appropriate intervals. —S

Below, in what appeared to be a hastily added postscript:

Thank you for your patience with the process, angel.

You smiled, running your fingers over the carefully written endearment. It was such a small thing—a simple word that countless couples exchanged without thought. But from Sunghoon, with his carefully maintained walls and precise distance, it felt like a tiny miracle.

All you knew, in that moment, was that Park Sunghoon was trying—in his methodical, occasionally awkward way—to build something real with you. And for now, that was enough to fall asleep with a smile on your face and hope warming your chest.

-

You woke to the sound of Sunghoon's voice drifting up from downstairs. Curious about who he might be speaking to so early, you wrapped yourself in a robe and padded quietly toward the stairs.

What you heard made you pause, hand frozen on the banister.

"No, absolutely not there," Sunghoon was saying, his tone exasperated but lacking its usual edge. "That is designated working space, not a cat leisure area."

A plaintive meow followed.

"Your objection is noted but overruled," Sunghoon continued, as if having a perfectly normal conversation with your cat. "Previous concessions regarding the armchair do not constitute blanket permission for desk occupation."

Another meow, this one somehow sounding argumentative.

"Fine," Sunghoon sighed. "You may observe from the corner of the desk, provided you maintain a minimum six-inch clearance from active documents. Those are the terms."

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh, hardly believing what you were hearing. Cautiously, you descended a few more steps until you could see into the living room, where Sunghoon sat at his writing desk with Nyx perched on the corner, exactly six inches from his paperwork, looking smugly satisfied.

"Your negotiation skills are improving," Sunghoon informed the cat, who began to purr loudly in response. "Though I maintain that emotional manipulation through sustained eye contact is a questionable tactic."

The sight of a stern, proper Sunghoon having a serious diplomatic negotiation with your cat was so unexpectedly charming that you couldn't help the small sound of delight that escaped you.

Sunghoon's head jerked up, genuine surprise crossing his features when he saw you on the stairs. For a moment, he looked almost embarrassed at being caught in such an unguarded moment.

"Good morning," you said, descending the rest of the stairs. "I see Nyx is expanding her territory again."

"We've reached a compromise," Sunghoon replied, recovering his composure with impressive speed. "Though I suspect her compliance will be temporary at best."

"She's very strategic," you agreed, moving into the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Always looking for weaknesses in the defense."

You heard Sunghoon's chair scrape back, followed by his measured footsteps as he joined you in the kitchen. When you turned from the stove, he was standing closer than expected, watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

"You have an early shift today," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Until four," you confirmed. "Barring emergencies."

Something that might have been disappointment flickered across his face. "I had hoped we might discuss the Eastern European educational initiative this afternoon. Your research on childhood magical stabilization has direct applications."

"Tomorrow?" you suggested. "I'm free all day."

Sunghoon nodded, though the slight downturn at the corner of his mouth suggested genuine disappointment at the delay. "Tomorrow then."

As you prepared your tea, you were acutely aware of him watching you, his usual morning efficiency temporarily suspended.

"Is something wrong?" you asked finally.

"No," he said, then, with visible effort: "I simply find your presence... agreeable, My angel."

The endearment came more naturally now, less practiced but still careful. Combined with the unexpected compliment, it created a flutter of warmth in your chest.

"That's... thank you," you managed, oddly flustered by his direct gaze.

Sunghoon nodded once, as if confirming something to himself, then returned to his desk and a quietly smug Nyx, who had inched closer to his papers in his absence.

You finished your preparations for work, your mind replaying that quiet "angel" and the unusual intensity in Sunghoon's eyes. Something was shifting between you—something neither of you had anticipated when the Ministry had forced you together.

-

Your shift at St. Mungo's had run longer than expected. A seven-year-old with a case of magical hiccups that turned everything she touched temporarily invisible had required careful handling, especially when she'd accidentally made her little brother's left ear disappear. By the time you restored visibility to all affected body parts and calmed the panicking parents, you were running nearly an hour late.

You hurried through the hospital corridors, expecting to find an empty house and probably one of Sunghoon's notes about dinner being in the warming drawer. Instead, as you pushed through the doors into the reception area, you stopped short. Sunghoon himself stood near the welcome desk, his immaculate posture unmistakable even from behind. He appeared to be studying a display of educational pamphlets about magical childhood ailments with surprising interest.

"Sunghoon?" you called, still not quite believing he was actually there.

He turned, and for a moment—just a fleeting second—his expression softened with what looked remarkably like relief before his usual composed mask returned.

"Your shift ran late," he said, though his tone lacked its usual edge of criticism.

"Invisible ear emergency," you explained, still caught off guard by his unexpected presence. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd meet you directly," he said, moving toward you. "I was in the area anyway."

You knew this was almost certainly untrue—Sunghoon's schedule was planned with such precision that spontaneous neighborhood visits were virtually nonexistent. But the fact that he'd chosen to wait for you rather than return home alone created a warm flutter in your chest.

"That was thoughtful," you said, genuinely touched. "Thank you."

A hint of color appeared high on his cheekbones. "It wasn't a problem," he replied, his eyes not quite meeting yours. "I thought we might try that new restaurant near Gringotts. Unless you're too tired, angel."

The endearment still sounded slightly practiced, but not as awkward as his previous attempts. Progress, it seemed.

"Dinner sounds lovely," you said, smiling. "Just let me grab my things."

As you collected your bag from the staff room, you couldn't help but marvel at this unexpected development. Sunghoon waiting at the hospital? Suggesting dinner out? Using endearments without Ministry officials watching? It was as if the carefully constructed walls between you were developing hairline cracks.

When you returned to the reception area, you found Sunghoon in conversation with Healer Matthews, one of the senior pediatric specialists. To your surprise, he didn't look uncomfortable or impatient—his usual response to unexpected social interaction. Instead, he appeared to be listening with genuine interest as Matthews gestured animatedly.

"—revolutionary approach, really," Matthews was saying. "The integration of emotional stabilization techniques with magical dampening is precisely what these cases need. Y/N's research could change our entire treatment protocol."

"She mentioned her work with the unstable core case," Sunghoon replied, his tone carrying a note of what sounded remarkably like pride. "The international applications are significant."

"Oh, absolutely! We're already documenting the methodology for the international healing journal. Your wife is quite the innovator." Matthews beamed at you as you approached. "Ah, speak of the devil! I was just telling your husband about the Mira case. Brilliant work, truly."

"Thank you," you said, slightly flustered both by the praise and by hearing Sunghoon referred to as your "husband" in a context unrelated to Ministry requirements.

"You two make quite the powerhouse couple," Matthews continued cheerfully, oblivious to your discomfort. "International magical cooperation and pediatric healing innovation under one roof! How long have you been married?"

"Three weeks," Sunghoon answered smoothly, surprising you with his hand coming to rest lightly at the small of your back. "Though it feels like we've known each other much longer."

You nearly choked at this uncharacteristic display of charm. Sunghoon was many things, but "smooth" had never been one of them.

"Newlyweds!" Matthews exclaimed delightedly. "Though you'd never know it from how in sync you two are. Young love is so refreshing to see these days."

You felt Sunghoon's hand tense slightly against your back but his expression remained pleasantly neutral. "If you'll excuse us," he said politely, "I've made dinner reservations."

"Of course, of course! Don't let me keep you lovebirds," Matthews winked. "Enjoy your evening!"

As you walked away, Sunghoon's hand remained at your back, guiding you through the evening crowd in the hospital lobby. The warmth of his palm through your robes created a distracting tingle up your spine.

"That was... unexpected," you said once you were outside. "You were very convincing."

"Practice makes perfect," Sunghoon replied, though his hand didn't withdraw from your back. "It seemed important to be consistent even outside the assessments."

"Right," you agreed, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment. "For consistency."

Sunghoon glanced down at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "The restaurant is just ahead, baby."

The second endearment caught you off guard, especially without any Ministry officials present to necessitate it. This one sounded less rehearsed than his previous attempts, almost natural despite the slight hesitation before it.

"I'm not used to hearing you call me that," you admitted as you approached the restaurant, a cozy establishment with warm golden lights visible through the windows.

"Do you mind it?" Sunghoon asked, a hint of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Not at all," you assured him quickly. "Just... different. Nice different."

Something that might have been relief relaxed his expression. "Good to know," he said simply.

The maître d' welcomed you, leading you to a quiet corner table partially screened by a decorative trellis covered in tiny fairy lights. It was, you couldn't help noticing, a notably romantic setting.

"This is lovely," you commented as Sunghoon held your chair—another unexpected courtesy.

"The Bulgarian ambassador recommended it," he replied, taking his own seat. "Apparently their seafood is exceptional."

Conversation flowed with surprising ease as you perused the menu. Sunghoon, typically so reserved about personal matters, spoke of his day at the Ministry with unexpected detail, describing the frustrating negotiations with a hint of dry humor you'd rarely witnessed. You shared stories from your hospital shift, including the invisible ear incident, which actually earned a small quirk of the lips that was the closest thing to a smile you'd seen from him.

When your hands accidentally brushed while reaching for the bread basket, Sunghoon didn't withdraw immediately as he might have done before. Instead, his fingers lingered briefly against yours, the contact brief but deliberate.

"You still haven't told me why you really came to the hospital," you said as your main courses arrived. "I know you didn't just happen to be in the area."

Sunghoon's fork paused halfway to his mouth, his expression shifting to something almost uncomfortable. "You caught me," he admitted after a moment. "I wasn't in the neighborhood."

"So why come wait for me?"

He set his fork down carefully, as if buying time to formulate his response. "I didn't particularly want to go back to an empty house," he said finally, the admission clearly difficult for him. "It's... quieter when you're not there."

"You missed me," you said, unable to keep the smile from your voice.

He frowned slightly. "I wouldn't go that far," he said, though the color in his cheeks suggested otherwise. "I've just gotten used to having you around."

"You missed me," you repeated, still smiling. "It's okay to admit it, Sunghoon. I'd miss you too if you were gone all day."

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or something warmer. "You would?"

"Of course," you said simply. "We've gotten used to each other."

"We have," he agreed, his gaze dropping to his plate. "More than I expected, honestly."

The meal continued in this vein—moments of surprising warmth interspersed with Sunghoon's more familiar reserve. Yet something had undeniably shifted between you. His eyes found yours more frequently, lingering longer than necessary. His hand occasionally brushed yours when passing the salt or reaching for his wine glass, each touch seeming less accidental than the last.

By the time dessert arrived—a shared plate of tiny pastries filled with various magical creams that changed flavor with each bite—you found yourself genuinely enjoying not just the excellent food but Sunghoon's company as well.

"I found something for you today," he said as you sampled a pastry that tasted first of chocolate, then unexpectedly shifted to lemon. "It's at home."

"For me?" you asked, surprised. Sunghoon wasn't exactly the gift-giving type.

"It's nothing big," he said quickly, seeming almost embarrassed. "Just something I thought you might like."

Curiosity piqued, you finished dessert with perhaps more haste than the exquisite pastries deserved. Sunghoon paid the bill with characteristic efficiency, then surprised you by offering his arm as you left the restaurant.

"It might rain," he observed, glancing at the darkening sky as you walked toward the apparition point. "The forecast mentioned thunderstorms overnight."

"I've always liked storms," you commented, acutely aware of his arm beneath your hand. "They're so dramatic and unpredictable."

"You would like chaos," Sunghoon replied, though there was no criticism in his tone. "You and your disorganized filing system."

You laughed softly. "And you prefer everything orderly and planned. We're quite the opposite pair, aren't we?"

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing," he suggested, surprising you. "Different perspectives, working together."

Before you could respond to this unexpectedly thoughtful observation, you reached the apparition point. Sunghoon's arm tightened slightly around yours as he prepared to apparate you both home.

"Ready, angel?" he asked, the endearment now sounding almost natural on his lips.

The journey was brief, and moments later you found yourselves in the front garden of your shared home. The air felt heavy with approaching rain, the scent of ozone sharp in the twilight. Sunghoon's hand remained at your elbow as he guided you up the garden path, his touch light but steady.

Inside, the house felt different somehow—warmer, more inviting than the functional living space it had been when you first arrived. Your books now mingled with his on the shelves, your colorful throw blanket draped across one end of the sofa, Nyx's toys scattered across the rug. Somewhere along the way, it had become a home rather than just a house.

"Tea?" Sunghoon offered, removing his cloak.

"Please," you agreed, curious about his mentioned "something" but not wanting to seem too eager.

As Sunghoon moved to the kitchen, you wandered into the living room, drawn to a small vase on the side table that hadn't been there this morning. Inside were three perfect lilac flowers arranged with characteristic precision.

"Oh," you breathed, touching one petal gently. The texture was perfect, the colors vibrant despite being separated from their roots.

"They're from the Ministry conservatory," Sunghoon's voice came from behind you. "The groves there cycle through all four seasons weekly. These are from its spring phase."

You turned to find him watching you, his expression uncharacteristically uncertain. "They're beautiful," you said softly. "Is this what you meant?"

He nodded once, his posture almost stiff. "You mentioned liking spring. I thought... well, I thought you might like them."

The gesture touched you deeply. Not because the flowers themselves were particularly valuable or rare, but because they represented something precious—proof that Sunghoon had truly listened to you, remembered details of your conversation, and gone out of his way to bring you something personally meaningful.

"Thank you," you said, stepping closer to him. "I love them."

Something in his expression shifted, softened. "I'm glad."

"No one's ever given me autumn leaves before," you said, smiling up at him. "It's very thoughtful."

"It's nothing," he said, though he looked pleased at your reaction.

Standing on tiptoe, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—a gesture that would have been unthinkable just days ago. Sunghoon went very still, his eyes widening slightly at the unexpected contact. For a moment, you feared you'd crossed some invisible line, pushed too far too fast.

But then his hand came up to your waist, steadying you as you settled back on your heels. Instead of stepping away as you expected, he remained close, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Y/N," he said softly, your name almost a question.

In answer, you reached up, touching his cheek gently. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, the slight stubble of late evening rough against your palm. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, suspended in a moment of unspoken possibility.

Then, with a deliberateness that made your heart race, Sunghoon lowered his head and kissed you.

It wasn't the brief, almost clinical kiss he'd given you during the Ministry assessment. This was different—tentative at first, as if he was testing unfamiliar waters, but growing more certain as you responded. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, the pressure gentle but unmistakably real.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the surprising strength beneath his always-perfect robes. His own hands settled at your waist, holding you steady but not pulling you closer. Always so careful, even now.

When you finally broke apart, Sunghoon looked slightly dazed, his usual composure temporarily shaken. A strand of his always-perfect hair had fallen across his forehead, making him look younger, less severe.

"That was..." he began, then seemed at a loss for words—a rare occurrence for someone usually so precise in his speech.

"Unexpected?" you supplied, your own voice not entirely steady.

"But not unwelcome," he added quickly, his hands still resting lightly at your waist.

"Definitely not unwelcome," you agreed, smiling up at him.

For a moment, you simply looked at each other, something new and fragile hovering between you. Then, with a sureness that took your breath away, Sunghoon kissed you again.

This time, there was nothing tentative about it. His arms drew you closer, one hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck. You responded in kind, your fingers threading through his hair, disrupting its perfect arrangement in a way that felt quietly rebellious.

The kiss deepened, lips parting, breaths mingling. Sunghoon made a soft sound in the back of his throat—something between a sigh and a groan—that sent a shiver down your spine. Who knew that proper, composed Park Sunghoon could kiss like this?

You found yourself pressed against the bookshelf, the spines of ancient tomes digging into your back, but you hardly noticed. All that existed was Sunghoon—his mouth hot against yours, his hands now bolder in their exploration, the surprising heat of him through layers of formal robes.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Sunghoon looked thoroughly disheveled. His hair stood up where your fingers had mussed it, his usually pale cheeks flushed, his perfect robes slightly askew. The sight of him so undone—because of you—created a flutter of something dangerously close to pride in your chest.

"I..." he began, then cleared his throat. "That was not what I had planned for this evening."

You couldn't help but laugh softly. "Do you always plan your evenings in such detail?"

"Usually," he admitted, a hint of something almost like humor in his eyes. "Though I'm finding that some deviations from schedule can be... acceptable."

"Just acceptable?" you teased, straightening his collar where your hands had disturbed it.

His expression softened, becoming almost vulnerable. "More than acceptable, baby."

The endearment, spoken in this context, created a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the lingering heat of your kiss. This was not a practiced performance for Ministry officials—this was something real, however unexpected.

"The tea must be getting cold," you said finally, though you made no move to step away from him.

"I believe you're right," Sunghoon agreed, though he seemed equally reluctant to break the moment. With visible effort, he stepped back, his hands lingering at your waist before finally falling away. "We should probably..."

"Yes," you agreed, though neither of you moved toward the kitchen.

A distant rumble of thunder broke the moment, reminding you of the approaching storm. As if on cue, Nyx appeared, winding her way between your legs with her usual disregard for personal space.

"Your cat has impeccable timing," Sunghoon observed, his composure gradually returning despite his still-mussed hair.

"She does have a talent for interruption," you agreed, bending to scoop her up. "Though she seems to approve of you."

"A dubious honor," Sunghoon replied dryly, though his hand came up to scratch behind Nyx's ears, earning a loud purr of appreciation.The tension of the moment eased, replaced by a new kind of comfort as you both moved to the kitchen for tea. Outside, the storm drew closer, occasional flashes of lightning now visible through the windows, followed by increasingly loud rumbles of thunder.

As you finished your tea, a comfortable silence fell between you, broken only by the sound of rain beginning to patter against the windows and Nyx's contented purring from her spot on the kitchen chair.

"It's getting late," Sunghoon said finally, his eyes meeting yours with lingering warmth. "You mentioned an early shift tomorrow."

"Six-thirty," you confirmed with a sigh. "The joys of pediatric emergency rotation."

Something that might have been disappointment flickered across his features, but he nodded. "You should get some rest."

As you both stood to clear the tea things, your fingers brushed again, the brief contact now charged with new meaning after your shared kisses. Sunghoon's hand caught yours, holding it gently for a moment.

"Thank you for dinner tonight," you said softly. "And for the flowers. It was... nice."

"It was," he agreed, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of your hand. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something more, but then simply nodded. "Sleep well, angel."

The endearment, now perfectly natural on his lips, created a warm flutter in your chest. "Goodnight, Sunghoon," you replied, reluctantly withdrawing your hand.

You both moved toward the stairs, the approaching storm casting dramatic shadows through the windows. At the landing where the hallway branched toward your separate bedrooms, you paused, suddenly reluctant to part.

Sunghoon hesitated as well, his usual decisive movements temporarily suspended. Then, with deliberate care, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips—gentle, brief, but unmistakably genuine.

"Goodnight," he said quietly, drawing back.

"Goodnight," you echoed, your voice not quite steady.

You turned toward your bedroom, feeling his eyes on you until you closed your door. Inside, you leaned against it for a moment, touching your lips where his had been, trying to process everything that had happened.

From casual dinner to heated kisses against a bookshelf to this new, tentative tenderness—it was a lot to absorb in one evening. As you prepared for bed, you could hear Sunghoon moving about in his own room across the hall, the familiar sounds somehow comforting despite the growing storm outside.

You slipped under your covers, Nyx jumping up to claim her usual spot at the foot of your bed. The approaching storm had intensified, lightning now flashing more frequently, thunder following in quicker succession. You'd always enjoyed storms, finding something soothing in their wild energy, and tonight the dramatic weather seemed to match the tumult of your thoughts.

Sleep came more easily than you expected, the day's events and emotional revelations having left you pleasantly exhausted. You couldn't know that in just a few hours, the storm raging outside would wake you both, creating an opportunity for the final barriers between you to fall completely.

PART 2

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair

[kxsagi]

Hii! Now that your requests are open I had an idea of what if we were being surprisingly touchy? Like we alr are lmao but hugging him from behind but slipping our fingers under his shirt to rest on his bare skin? I feel like the casual touchy, almost possessiveness would make them uncharacteristically shy and fluster lol, love ur stuff!

“𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐚, 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧’ 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮”

a/n: thank you so so so much! this is me as a gf literally

and montell fish the man you are

he was the first concert i ever went to and hearing hotel live made me float (title reference)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

he’s used to you being affectionate, but nothing this intimate. 

one minute he’s pouring protein powder into a bottle like a gym rat, and the next you’re hugging him from behind, arms slipping under his shirt like you own him. 

your hands are cold and he jumps. 

“hey, what are you doing??” 

absolutely red in the ears. stammers. chokes on air. he’s malfunctioning like a victorian man who was shown a woman’s ankle. 

“m-my skin’s sweaty… you’re gonna catch something???” 

as if you’ll get contagious soccer disease. 

but he secretly likes it. he’ll never admit it, but his heart does backflips when you do this in public. 

your hands under his hoodie? yeah, good luck shaking him off for the next hour because he’s holding onto your wrists and leaning into you now. 

itoshi rin

do not let this man fool you. 

he looks calm, sure. but inside? the mental equivalent of a fire alarm. 

you sneak up while he’s brushing his teeth or standing at the fridge, arms curling around his waist and fingers slipping up under his shirt to rest on his back. 

he stiffens like a cat. 

“what the hell are you doing?” voice low, trying to sound annoyed. 

but his ears are pink and he hasn’t moved an inch to push you off. 

actually, he slightly leans into your touch, even if he grumbles, “you’re clingy.” 

but when you stop doing it one day to mess with him, he literally corners you. 

“… you didn’t touch me today. something wrong?” 

rin.exe can’t function without your casual affection anymore. you’ve ruined him. congrats. 

itoshi sae

honestly, he touches you all the time. hand on thigh, hand on the back of your neck, fingers on your waist. 

but you? getting all possessive and slipping your fingers under his shirt? 

oh. oh. 

that shuts him up real fast. 

like he was mid-sentence, sipping coffee, and then you snuck behind him on the couch and did that. 

“huh?” 

brain rebooting. 

“your hands are warm,” he mutters, staring ahead blankly, trying not to flinch. 

visibly loses the ability to use words for like a minute. 

and then gets annoyingly smug about it. “you’re obsessed with me, huh?” 

(yes. and you show it by keeping your hand on his back like he’s yours.) 

nagi seishiro

you think he’d be chill, right? wrong. 

you sneak up on him while he’s gaming and just rest your fingers under his hoodie while hugging him close. 

his spine straightens. game controller drops. 

“… uhh.” 

for once, he’s not sleepy or lazy. he’s wide awake like someone hit a defibrillator on his soul. 

“that’s kinda… intense,” he mutters, flustered and unsure where to look. 

doesn’t stop you though. 

in fact, the next time, he lifts his hoodie a little so you can slide your hand in easier. 

(he thinks he’s subtle. he is not.) 

clingy nagi unlocked. he now lays on you just so you’ll touch him like that again. 

mikage reo

he’s dramatic about it. 

you hug him from behind and slide your fingers against his skin and this man gasps. 

“baby?? scandalous behavior?? in broad daylight??” 

flails but never actually escapes your grip. 

very red in the face, probably giggles, and you’re like “are you blushing?” 

“NO?? i just wasn’t ready for that???” 

loves it more than his entire bank account. 

next day, he walks around with crop tops or mesh hoodies. 

“just making it easier for you, angel.” 

secretly gets possessive, too. if anyone else hugs you, he’s immediately behind you like, “sorry, her hands are full.” 

kaiser michael

oh you wanna play possessive games? he’s the king. 

or at least he thought he was. 

until you casually hug him from behind while he’s doing his skincare routine and slide your hands under his silk robe like you own him. 

he short circuits. the serum bottle drops. 

“liebling? what do you think you’re doing?” 

fumbles. stutters. glares at his own reflection because his face is visibly RED. 

tries to act smug after five seconds. 

“you can’t keep doing that unless you plan to marry me.” 

starts leaving his robe more open just to see if you’ll do it again. 

he tells everyone you’re obsessed with him, but he’s the one texting “you forgot to touch me today 😕”

shidou ryusei

okay so you do it once. hug him from behind, fingers resting just under his shirt on his skin. 

and now he thinks it’s a game. 

turns into a menace. 

“ooooh ~ babe’s getting handsy ~ should we just skip to second base?” 

you: “ryu, i’m just touching your back.” 

“exactly. second base.” 

but then you catch him off guard. mid-conversation. in front of his teammates. and just casually do it. 

he pauses. jaw clenched. eyes wide. 

"… you’re dangerous." 

turns feral, clings to you like a backpack the whole day. 

if anyone else tries to talk to you: “sorry, can’t hear you over how in love we are. she’s literally touching my soul right now.” 

bachira meguru

he’s always clinging to you. hanging off your back. leaning his full weight on you. wrapping his arms around your waist like a baby koala. 

but when you sneak up behind him, all quiet and deliberate, and slip your hands under his shirt while hugging him? 

he squeaks. 

“EH?!! heeEEYY?!” 

looks over his shoulder like a deer caught mid-dance. 

“you’re touchier than me now, huh? wow, she’s evolving!!” 

fully turns into a cat. headbutts you. grabs your wrists and holds them against his stomach so you can’t pull away. 

“your hands are warm. you’re not allowed to stop. ever. this is mine now.” 

and then he just stands there swaying back and forth like it’s a comfort position. 

if you don’t do it one day, he dramatically goes: “you don’t love me anymore 😔” while fake crying into your shoulder. 

(real talk though, he feels safe when you touch him like that. like someone’s got him.) 

ness alexis

he’s clingy. everyone knows that. he also loves attention and being adored. 

but you? you’re a different kind of chaos. 

he’s walking through the hallway, humming to himself, maybe practicing a soccer spin with an invisible ball, and then BAM. your arms around his waist, fingers slipping up under his tight little training top. 

he SHRIEKS. 

“WHA?! h-hands?? whose hands?? OH. it’s you.” 

tries to act mad about it. turns around with a fake scowl. 

“you could’ve WARNED me! you can’t just… slip your fingers under my shirt like that!! what if someone SAW?!” 

but his face is literally glowing red. he’s so flustered he’s flapping his hands around like a startled chicken. looks like he’s about to combust… but also doesn’t move away. 

if anything, he leans back into your touch like a traitor to his own ego. 

later, you catch him casually stretching with his shirt riding up and he definitely gives you a side glance like: “my stomach’s right here. if you must.” 

turns into an absolute gremlin if you don’t do it for a day. 

“you didn’t touch me today. do you hate me now? has kaiser replaced me??” 

cue you hugging him and putting your hands right under his shirt again. 

he gasps like a princess and melts. 

“o-oh… okay… you’re forgiven…” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[downbad4sylus]

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

synopsis: You and Sylus visit a coffee shop and unexpectedly run into Doctor Zayne.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; pre-relationship; zayne cameo; just, so much fluff; mostly proofread

word count: ~2k

a/n: see guys, i’m capable of writing not-angst. also can you tell i have a headcanon about them holding hands while linked or what lol. anyway, i love exploring the dynamics of sylus with the other LIs, i have another one brewing ft. our resident doctor (NOT ANGST) and i’ll probably do some with the others in the future. if anyone has anything they want me try and write for them, please feel free to ask, im happy to do so :)

Dragging Sylus out in Linkon City during the day was never easy, but when a certain energy linkage was keeping you locked to each other’s sides and you just had to have your morning coffee, Sylus was a bit more agreeable.

So there you both stood, waiting in line to order. You’d developed a bit of a habit of holding hands as you’d long since grown used to the linkage binding your wrists. Sylus’s hand dwarfed yours, something that took time to get accustomed to, but now the feeling of his fingers laced with yours was a comfort, and admittedly something you often craved without the linkage.

“Will you let me pay for you this time?” you asked Sylus, peering up at him.

He breathed a low chuckle. “Don’t think so, sweetie,” he replied.

“You never let me pay for anything,” you grumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

You tugged Sylus along as you stepped up to the cashier. After placing both your orders (and begrudgingly allowing Sylus to pay), you waited off to the side for your names to be called.

“I’d like to go for a walk after this, if that’s okay,” you said to Sylus. It was overcast today, weather Sylus was more comfortable to be in during the day, you’d noticed.

“That’s fine,” Sylus said. “Where would you like to go?”

You beamed at him. “Actually, there’s a park not far from here, and since the leaves are starting to turn the scenery should be perfect for a—”

“Y/N?”

You whirled around at the sound of your name, spoken by an all too familiar voice.

“Zayne?”

Sure enough, there was your primary care physician, standing with his brow slightly furrowed and his gaze locked on yours and Sylus’s intertwined hands.

“I wasn’t expecting to run into you here,” you commented, drawing his attention from your hand to your eyes.

“This coffee shop isn’t far from the hospital, I stop here in the mornings quite often,” Zayne said. His hazel eyes flicked to Sylus. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Right, Doctor Zayne this is Sy—uh, Skye, he’s…” you trailed off, panic seizing your mind as you fumbled for any explanation as to why you were here with Sylus, holding his hand, that wasn’t the actual truth.

“Her boyfriend,” Sylus lied smoothly, sticking out his unoccupied hand at Zayne. “It’s nice to finally meet you, doctor, Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

You missed the nearly imperceptible flare of Zayne’s eyes at Sylus’s answer, too busy short circuiting over the fact that Sylus had just introduced himself as your boyfriend. When had you gone from “besties” to “boyfriend?”

“Nice to meet you too,” Zayne said politely, shaking Sylus’s hand. “Y/N, you never told me you were seeing someone.”

Sylus laughed. “We only just became official.”

You finally managed to regain your composure. “Right, and I haven’t been by for an appointment since then, otherwise I would’ve told you,” you said, bolstering the lie.

Zayne nodded, as if satisfied by your answers. “Well, then I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Oh, Zayne please, that’s not necessary,” you insisted. A barista called for your orders, which Sylus grabbed and handed to you before taking his own. “Zayne, why don’t you come sit with us? Unless you have important doctor business to take care of.”

Zayne’s lips tilted ever so slightly at your teasing remark. “Sure, I have some time before I have to get back.”

Once Zayne received his coffee, the three of you found an unoccupied table and sat, with you and Sylus on one side, hands still clasped, and Zayne on the other.

“So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” Zayne asked with clinical precision, his stare just as sharp.

“Quite a few months now,” Sylus said. His bright red eyes focused on you. “Y/N practically fell on my doorstep, and I guess you could say the rest is history.”

You snorted, though your cheeks were as red as Sylus’s eyes. “That’s one way to describe it,” you muttered.

“What, sweetie? Would you explain it differently?” Sylus asked, raising a brow.

You shook your head. “No, yours was fine,” you quipped.

“How kind,” Sylus drawled.

You glanced at Zayne and found him watching the two of you with his head tilted. Mirth danced in his hazel eyes, as if observing the “happy couple” was amusing.

“How’s work been, Doctor Zayne?” you asked.

“Fine, the usual,” he answered. “And you? Any injuries you haven’t told me about either?”

“No,” you said firmly. “I’ve been very careful.”

Zayne’s lips curled. “I have a hard time believing that. Skye, has our Hunter been careful lately?”

Sylus’s fingers twitched around yours but his expression didn’t falter. “To everyone’s surprise, she has. No secret injuries to report.”

Zayne made a satisfied hum. “What do you do for work Skye?”

You stiffened. Nothing caused you more anxiety than when someone asked Sylus too many questions. He was a practiced smooth talker, able to craft a believable lie without a second thought, but you still couldn’t help worrying. The last thing you wanted was for him to be recognized, for him to be taken away from you.

Sylus rubbed his thumb along yours soothingly. “I own a few small businesses here and there,” he told the doctor.

“He runs a fruit stall!” you chimed in excitedly.

“That’s one of the few,” Sylus chuckled.

“I had some of his watermelon once at a work function he happened to be catering,” you continued. The very same work function Sylus had called you “besties.” Sylus really was your best friend though, you realized so suddenly your heart practically skipped a beat.

“Well, I’m glad that business is good then,” Zayne said.

You and Zayne then slipped into a casual conversation, catching up on the recent happenings in each other’s lives, while Sylus remained more of a quiet observer.

Actually, Sylus was debating on whether or not to kill (or seriously maim) your primary care physician.

Sylus would never admit to being jealous, but his chest tightened watching you speak to the doctor, hearing the way you laughed at his eerily similar dry humor. He knew you’d been childhood friends and had a long history, but it certainly didn’t help that the way Zayne looked at you was the exact same way Sylus looked at you. And he hadn’t missed the flash of longing in Zayne’s eyes when he’d first spotted your clasped hands at the counter. It was why Sylus had gone out of his way to introduce himself as your boyfriend, even if it meant speeding up his timeline with you a little.

However, Sylus couldn’t deny that Zayne’s role as your primary care physician was an important one, crucial even. He was a renowned cardiac surgeon and an expert in Protocore Syndrome, making him perhaps the only person equipped to help with your heart condition. So Sylus would let him live, because you would be upset with him if he didn’t, and because he was a valuable asset.

Finishing the last of his coffee, Zayne flipped his wrist, checking the time on his watch. “I’m afraid I have to get going now, my break is almost over,” he declared, rising from his seat. “It was nice meeting you Skye, and I’ll see you for your next check up soon, Y/N. No getting hurt in the meantime, okay?”

“Hey! I told you I was being careful!” you exclaimed.

Zayne gave Sylus a withering look. “It’s good to know there’s someone else who understands Y/N’s penchant for danger.”

Sylus recognized the comment for what it was, a white flag thrown at his feet.

Brow cocked and mouth tilted, Sylus picked it up. “Her recklessness knows no bounds.”

“Since when did this become a gang-up-on-Y/N session?” you questioned.

Both Zayne and Sylus chuckled.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Zayne said. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

“I’m sure,” Sylus replied.

“It was nice seeing you Doctor Zayne!” you called after him as he swiftly took his leave.

You and Sylus left shortly thereafter, going to the park you had mentioned to walk amongst the multicolored trees. The linkage dissipated on the way over, but Sylus never let go of your hand.

And now alone with him, your thoughts spiraled.

You couldn’t deny that you had feelings for him, you had for quite a while. You two had been spending a lot of time together recently, whether it was you frequenting Onychinus’s base and ruining your sleep schedule, or him staying over at your apartment and ruining his sleep schedule. But even so, you weren’t sure if Sylus felt the same about you, and now that he’d so casually introduced himself as your boyfriend, you didn’t know what to think.

“I think I see steam coming out of your ears, sweetie.”

You whipped your head toward him. “Why would you say that?”

He smirked. “You’re thinking very loudly. Tell me, what is it?”

It was hard to deny him when he spoke so softly, something he reserved for you and you alone.

“Why did you say you were my boyfriend?” you asked quietly, averting your gaze.

“Because it was easier than explaining our actual relationship,” Sylus said simply.

“And what, exactly, is our actual relationship?”

His brow quirked. “I was under the impression we were something far more than just boyfriend and girlfriend, unless I’ve misread the situation.”

You pulled him to a stop, gaping at him. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Of course I’m being serious, when have I ever not been?” Sylus tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Have I misread the situation, sweetie?”

It was rare to see Sylus nervous, if that was what you could call it.

You shook your head. “No, I just—I had no idea you felt that way.”

Sylus huffed. “Y/N, I told you that I adore you, that there is no love purer than mine, what else could I have meant by that?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured.

He brought your entwined hands up to his lips, kissing the back of yours. “Talk to me, kitten.”

“Are you saying you love me?” you blurted.

Sylus grinned. “I am,” he said.

“Then say it,” you demanded.

He tugged your hand and you fell into his chest. His free hand threaded into your hair and tilted your head up to look at him, into those mesmerizing red eyes.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his deep voice so tender it made your heart flutter.

“Sylus,” you breathed. You reached up and cupped his cheek, tears welling in your eyes. “I love you too.”

He huffed a disbelieving chuckle before pressing the most gentle kiss to your forehead. “We should’ve run into your doctor sooner,” he murmured against your skin.

You reared back, slapping his chest. “Don’t ruin our moment!”

Sylus only laughed in response.

Finally letting go of your hand, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you impossibly closer. Your own arms twined around his neck, stretching on your tip toes to better maintain eye contact.

“So where does this leave us?” you asked.

Sylus shrugged a shoulder. “Where do you want it to leave us?”

You smiled. “Well, I guess you’re my boyfriend now, even though you never formally asked me to be your girlfriend.”

His lips twitched. “Would you like me to perform a grand gesture?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“All right, kitten, then I hope you look forward to it.”

[lazy-ahh]

You said I could send u a request! so I am taking u up on ur offer 🤓👆🏽if u write for them…Mohawk mark varient x male reader? I’ve been craving something hurt/comforty?as comforty u can get with those dorks ANYWAY thank yewwww i really do love your writing it’s SO GOOOODD AISBWOSBSUDBDUVE

ME? CARE? LOL. LMAO.

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x male reader

imagine the most unhinged version of mark grayson—now give him a mohawk, piercings, and exactly zero self-preservation instincts. this is that fic. (also maybe some feelings. but we don’t talk about those.)

the warehouse is dark, smells like motor oil and regret, and you’re really wishing you hadn’t gotten captured today. like, seriously? it was your day off. you could be bed-rotting right now. scrolling through dumb videos. eating cereal straight from the box like a feral raccoon. anything but this.

but no. instead, you’re tied to a chair in some crusty villain lair, your favorite hoodie probably getting dust stains, and your only entertainment is the fact that this dumbass in front of you actually thinks he can use you as leverage.

"you really think this’ll work?" you mutter, testing the ropes around your wrists. they don’t budge—not that you’re trying too hard. you could get out if you wanted. but where’s the fun in that?

the villain—some guy with a fancy energy glove that probably cost way too much for how ugly it is—grins at you like he’s just won the lottery. "oh, it’ll work. invincible cares about you. he’ll negotiate."

you blink. then you laugh—a sharp, disbelieving sound that echoes off the warehouse walls. "invincible? negotiate? dude, he’s gonna rip your spine out through your nose."

glove-guy’s smile flickers. "shut up."

"no, no, i gotta know," you continue, leaning forward as much as the ropes allow. "who even told you this was a good idea? like, did you see him at all before you decided ‘yeah, kidnapping his whatever-i-am is a solid plan’? because—and i cannot stress this enough—that guy is fucking feral."

glove-guy’s eye twitches. "he won’t risk your life."

"oh my god," you groan, tipping your head back. you don't deny it, though. "you actually don’t get it. he’s not gonna risk my life because he’s gonna erase yours before you even blink."

"enough!" he snaps, raising his stupid glove like it’s intimidating.

you roll your eyes. "bro, i’ve literally seen that guy bite someone’s ear off for looking at him wrong. you’re toast."

before you could get another taunt in, he decides to punch you on your side. hard. you cough, eyes wide, before you glare at the motherfucker. you ignore the way your side actually stung. oh, he's about to get put on a t-shirt once you're out of this chair. glove-guy opens his mouth to retort—

—and then the wall explodes.

concrete shrapnel flies, dust clouds billowing up in slow-motion like the universe itself is screaming oh shit. and then—there he is.

mark.

silhouetted against the moonlight like some kind of feral, bloodthirsty angel, floating in the wreckage of the wall he just obliterated because subtlety was never in his vocabulary.

not that you’re looking or anything.

okay, fine, you’re looking. who wouldn’t? mark’s all lean muscle and barely-contained violence, his stupid skintight suit doing nothing to hide the way his body moves—like every inch of him is built for destruction and looks good doing it. his shoulders are broad enough to throw a car (and have, multiple times), tapering down to a waist that’s stupidly narrow for someone who eats entire pizzas in one sitting. his arms are corded with muscle, veins standing out along his forearms as he cracks his knuckles, and his thighs—god, his thighs—could probably crush a watermelon. or a skull. whichever’s more convenient.

his mohawk’s sticking up in every direction like he just stuck his finger in an outlet (again), the shaved sides of his head only emphasizing the sharp cut of his jaw. his grin’s all teeth—sharp and way too pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and is loving every second of it.

and god, his eyes—locked onto glove-guy with the kind of unholy glee usually reserved for kids in a candy store. or maybe a cat who just knocked a glass off the table. same energy, really.

oh, and the piercings.

because of course mark’s the type to have them—two little silver studs on each side of his eyebrows, catching the light when he tilts his head like he’s considering the best way to ruin someone’s day. two more at the corners of his mouth, glinting when he smirks (which is always), drawing attention to the way his lips curl when he’s about to say something especially shitty. and if you happen to notice the flash of metal on his tongue when he licks his lips—well. that’s your business.

not that you care.

"ohhh," mark croons, voice dripping with the kind of mock sympathy that absolutely means someone’s about to lose several internal organs—messily. he tilts his head, the movement sharp enough to make the silver studs in his eyebrows glint under the flickering warehouse lights.

"you thought taking him would work?" he asks, sweet as poisoned honey. he takes a single step forward, the crunch of broken glass under his boot sounding suspiciously like bones snapping. his shoulders roll, the fabric of his suit straining over the muscle as he cracks his knuckles—one by one, slow, like he’s counting down to disaster.

"that’s adorable," he taunts.

you snort. "told you."

glove-guy’s face does this fantastic little journey from confident to oh no to full-blown panic in about half a second flat. "i—i have your partner!" he yelps, shoving the glowing end of his stupid glove against your temple like it’ll help. "i’ll kill him!"

you sigh, long-suffering. you don't even bother to try and deny that you aren't his partner (yet). "mark, please don’t monologue."

"you don’t monologue," mark shoots back, pointing an accusing finger at you like you’re the problem here.

"my bad," you deadpan, "you just looked like you were about to start your boring ted talk again. this is a very uncomfortable chair, you know. if this was any other time, i wouldn’t have minded falling asleep."

mark’s eye twitches. "falling asl— you’re literally at gunpoint."

"eh." you shrug. "technically it’s a glove-point. and honestly? after the week i’ve had? this is almost relaxing."

"relaxing," mark repeats, flat.

"y’know, aside from the whole potential death thing. but hey, at least the company’s entertaining." you grin up at him. "speaking of—you gonna do something, or are you just here to hover dramatically?"

mark’s grin goes sharp. "oh, i’m doing something."

then he moves.

one second, he’s floating there like an overgrown, pissed-off bumblebee. the next—

crunch.

glove-guy doesn't even get a scream out before mark's got him by the wrist, squeezing until the metal creaks like a soda can under a hydraulic press. the guy makes this hilarious squeaking noise, halfway between a deflating balloon and a stepped-on mouse, and you would feel bad for him—

—if mark wasn't currently laughing, wild and unhinged, the sound bouncing off warehouse walls as he yanks the guy forward by his own stupid glove hard enough to hear something pop. "hey. hey." his voice drops to a purr, all rough edges and promised violence, while his free hand comes up to pat the guy's cheek—harder than necessary, his eyebrow piercings catching the dim light as he tilts his head. "you took my favorite nuisance. you really thought that'd end well?"

you gasp, jerking forward so dramatically the chair legs screech against concrete. "favorite? mark, i'm blushing." you try to press a hand to your chest before remembering your arms are still tied behind you, so you just flop your whole upper body forward instead, nearly toppling the chair. "wait till i tell everyone you finally admitted it—"

"shut up," mark hisses, but his ears are pink under the shaved sides of his mohawk, the flush creeping down his neck. he definitely squeezes glove-guy's wrist harder just to distract from it. "you're barely above tolerable on your best day."

"aw, you do pay attention to my good days!" you beam, kicking your feet again for emphasis. "that's practically a love confession in mark-speak. should we get matching bracelets? couple's tattoos? maybe—"

"i will throw you into the sun," mark growls, but there's no heat behind it—not when he's still got that stupid pink tinge to his ears, not when his grip on glove-guy has loosened just enough to show he's distracted.

glove-guy whimpers. "can i—"

"no," you and mark say in unison. you grin; mark scowls. it's beautiful.

glove-guy whimpers. "p-please—"

mark pats his cheek once more. "aw. no."

then he punches him so hard the guy spins mid-air before hitting the ground like a sack of wet flour.

silence.

you blink. "…that was almost cool."

mark immediately flips you off. "you’re welcome."

"i could've handled it myself," you say, just to watch him scowl, your voice dripping with that special mix of smugness only someone who regularly bench-presses sedans can pull off.

"oh, really," mark deadpans, crossing his arms so hard his biceps strain against his sleeves. "really. you, tied to a chair by fucking dollar store rope, were totally about to—"

you wiggle your fingers just enough - a quick twist of your wrists, that specific angle you've practiced a thousand times - and snap, the ropes explode into fibers like someone set off a party popper full of disappointment. the frayed ends flutter to the ground in slow motion, one sad strand landing directly on mark's boot.

"ta-da," you deadpan, shaking out your hands like you've just performed some grand illusion instead of literally just flexing. "any requests? maybe saw a lady in half? make your boring personality disappear?"

mark blinks. once. twice. his nose scrunches up like he's smelled something rotten. "...you sat there the whole time."

"magic tricks," you sing-song, shaking out your wrists with exaggerated flair. "who knew?"

"i hate you," mark announces, so vehemently it makes the unconscious bad guys twitch.

"you love me," you correct, standing up and brushing nonexistent dust off your pants just to annoy him further. "admit it. you think my 'sit still and look pretty' strategy is inspired."

mark growls, grabs you by the back of your hoodie, and takes off into the night before you can even yelp.

"rude!" you shout over the wind, flailing dramatically as the city blurs into streaks of neon and shadow beneath you. your hoodie flaps like a demented cape, nearly smacking you in the face.

"you’re welcome!" mark shouts back, grinning like the little shit he is—all sharp teeth and way too pleased with himself.

you groan, twisting just enough to yank his hand off your hoodie (gently, because you like this hoodie, and mark has the grip strength of a hydraulic press). with a quick burst of energy, you steady yourself mid-air, falling into pace beside him.

the city sprawls below, a mess of glittering lights and jagged rooftops. for once, it’s quiet—or as quiet as it gets when you’re floating a few thousand feet up with wind screaming past your ears. when the two of you are in a room together, silence is rare. usually, it’s all snark and shoving and mark actively trying to set things on fire. but this? this is… nice.

you glance over at him.

moonlight cuts across his face like liquid silver, softening the usual manic edge in his expression - the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the permanent crease between his brows when he's plotting murder. he looks calm. almost peaceful, if you could ever associate that word with a guy who once bit a drone out of the sky for fun and then spat out the shrapnel like sunflower seeds.

his mohawk’s a disaster in the best way, strands defying gravity like they’ve personally rejected the concept of physics, each one a tiny rebellion against order. it shouldn’t suit him—but it does, the same way a lit fuse suits a stick of dynamite. beautiful in that dangerous, unpredictable way that makes your throat tight.

and his mouth - god, his mouth. chapped from the wind, always twisted into some variation of a smirk or a snarl, but right now just... still. the moonlight catches on his teeth when he exhales, turning them into tiny blades of ivory. not that you're thinking about how they'd feel against your skin. definitely not.

(you're absolutely thinking about that.)

you look away, throat weirdly tight. "...thanks."

mark immediately side-eyes you like you just confessed to secretly being a llama. "what."

"you heard me," you mutter, suddenly very interested in a random skyscraper.

"no, no, hang on—" he flips mid-air to face you, hovering like an overexcited hornet. "did you just—thank me?"

"oh my god, forget it—"

"no, no, this is historic," mark cackles, zooming in closer like this is the best thing he’s heard all week. "was that gratitude? from you? do i need to check for a concussion? did glove-guy poison you?"

you shove at his face. "shut up. i take it back. i regret everything."

mark dodges, still grinning. "too late. i’m framing this moment. putting it in a museum."

"i hate you," you announce, flipping him off for good measure.

"you love me," he shoots back, smug as hell.

"i tolerate you."

"bullshit," mark says, but his voice is weirdly soft. then, like he can’t help himself, he adds, "...you’re welcome, though."

there’s a beat.

then—

"awww, was that sentiment? from you?" you gasp, clutching your chest. you try to ignore the way your cheeks feel warmer. you blame it on the cold wind. "do you have a concussion? should i check for—"

"i’m going to punch you."

"liar."

mark growls, but he doesn’t deny it.

(and if he flies a little closer the rest of the way home, well. that’s nobody’s business.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the two of you touch down on a rooftop, still bickering, when your foot catches on the ledge. you stumble—hard—and suddenly, your vision whites out in a burst of pain.

"ow, what the—?" you glance down.

oh.

oh.

there’s a gash in your side, deep enough that your hoodie’s soaked through with blood. huh. that… probably should’ve hurt more earlier. maybe the adrenaline wore off. maybe you’re just that good at ignoring pain. or maybe—

"what the fuck."

mark’s voice is wrong. too quiet. too flat.

you look up, grinning weakly. "hey, so, fun story—turns out glove-guy’s stupid glove was kinda sharp—"

mark moves faster than you can blink. one second, he’s across the roof. the next, his hands are on your shoulders, shoving you down onto a ventilation unit. his fingers are trembling.

"why didn’t you say anything?!" he snarls, but it’s not anger in his eyes—it’s panic, raw and unfiltered.

you blink. "uh. forgot?"

mark chokes on a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. "forgot. you forgot you were stabbed."

"to be fair," you wheeze, "you were really distracting. all the—hnng—exploding walls and… and the smug face—"

"shut up. shut up." mark’s hands hover over your wound like he’s scared to touch it. his usual swagger’s gone, replaced by something terrifyingly fragile. "you’re bleeding out and you’re joking?"

you open your mouth. close it.

…oh.

oh.

he’s actually scared.

the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. mark—your mark, the guy who laughs while flipping cars, who grins when he’s covered in someone else’s blood—is terrified.

your throat tightens. "hey. hey. look at me." you grab his wrist, squeezing. "i’m not dying over some glove-related incident, okay? that’s embarrassing."

mark shudders, his free hand clenching into a fist so tight you hear his knuckles pop. the veins in his forearm stand out like live wires, that stupid black sleeve of his straining over muscle. "not funny."

"kinda funny," you wheeze, even though your vision's going spotty at the edges. the blood soaking your side is definitely not ideal, but hey—if you pass out now, you'll miss mark's mental breakdown. worth it.

"not. funny." his voice cracks on the last word, raw in a way you've never heard before. not after fights, not after nightmares—never. his other hand's still pressed to your wound, warm and sticky with your blood, trembling like he's the one going into shock.

silence.

then, so quiet you almost miss it: "i can’t lose you too."

your chest aches worse than the gash in your side.

you reach up—ignoring how your arm shakes—and poke the spot between his furrowed brows. "too? wow. you do have friends." you swipe your thumb over the silver eyebrow piercing he definitely doesn't let anyone else touch. "should i be jealous?"

mark huffs, but he doesn’t pull away or swat your hand off like usual. his breath hitches when your fingers trail down to brush his cheek. "asshole."

"yeah," you agree softly, your palm lingering against his jaw. "your asshole."

mark freezes. for one terrifying second, you think you've broken him. then, with a groan that sounds suspiciously wet, he drops his forehead against your shoulder, his mohawk tickling your neck. "i hate you so much." his arms slide around your waist, careful but desperate, like he's trying to put you back together through sheer willpower.

(he holds you the whole way to the medbay.

and when the medics try to pry him off you, he growls like a feral dog.

you don't let go either.)

2.9k words of mohawk mark chaos for you! thanks for the request—i had way too much fun writing this unhinged gremlin. not entirely sure if i did him justice or did this right, but hey, at least he’s here and causing problems. hope you enjoyed the mess!

[justauthoring]

Taste of Freedom

Request: Heyyy can we get a Luffy x ready (or literally any one piece character) fic where Y/n is royalty/from a noble family and gets betrothed or is like the next of kin. Girly ends up getting cold feet, runs away and after meeting the straw hats and having a little excursion with them (or something of the sort) she’s debating whether she wants to stay with them or go back. At first she goes back to honor her family/for her people/fulfill whatever duty she has and amidst her short absence Luffy comes to terms with his feeling and essentially gets his girl back, kidnapping her/crashing her wedding and she becomes a permanent member of their crew and they live happily ever after type beat Requested by: Anonymous

Pairing: Monkey D. Luffy x F!Reader

A/N: Maybe this blog will become a Luffy fan blog... Literally every request I received since my last One Piece fanfic has been Luffy (lets be clear I'm not complaining lmao). So, here's another Luffy fic as a result lol :)

Also! Please keep in mind that I'm only on episode 279 of One Piece and I am making my way through the series. So if you request something that has to do with later episodes, just be patient with me!

Word Count: 3,829 (Also, not spell-checked... lol)

The skirt of your dress weighed heavily in your hands.

Your dresses were always heavy. Dressed in the finest silks, with petticoasts and corsets and lines and lines of fabric draped over you. Everything was heavy. Adorned in jewels and intricate hair designs. You were never, ever allowed to not look your best.

But everything felt heavier today.

The weight you've always been able to bear. Mainly because you had no choise to otherwise. But it was too much for you; standing in that room, surrounded by people you didn't know... staring up at the eyes of a man twenty years your senior.

A man you were meant to marry.

Needless to say, you couldn't do it. You just couldn't.

In the midst of the wedding, you'd gotten cold feet. You'd ripped your hands from the man, and only because you'd surprised everyone, had managed to flee the ceremony.

Not unscathed however, becuase you were currently be chased across the harbour by your family's and the man you were marrying's family.

You'd lost your heels somewhere along the way. Kicking them off because they hurt and inhibited how well you could run. You'd ripped off a bit of your skirt to lessen the weight. And you'd been running for so long. Your feet ached, you're sure the soles of your feet had been torn apart by the ground beneath you.

Everything hurt. You were tired, exhausted and you just needed to get away.

You needed one ship--one ship to take pity on you.

Inhaling sharply, your face twists in panic when you realize the knights are growing closer. You were getting to the end of your wits and the chance for an escape was slipping through your fingers by the second.

If you didn't find a ship to get away on and soon, you'd be dragged back to the wedding. And this time, there would be no escaping.

Slowing to a stop, you twist your head, spinning round to try and find someone who looks like they'd be willing to take a stray on their ship. Especially one that was currently being hunted down by the islands guards.

Stumbling backwards on your feet, you can feel yourself hyperventilating, breath quickening. You knew that if you were caught, you could only imagine how much trouble you'd be in. And your fiance? He'd seemed nice enough, at least... somewhat. But you figure he wouldn't at all be impressed that his bride-to-be ran away.

You continue shuffling backwards on your feet, skin coated with sweat, when you feel yourself bump into something.

It causes you to jump, fearing it's a knight or maybe even in your fiance, body spinning around in panic. Only, it isn't a knight or your fiance. It's a boy with a bright red jacket and a straw hat on his head. There's also a large piece of meat in his mouth that he swallows in two seconds in front of you.

You blink back at him.

"You okay?"

It takes you half a second to realize that the boy's asked you a question. You blink, again, heart still pounding and still breathless and then, feeling utterly hopeless, you shake your head;

"No."

The boys face twists, wiping the crumbs from his meat off his face as a concerned expression falls on his face. You're stunned by the genuine look of worry, from a stranger no less.

"What's--"

"There she is!"

Body freezing, your head snaps round, seeing that the guards were close; extremely close.

Knowing this is probably your last chance, you turn back around to the boy, grabbing his hand with both of your own and meet his gaze. "Please," you breathe, "help me."

He glances at you, then past you at the guards that are growing closer and closer by the second. Whatever conclusion he comes to about why the guards are chasing you, you don't know. It doesn't matter either because the brightest smile curls onto the boys lips and he shifts your hands so now he's holding onto you.

"Okay!"

He tugs you with him, nearly sweeping your feet beneath you as you scramble to catch up with his pace.

But you barely have time to care about that. In a few seconds, a ship comes into your few and Luffy is bounding towards it without any hesitation.

"What--"

"You need to get away, yeah?" The boy asks you, grinning back at you. Slowly, you nod. "Okay, then... come with us!"

You're on the ship deck in the next few minutes, staring at a group of people who stare back at you with bewildered expressions. The boy, still grinning ear to ear, greets his friends as if nothing is amiss, asking if there's any food to eat.

"Luffy," one of them calls, a girl with short red hair. "Who is that?"

"Oh!" Luffy calls, spinning around to face you. "This is..." His face falls, blinking. "What's your name?"

"...Y/N." You answer, still bewildered.

"And why is she on our ship?" Another boy with a long nose asks.

"Who cares!" Another one asks, a blond man with heart yes who comes bounding towards you. He takes your hand in yours and presses a kiss to it. "You're absolutely beautiful, Y/N-chan."

Your cheeks warm, embarrassed and still bewildered.

"She's joining our crew!" Luffy cheers, pumping his fist in the air.

Your face twists, lips parting. "Oh, um... No... I just need to--"

"Where did she go!"

"I think she went over here!"

"We can't let her get off the island."

Whatever you'd been about to say is needless in that moment as muffled calls of panic from the guards swarming the harbor are loud and clear to the rest of the crew in that moment.

All of their eyes shift back to you, blinking.

"They're after you?" The black-haired woman asks you, voice soft.

You nod, nervous.

There's a beat of silence and you're not sure if, despite Luffy's nonchalance, they might ask you to get off. You're even about to fall to your knees and start begging, but before you can, Luffy speaks up.

"We should probably go," he says through a mouthful of food. "Before they realize Y/N's here."

Everyone turns to look at him, and then, the man with green-hair and three swords who'd been standing further back steps forward, a smirk on his lips as he turns to the crew.

"Captain's orders, right guys?"

Your eyes widen when you realize he means Luffy.

Everyone starts moving, perfectly in sync as they get the ship ready to go.

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

Glancing down at the voice, you blink at the... reindeer staring up at you.

-

Taking a sip of the tea Sanji, the blond who'd called you beautiful, prepared for you, you try not to squirm at the intense pair of eyes staring at you.

Luffy, who'd followed you down the kitchen after Nami, the red-haired girl, and Robin, the black-haired woman, got you a change of clothes, hadn't stopped staring at you since you sat down. Sanji was preparing you a plate of food while Nami sat next to you, asking you questions about what had happened.

The rest of the crew was in the kitchen, sans Zoro was keeping a lookout on deck.

Chopper, the reindeer who'd talked to you, had looked you over for any injuries despite your assurance that you were fine. He was only satisfied once he'd confirmed it for yourself.

"And they wanted you to marry him?"

Nodding, you pull your gaze away from Luffy. "Yeah," you whisper, glancing down at your tea cup with a frown. "I just... I couldn't go through with it."

"Well, obviously," Nami breathes from beside you. "I couldn't imagine being married off to a man twenty years older than me."

Eyes widening, you turn to Nami in shock.

"It's a good thing you found our captain, huh?" Robin smiles down at you, stepping towards you. "You're safe with us."

"I'll keep you safe, Y/N-chan!" Sanji calls from the kitchen.

When you look to Chopper and Usopp, the smiles on their faces are just as warm and reassuring.

Something flutters in your chest.

"Thank you," you breathe, a weight fading from your shoulders. "Seriously... I... I just--thank you so much."

Leaning into you, Nami grins; "it'll be nice to have another girl on board! Right, Robin?"

The older woman nods; "of course."

"Y/N!" Chopper calls, pulling your eyes down on him as he bounds up at you. "You can come to me if you ever feel under the weather."

His eagerness pulls a gentle smile to your lips, eyes softening down at him. "Thank you, Chopper."

"Luffy."

Turning away from Chopper at Nami's voice, you turn towards her, before shifting your gaze to Luffy, who is still just staring at you.

"Luffy!" Nami calls, face twisting as she reaches forwad to bop Luffy on the head. He jumps in response, blinking.

"Ow!" He calls, holding the offended spot with a frown. "What was that for?"

"Stop staring at Y/N!"

Your cheeks warm at her blatant call out, squirming in your seat as Luffy pouts at her.

"I was just looking!"

"And it's weird!"

"Nami," you call, reaching out for her. "It's... It's okay." Then, turning to Luffy, you smile at him. "Thank you for letting me on the ship, Luffy. I really appreciate it. And I promise I won't stick around too long."

You expect him to return the smile with that bright grin you're used to seeing him on your face at this point, but he never does.

"You can stay as long as you need."

-

It's been a few weeks since you've joined the Straw Hat crew on the Going Merry and it was needless to say you loved every moment of it.

Beyond just the freedom you're experiencing that you never have before this moment, everyone on the crew was so incredibly kind. It was such a different experience to be with people who actually cared about you as a person outside of your statuse.

It was nice to actually have friends.

Though, you'd be lying if you were to say there wasn't a certain someone who didn't make you feel more special than the rest.

"Y/N!"

Looking up from the book Robin had let you borrow, a smile curls on your lips when you see Luffy bounding over to you. He reaches you in seconds as per usual due to his rubber body, almost barreling into you as you lean back.

When he lands, his face is inches from yours and you desperately try to ignore the race of your heart.

"Luffy," you greet, trying to keep your voice steady. "Is everything okay?"

"Perfect!" He cheers, effortlessly energetic like he always is. "But I have a question for you!"

Tabbing your spot in your book, you set it aside. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

You let out a sharp laugh. "Reading," you explain, despite the obvious. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah," Luffy nods, eager. "I don't want you to read anymore."

"Oh?"

"Come fish with me instead!"

For further emphasis, Luffy's hand wraps around your wrist, tugging.

"Okay," you submit, knowing that Luffy wouldn't have needed to even plea with you. You'd let him drag you anywhere. "I'll fish with you."

Luffy's eyes sparkle. "Really?"

"Really."

-

"Watch out!"

Barring your arms in front of you, you brace for the hit you expect to feel, only to feel nothing happen.

A moment passes by before you slowly let your arms drop, confused, only to see a familiar back of red in front of you.

"Luffy!"

Luffy, who took the hit from the bad guy for you, glances back at you with a wide, effortless grin. The sight makes your stomach erupt in a flutter of butterflies, heart racing.

"Are you okay?"

Numbly, you nod.

"Stay back," he says, voice warm. "I'll keep you safe."

-

"You can have the rest."

Head resting in the palm of your hand, the smile on your lips is soft and completely lovesick (not that you're aware) as you push your plate towards Luffy.

Mouth full of his own dinner, Luffy's eyes sparkle.

"Really?"

You nod, voice a warm hum; "I'm not hungry."

In seconds he's shoveling your food onto his plate, beaming.

"Thank you, Y/N/N!"

-

"So..."

Raising a brow at Nami, you tilt your head; "so?"

She glances at Robin who's standing next to her, both of them grinning like they know something you don't.

"Anything you want to tell us?" Nami asks, smirking as she crosses her arms over her chest.

You blink at her, then Robin, before shaking your head; "I don't think so?"

The two look at each other.

"Maybe something about our dear captain?" Robin suggests.

Your face twists; "no?"

The two chuckle, shaking their heads and you feel thoroughly confused.

"Okay, if you're sure."

"No, wait," you call, moving to stand when they shift towards the door. "What are you guys talking about?"

Robin sets a hand on your arm, squeezing reassuringly. "It's best to let you figure this one out on your own."

-

You let the cool night breeze brush through your hair, enjoying the feeling of it.

The freeing feeling of it.

A moment later a pair of footsteps bound up behind you, pulling your eyes off of the night sky and behind you, seeing Luffy.

"Hey," you call gently. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," Luffy shrugs, oddly quiet compared to his usual loudness. "Didn't like you up here alone."

You snort. "Usopp is up on the crows nest," you remind.

Luffy shakes his head. "Not the same."

He moves to stand next to you, his arm brushing against your own. The touch sends shivers down your spin, and you quickly avert your gaze in front of you.

"Are you happy?"

It's not the question you're expecting. With a frown, you shake your head at Luffy. "Of course," you say earnestly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just wanted to make sure," Luffy shrugs. "I... I don't want you to leave."

"Oh," you breathe.

"Yeah."

"Okay," you find yourself saying. "I won't leave then."

Luffy turns to look at you and his expression is vulnerable in a way you've never seen.

"Okay."

-

The Straw Hats had docked at a new island.

Usopp and Luffy had all but bounded off the second you'd docked, Chopper not far behind. Robin and Nami told you they were going to do some shopping but you declined their invite to join, wanting to rest on the ship.

Sanji was gettin groceries and Zoro was napping on the ship as usual.

An hour into just reading, you decide you're thoroughly bored and regret declining the girls invitation to join them. You take a look at Zoro, knowing he wouldn't be happy if you woke him up, so you figure it shouldn't be too hard to find at least one of your friends.

You make your way off the ship, leisurely walking through the town and taking in the sights. It never failed to take your breath away when you docked on a new island and you got to see firsthand all the new sights you never would've before.

After wandering for about twenty minutes, you think you catch sight of Sanji's familiar blonde hair, turning to follow after him. Your lips part to call out for him, but you quickly stop yourself when you catch sight of something else.

Or someone else.

Everything in you freezes, muscles tensing as your heart starts with panic.

That's your fiance.

Breath hitching, you try to move, intending to turn back the way you came before your fiance catches sight of you. But just as you have the thought to do so, you lock eyes with him.

He recognizes you instantly.

The second he moves towards you, you stumble back, moving to run away. You make it a total of five steps before a hand latches around your wrist, tight and painful.

"There you are."

In seconds, there's guards flanking around you, effectively blocking off any escape.

"Your family's been looking everywhere for you," your fiance hisses. "How dare you embarrass me."

-

Luffy comes bounding onto the Going Merry with a wide grin.

He'd found something cool on the island he wanted to show you and refused to explore any further until he brought you there. Chopper and Usopp had gone on ahead, but he'd told them he was going back to get you.

Only, you're no where to be found.

"Zoro!" Luffy calls, voice loud and pitching as he races over to his first mate. "Zoro! Zoro!"

The swordsman face twists in annoyance, eyes blinking open to stare up at his captain with a frown.

"What?"

"Where's Y/N?"

"How should I know?"

Luffy huffs; "she stayed back with you."

"And I've been napping." Zoro grunts.

Frowning, Luffy turns, instending to race down to the kitchen and see if you're maybe there. But before he can make it to the door, he hears footsteps rushing towards the boat.

He straightens out, thinking it's Y/N but when he reaches the end of the ship, he sees Nami and Robin and no Y/N.

And they look concerned.

"Luffy!"

"What?" Luffy calls, "what happened? Where's Y/N?"

"She's... She's--"

"We saw a man and a bunch of nights dragging her onto a ship," Robin explains when Nami can't. "She was crying."

-

"You're an utter embarrassment!"

Head bowed, your nails digging into the palms of your hand as your mother continues to scream at you, voice blaring. Your cheek still stings from the slap she'd given you the second you entered the room.

"I cannot believe you would ruin tarnesh our reputation like that," your mother roars down at you. "Running away in the middle of your wedding? How dare you!"

Swallowing thickly, you inhale sharply; "I'm... I'm sorry, mother."

"You will be."

You hear her heels click away and slowly, you raise your head to watch you. She moves towards the door to your bedroom, opening it before she turns back to you.

"You will not be leaving this room until your wedding tomorrow." She bites out at you, "be grateful your fiance is still willing to marry you after all you've put him through."

The door slams shut behind her.

It takes a moment before the tears fall, a sob breaking past your lips as you fall to a heap on the ground. Your heart aches painfully at the thought of how quickly things had gone wrong.

The second your fiance had found you you'd known that any freedom you'd found for yourself was gone. There would be no escape now. You'd known that if you were ever taken back, you'd never get away again.

And now, after tomorrow, you'd be married.

Luffy appears in your mind, and you think back to that night you promised him you'd never leave. You'd meant it then, even though your chest had twisted at the words. You didn't want to leave. You'd have spent the rest of your life with the Straw Hat crew and Luffy if you could've.

But deep down you'd known you'd never truly escape your fate.

"I'm sorry," you cry, knowing Luffy can't hear you. "I'm so sorry."

-

The stares are piercing.

Everyone's watching and this time, measurements have been put in place to make sure you can't run away like you had the last.

The wedding dress feels more like your own personal prison than anything else in that moment. You're miserable and you refuse to pretend otherwise. Your mother had hounded into you that morning that you were to be on your best behaviour and well you wouldn't fight them, you certainly weren't going to act like you were happy about any of this.

You drone out the sound of your fiance signing your life away. You refuse to look at him.

Your eyes stare holes into your own feet, trying to ignore the panic coarsing through your body.

It was even worst than the last. You'd had a taste of what real freedom felt like and for it to be so cruelly taken away from you felt like your own personal hell.

"Y/N."

You're tugged, the tone of your fiance's voice sharp as you blink out of your own thoughts. He's glaring down at you and the officiator is staring at you impatiently.

Oh. It was your turn to say 'I do'.

Inhaling sharply, your lips part, voice a tremble as you try to force the words out.

Except, you never get the chance. In the next second, the door to the room busts open with a loud bang, breaking off the hinges and shattering into the crowd of people who shriek in response.

Your fiances hands leave yours as he stumbles back in fear.

But you just continue to stare at the entrance, waiting for the dust to clear because something akin to hope is blooming in your chest.

Sure enough, as the dust clears, you see a familiar straw hat.

"Y/N! Where are you!"

Your face breaks out into a grin, the brightest you've ever smiled. You're gathering your skirts in your hands, moving to run down the steps and bound over to Luffy.

Your fiance grabs your arm before you can.

"You're not going--"

Without a second of hesitation, you swing your fist back and drive it right into his face. Exactly like the Straw Hat crew had taught you.

He tumbles to the ground with a panic cry of pain, and you laugh.

Actually laugh.

Not wasting anymore time, you make your way down the stairs, weaving your way through the dispersing and panicked crowd. You see your mother along the way and she's yelling at you to come with her, but you ignore her.

Nothing else matters more than reaching Luffy.

He's delivering a sharp set of kicks at a guard when you reach him, breathless.

"Luffy."

He halts at the sound of you, tossing the guard to the side as he grins at you.

"Y/N/N!" He cheers, "we've come to kidnap you!"

Letting out a laugh, you shake your head. A newfound determination settles in you and you close the distance between the two of you in seconds flat, grabbing him by the cheeks and press your lips against his.

He stills in front of you, and when you pull back, his blinking at you wide-eyed.

Before he lets out a sharp laugh; "do that again!"

You just giggle, shaking your head. "We should focus on escaping first, no?"

"Oh," Luffy blinks, "you're right."

He grabs you, wrapping his arms around your waist and picks you up, hefting you over his shoulder as you laugh. Luffy despite everything is careful as he carries you, turning to the rest of the crew that watches with bemused expressions.

"Princess captured! Let's go, guys!"

[heaven4lostgirls]

Hi!! Could you write poly!moonchaser with adhd!reader where she is rambling about something and the boys are loving listening to her and watching her get excited? And maybe she pauses and thinks she’s talking too much and the boys reassure her they love it? Idk if that’s too specific lol. Thanks!!!

pairing: poly!moonchaser x adhd!reader

summary: request above!

word count: 1.1K

content warnings: angst (its more fluffy but the angst is there), obvious mentions of adhd, neurodivergence and feeling excluded

author's note: thank you for requesting! i had so much fun writing this, i hope you like it! peep the background regulus x evan x barty. i also dont have personal experience with adhd but i tried to keep this as informed as possible, this is what i know from my psychology classes, if something is incorrect or offensive please let me know x

You open the door to the boys room to their fond expressions before you start talking, barely pausing for a breath as you state, “Pandora told me that Evan told her that he didn’t actually like Barty in the beginning because he thought they were just friends- which, what?- so Evan didn’t respond to Barty’s owl so when they got back last semester, Barty started ignoring Evan so Pandora and Regulus came up with a plan to lock them in their dorm room-”

The boys watch you in varying stages of affection but the more you talk, the more your jaw starts to ache and the more you grow aware of how heavy your bag feels on your shoulder and the fact that you’re tired of standing.

You’d come straight from class to tell the boys about your day, wanting to share the news with them as soon as you could.

You’re aware of the fact that you tend to get a bit carried away, talking quite fast that it’s actually more so a rant while your brain feels like its playing catch up with your mouth.

Remus looks slightly concerned whereas James looks completely enamoured. James dopily smiling as you rush through your speech without pause as Remus’ gaze is locked on your heaving chest and your hand clenching your bag, so it doesn’t slip off of your shoulder.

“Breathe Dovie,” Remus says softly but you hear it, nonetheless, automatically attuned to his voice that it shocks you out of your rant, pausing unceremoniously as your face starts to heat in embarrassment.

You hesitate, noticing the notes scattered in front of Remus at his desk and how James is halfway dressed in his Quidditch Uniform.

A frown finds its way to your face, “I’m rambling.” You murmur with a slight wince; Remus offers you a comforting smile as James nods with a grin.

“You were saying?” James prompts as he situates himself on his bed, tugging on his socks as Remus tidies up his desk with an interested hum, keeping his body slightly turned towards you to convey his attention.

You bite your lip guiltily, “It was nothing, just something Pandora and I talked about today.” You say softly, wringing your hands together anxiously as you shuffle self-consciously on your feet.

Remus tsks from the right of you as James coos from your left, “Don’t do that.” James gently admonishes when you look up to meet his gaze.

You shrug in a helpless gesture before Remus starts to speak, “We were listening to you love” Remus tries to gently coax you back out of your shell.

You feel the excitement in your body start to fester into something more akin to anxiety, “I was kind of rambling,” you admit with a shy look.

“Sure,” James says easily and your heart twinges, “But there’s nothing wrong with that, we like hearing you talk about things you’re interested in” James states, comforting you so simply with a couple of words that you feel your previous excitement returning.

“Do you get upset at Jamie when he rambles about Quidditch when you know you don’t understand?” Remus says with a raised brow; you shrink into yourself meekly as you shake your head negatively.

Remus nods in approval, “Exactly, because you like seeing him happy because it makes you happy.” He says and a small smile starts to bloom on to your face.

“Do you get annoyed at Remus when he rambles about his novels when you know they’re not your favourite genre?” James prompts this time and with more confidence, you also shake your head no.

James smiles approvingly and you get the gist of the mini intervention.

You know they don’t mean to make you feel like you’re annoying them when you speak, that for the most part you’ve put pressure on yourself to mask most of the symptoms of your ADHD, but it hurts all the same after years of knowing that your brain functioned differently from other people.

“Alright?” James asks, watching you with a soft and fond expression on his face as you nod with a big smile.

“Good.” You affirm and the three of you share a smile before Remus clears his throat.

“You wanna continue your story angel?” he asks kindly, offering you an out if you wanted to take it.

You smile before nodding, watching James hesitantly, “Won’t you be late for practice?” you ask guiltily, worried about taking James away from his captain duties.

He shrugs nonchalantly, “I already told Sirius I’d be a bit late because I knew your class ended around the same time and I wanted to catch up with you.” He says.

Your heart flutters, you move from your position by the entrance of the dorm to take a seat next to James on his bed as the two of you face Remus.

You pat the spot next to you in offering before he shakes his head, “If I join you both, James won’t leave for practice and I won’t finish this essay” he says seriously and in tandem, you and James are pouting in sync.

Remus shakes his head with a tut, “Those won’t fool me, I know how you two get.” He admonishes you both fondly, exasperation tinging his tone.

Your frowns remain as Remus sighs dramatically, remaining unmoving from his chair as he gestures with his hands for you to continue talking.

“Well,” you start again, excitement returning as you begin to recall the details, “So Reg and Dora locked them both in the dorm because they thought if they stayed in their long enough that they’d give in and talk to each other. So, after like 3 hours, they come back to the dorm and Barty and Evan are like,” you pause to whisper as if it’s a dirty secret, “Naked in Barty’s bed together.” You laugh softly after saying that.

James and Remus’ eyes widen, “Crouch and Rosier?” Remus asks curiously, contemplating softly with a frown and you nod excitedly before James hums confusedly to your side.

You look at him in question, “I dunno, I saw Reg and Barty making out in the showers after the Slytherin vs Gryffindor match last semester” James says with a confused puppy expression as you and Remus gape at him.

“What?” he asks defensively before you squawk indignantly, hitting his chest. “And you didn’t tell us?” you screech, pushing at him playfully as he tries to protect himself with his hands.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to tell you!” he shrieks as you hit a bit too close to his upper thigh, “I just thought they were like…celebrating.” He finishes lamely as you and Remus snort at his excuse.

[channieschaoscorner]

Tipping Point - Stray Kids x female!9th member reader

Pairing: ot8!Skz x 9th member reader

Summary: You and Chan had worked together for so long, it’s only natural that you have your arguments.

Genre: Angst, fluff at the end, slight reader x chan if you squint hard enough, choreographer reader and producer Chan go head to head but we still love them, bad language and insults in an argument

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on my first imagine! I have a few ideas for some more 9th member fics but please message if you have any ideas or anything you would like to see!!!!! Also apologies if there’s any typos, I do proof read my work but I’m not perfect lol

Prequel: First Meeting

Masterlist

────୨ৎ────

The music blaring out of the speakers bordered on obscene, it didn’t matter though. It was late enough that barely anyone was left in the building, and if they were then they were far too preoccupied with their own work to care about what others were doing. Your phone blinked in the corner with unread messages and calls, ignoring them as you could guess who they were room all you did was check the time. It was late but you were still too wound up to even think about heading home, that and you still had far too much work to do on this choreography. It was nowhere near what you needed it to be, but then again if it was what you needed then you wouldn’t even be here. You’d be at home either in bed or tucked up on the sofa with the TV on being piled on by the boys (Felix, it was always Felix.)

You groaned and hit play on the song again, listening to the starting beats and tried to visualise where the boys could be standing. The vocals started and you checked over your notes, trying to come up with the positions on who needed to be centre and who would be coming forward at that specific time. Ideally you’d have another person here that you could place and work around, another choreographer, Minho, even a backup dancer. You’d take anyone at this point if it meant you could get more than 4 hours sleep tonight.

You rewound the song back to the first chorus and stood up, mentally thanking yourself that you’d remembered your tripod so at least you could film what you’d come up with properly and didn’t have to balance your phone against your water bottle just to watch it inevitably fall down as you were in the middle of dancing, like it had done so many times before.

“And 5, 6, 7, 8.” You counted yourself in out loud in an attempt to get used to the counts for when you’d have to teach the boys tomorrow or technically in the morning as it was well past midnight at this stage. This wasn’t the first time you’d had to come up with choreography the night before you had to teach it but you didn’t enjoy doing it. It wasn’t your fault, not that you’d ever tell. You’d only got the song a few hours ago from Chan, who’d held onto it for far longer than promised. You knew it wasn’t done out of malice, he was always so worried about new music that he wanted to keep it for as long as possible until he was sure it was perfect.

Unfortunately for you though this meant your deadline was fast approaching and you hadn’t even heard the finished song. Fast forward through plenty of excuses to staff about trying to perfect the dance and politely asking Chan about the song, you’d run out of time. Which then resulted in the blow out at dinner.

You winced thinking back to the harsh words exchanged and swallowed down the uncomfortable feeling in your chest before hitting play and record one more time.

────୨ৎ────

*Earlier that day*

The dorm was loud, it was on a normal day but today was particularly boisterous. You bit back a laugh as Minho swatted and shooed Felix and Seungmin away from the stove with threats of an air fryer that left Hyunjin thankful he hadn’t offered to help. You hopped up and sat on an empty piece of counter space to watch the chaos unfold in front of you. The screams that came from the other room made you wonder how setting a table could cause them but you chose not to investigate, effectively leaving Han to fend for himself. It was rare over the past few weeks that you’d all been able to sit down and eat together, between so many different schedules you’d become too used to eating at random times and running past each other in the dorm. Hence why Chan had suggested tonight as a day for you all to cook and sit down to eat together.

“It’s been too long since we ate together like a family, we’ll have dinner, movies, snacks. It’ll be good for us after how busy things have been.” He suggested. It was a good suggestion, you’d all agreed quickly to it. There was just one problem.

Chan was nowhere to be seen.

You’d noticed his absence earlier but said nothing, hoping that he was just caught talking to someone and would appear through the doorway, laughing about never being able to leave the building on time.

No such luck.

The boys stood silently around the table as you helped Minho carry in dinner.

“We can hang on a few more minutes, I’m sure he’ll be here soon” Relief flooded in the boys features as they didn’t want to eat without their leader, neither did you if you were being honest and you weren’t looking forward to making the call about when to eat. Eat now whilst dinner was warm and miss Chan which would hurt his feelings or risk waiting for him, possibly all night, and have the dinner they worked so hard on go to waste?

Time to introduce yourself to a rock and a hard place.

“I can try ringing him?”

“Good idea Innie.” You didn’t mention the plethora of texts and missed calls he already had off you that were either sitting unseen or being ignored. For his sake, you hopped it was the first option.

Changbin sidled up to you, “I left him working on that song again, he said he was only going to be 30 minutes and he’d leave straight away.”

You sighed, not surprised that he was working late again. You loved him but being a workaholic and a perfectionist was a combination that sometimes left the rest of you in the firing line. You lifted up your glasses to rub your eyes, already feeling a stress headache start up.

“No answer but I left him a message, maybe he’s just caught up with someone” Jeongin tried halfheartedly.

You had to make a decision, “Ok guys, go put a show on. We can leave this covered up for a bit and it’ll stay warm and we can wait a bit longer for him.”

They filtered in front of TV, slotting into their regular positions which to any outside was a mess of legs, blankets, and insults before everyone got comfortable.

“You don’t think he’s coming do you?” Changbin hadn’t left your side.

“For his sake, I hope he does.”

────୨ৎ────

You weren’t happy to put it mildly.

“Come on guys, let’s eat.” You prolonged this as long as you could but you couldn’t tune out the sound of their stomachs and you weren’t about to let their hard work go to waste. They followed you back to the table and sat down as you held your hands out for their bowls. You worked with Minho going round the table to serve up the food, leaving yourself last.

“Ok, who has news? I want to hear about all of your weeks, I feel like I haven’t seen you all in so long. Tell me everything.” You tried to keep your tone light but you could feel the disappointment hovering around the table like a shadow.

Hyunjin caught your eye, “Well, last week I-”

The door slamming shut cut him off.

“Sorry I’m late, I got caught up with some stuff.” Chan walked in looking frazzled, his eyes taking in the table of food. “You weren’t gonna wait?”

Silence.

“We’ve been waiting Chan.” Your tone was short. “We’ve been waiting so long the foods nearly gone cold, you’d know that if you checked your phone.”

“No need to take my head off, I got caught up working on a song”

“Don’t get annoyed with me, you’re the one who wanted us to have dinner together.”

“And I’m here now so let’s eat. Let it go.”

You ground your teeth, biting back an answer in an effort to follow his words and ‘let it go’.

“Did you at least get the song finished?”

He nodded.

“Great, can you send it over to me? I still need to sort the choreography out and-”

“Jesus Y/N, I just got in. Can you wait 5 minutes before you start nagging at me again?”

Your jaw dropped, “Nagging you?”

“Channie hyung maybe you-” Changbin tried to interject but it was no use.

“I’ve just got in and you want the song right now?”

“I don’t want it right now but I need it. I needed the song last week if I’m being honest, you’ve held onto it for so long that I’m making excuses for why the choreography isn’t done.”

Chan waved you off, “You’ll get it done, it won’t take you long.”

You scoffed at his words, “I love your confidence in my ability to choreograph a full song for not only us but the backup dancers too in one night but I could do with a bit longer than that Chan.”

“Fine you want the song? I’ll send it to you right now.” He dropped his chopsticks on the table and stormed off.

You clenched your fists and groaned.

“Do you want one of us to go or?”

“No Binnie, it’s ok I’ll go.”

You followed Chan into his room and shut the door behind yourself. “Don’t storm away from the table like that.”

He didn’t even turn around, “I’m not a child, don’t chastise me.”

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

He spun around, “Me speak to you like that? I walked in through the door and you were already pissed at me.”

“Because you missed dinner, they’ve been cooking all afternoon and you were late. No text or call, we had to guess when you were going to show up. You let them down, they were excited to do this. I let them out of dance practice early and everything today.”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes now.

“Well for that and because I still don’t a song to teach them.”

“Oh for god’s sake, I’m sending you the fucking song now.”

“Don’t fucking swear at me!”

“Don’t be such a bitch then.” He slammed his laptop closed and pushed back out past you into the hallway.

You followed him shouting, which made the rest of the boys jump when they heard the loud voices. You were arguing in English now but they could pick up on enough words to know this wasn’t a happy conversation.

“If it’s such a panic for you then start working on it now, shouting at me about it won’t make the dance for you.”

“Oh you are such a-”

Chan got a look in his eyes, almost daring you to finish your sentence. “Such a what?”

“A cunt.”

Felix choked on his water resulting in Hyunjin slapping him on the back.

You didn’t wait around for his reply, you all but ran to your room to grab your dance bag and flung clothes into it along with headphones, a tripod and your notebook. You had to get out of here before this got even worse. You needed out of the dorm and the practice room was your solace. You went back to see the boys staring at you, still at the table not one of them daring to move and that made your chest ache. The food was sitting untouched and you took a deep breath.

“Eat as much as you want to, box up what you don’t. Leave the dishes in the sink, I’ll deal with them later. Please go to sleep at a reasonable time, I’ll be back later.”

You made for the door, ignoring the conversations behind you.

“Y/N wait!” Felix chased you, holding something delicately in his hands. The smell hit you first, he’d boxed you up dinner to bring with you. “You didn’t eat.”

The uncomfortable feeling in your chest shifted slightly. “Thank you.” You took the container off him to put at the top of your bag.

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“Not yet.”

“Well don’t walk back on your own if it’s late, ring me or get a taxi. It’s not safe walking around so late on your own.”

You nodded and gave him a hug. “Go back in Felix, you still need to eat.”

He hugged you back and turned around, ready to join the others back at the table.

“Felix? Don’t tell Chan where I am, I’m in no mood for him.”

────୨ৎ────

The dorm was unnaturally quiet now, a startling comparison to earlier on. The table had been cleared and kitchen was spotless as the boys washed, dried and put all the dishes away. You’d told them you would deal with it later but it didn’t feel right to them to leave a mess behind for you to clean up, especially knowing you wouldn’t get in until the early hours of the morning if you past behaviour was any example to go by.

Chan stood silently watching them clean up, he contemplated leaving without saying anything but couldn’t ignore the fact that you weren’t with them.

“Where is she?”

No one answered.

“It’s late, if she’s out on her own then you need to tell me.”

“She’s not out, she’s fine.” Felix answered.

“So then where is she?”

“She doesn’t want you to know.”

“What?” Chan faltered, he’d known you for years and you’d had disagreements before but you’d never been so annoyed that you actively hid where you were from him.

Felix debated his next words before deciding to say them, “You were an ass to her earlier.”

“I know but-”

“But nothing, she’s been making excuses for weeks now about not having any choreography to show just to give you more time on the song and it’s not the first time. If she doesn’t want to see you now then it’s because she’s under pressure to make the dance and figure out a way to teach it to us before she gets into real trouble over this without dropping you in it and because you hurt her feelings over this. You need to apologise to her.”

With that, Felix left Chan in the kitchen alone as when he left the others followed him. No one felt the need to add anything else, Felix had pretty much covered everyone’s opinion. Felix was right, Chan needed to apologise to you and based on what Felix had said and how well he already knew you, he had a pretty good guess at where you were right now.

────୨ৎ────

*Present*

You flung your notebook in the direction of your bag, too annoyed by the spacing to carry on. You were calling it, there was no way you could figure out this part of the dance without someone else here with you. You had a rough idea of what needed to be done but there was only so much spacing and marking you could do with your water bottle and hoodie, until you got another dancer to help you then you’d need to finish it here. At least you’d got a good amount done, you could teach the chorus at least and parts of the verses tomorrow, and then you could grab Minho and Hyunjin to help you mark out the spacing if they had time in the afternoon.

You were coming up with a plan as you left the practice room, feeling considerably calmer than when you arrived. You newfound peace though was instantly disturbed when you saw who was waiting for you in the lobby.

“Hi.” Chan waved.

You stopped and stared at him.

“Felix didn’t tell me where you were, I guessed.” He was desperately trying to fill the silence, and your staring was starting to make him nervous. “And I was right. I mean, obviously I was right. You’re here and I’m here.”

“I don’t have the energy for you right now.” You spun on your heel and headed straight back to the practice room.

You could hear him following but chose not to acknowledge him, you weren’t lying when you said that you didn’t have the energy for him. You knew he wouldn’t just let you walk home without talking about what had happened so returning to the practice room was the next best thing. He respected your time enough that if he thought you were working, he wouldn’t interrupt you.

So, despite wanting nothing more than to head home and crawl into bed before your alarm was due to go off in a few hours, you set your phone back up with the speaker and pulled your notebook out again. If you were going to be forced into staying here to avoid speaking to him then you might as well be productive.

Chan slid in through the door and took a seat at the back of the room, you stared at him when he did but said nothing. It was a win in his book that you didn’t instantly kick him out when he came through the door. It was technically Stray Kids official practice room but between the two of you, he’d known it as your practice room for years. Memories of the two of you as trainees being the last people in the building were circling around his head, he thought back to meeting you for the first time and it looked something very much like this. Stumbling upon the room, wondering who was still here at 3am and hearing the music blaring out a speaker, finding you in the centre of it, sweaty and worn out but still had enough energy to smile and introduce yourself to him.

The guilt was creeping up from his chest and attempting to claw itself out as he sat and watched you. He lost count of how many times you consulted your notes, started and restarted the song at different parts, recorded what you were doing, tried to figure out placements. He knew what went into choreographing obviously but seeing you burnt out when you should’ve had this done weeks ago made his stomach clench. How many times had you had to do this? Felix had said this wasn’t the first time, how many times had you covered for him and pulled an all nighter just to get a dance finished so he could have more time on a song?

“What?” You asked, without realising he’d been staring at you.

His mouth opened and closed, words failed to find him. An apology didn’t feel like enough, how could he start an apology about this without acknowledging all the pressure you’d been taking for him.

“If you’re not planning on leaving you might as well come here.” You directed him to a space on the floor that your hoodie currently held. You kicked it to the wall, and moved him slightly into position. “Don’t move too much, I need to figure out if something works. Just move on the spot like you’re singing.”

He waited until you hit play and counted him in, he did exactly what you asked, moving slightly on the spot to give the impression of singing as you moved around him. You repeated this a few more times in different positions, clearly trying to figure out if it could work as a group. Chan waited for more instructions and followed your prompts as you moved him around the room and back again deciding against that.

“Does it normally take you this long?” He asked quietly as you crossed something out that you’d wrote earlier.

You shrugged. “It depends on the song or how I feel. Some stuff is quicker to figure out but the spacing and background move when someone is singing is harder. Or if it works whilst you’re singing. It just depends. Can you stand here?”

He nodded and moved to where you were pointing.

“I’m sorry.”

You glanced up at him.

“I didn’t realise how much pressure I put you under by giving you the track so late.”

You shrugged again. “It is what it is Chan, you get put under pressure by us and the company all the time. Giving me the track a few days late isn’t a big deal.”

He caught your arm as you stepped past him, “It is to me, especially when you’re here until 5am because of it.”

“Us being here until 5am is nothing new.”

“This is different.” He insisted.

You kept your eyes on his hand that was still wrapped around your arm, the skin was burning under it and your face was burning under his gaze.

“Chan I don’t care if you hand me a song on the day it’s due and I have to come up with a choreography on the spot. I can live with that, I can live with pulling an all nighter if it gives you more time and you need it. What I don’t want is for you to throw it in my face like it’s no big deal or that what I’m doing means nothing. I like what I do and I know I’m good at it, we both know it’s the main thing you brought me into the group for, I just want to be appreciated for what I do.”

“I do appreciate what you do. I could never stay here all night trying to figure out who dances in what bit and steps where and moves when. I’d go insane.”

You cracked a smile, “And that’s why you produce and I choreograph.”

He let go of your arm and wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you close. “Are we good?”

“We’re good.” You mumbled into his chest. “And I’m sorry I called you a cunt.”

He laughed properly at that.

“It’s fine, just don’t say it again in front of the others. I don’t need them learning that one and accidentally dropping it in an interview. That’s the last thing I want to make an apology for.”

You both decided to call it a night then despite knowing you had a few hours before you needed to come back, Chan picked your bag up and slung it over one shoulder.

“You still need to make it up to the others as well, they really wanted to have dinner together.”

“I know I will.”

“Thank you.”

Chan decided to ring for a car to get you back to the dorms quicker. The quicker you got back then the quicker you were able to get into bed and sleep. You didn’t make it that far though, once you settled into the back of the car and tiredness hit you, it was all you could do to stumble into the dorms and collapse on the sofa.

That was how you were found by Felix anyway, who had woke up to his own alarm that he’d set the night before knowing you’d be in too late to be responsible getting the rest of them up. He smiled at the sight of the two of you draped over each other, knowing someone was definitely going to wake up with pins and needles. He settled though for taking a photo of the two of you (kept to himself though so he could use it for his own gain on another day) and did what you always did first and turned on the coffee machine, knowing the noise would wake you up and he wouldn’t have to. He’d save the embarrassment of finding the two of you snuggled up for a moment when he really needed it.