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enhaflixer · 2 months ago

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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

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heyimkana · 2 months ago

Text

Limerence (1/2)

AO3 Link

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: YANDERE, smut, fluff

Summary: Being madly in love with your fiancée made you stay ignorant of the alarming signs Jinwoo had shown throughout the four years of your relationship with him. It was only until one incident happened that you realized that beneath his sweet smile and gentle demeanor lay a monster begging to be set free.

Content Warnings: graphic description of murder, gore, sexual scenes, implied sexual assault attempt (not by Jinwoo), severe obsession, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, dacryphilia

Word Count: 9K

@princeizuku wanted me to write Yandere!Jinwoo so this one's for you, Tina, I love you, baby 😘❤️

This is a test, one that you don’t realize until it’s all too late.

It will only dawn on you later, once you have your feet shackled, your hands bound, and your mouth gagged, that it is never a coincidence that your fiancée, Sung Jinwoo, who’s always been so strict about not letting you out of his apartment without permission, left the front door unlocked this morning. It is a test of your loyalty, of your obedience. A test that will reward you with every nice thing the world could offer—a shelf full of your favorite books, dozens of pretty clothes, exquisite pieces of jewelry, and pleasure after pleasure in bed—if you agree to keep your oath to stay still in your room like the good girl he expects you to be.

But you don’t plan on doing that, do you? You want to give in to temptation. You want to chase after your freedom, to live in a world where he doesn’t have his black wings wrapped around you. As you’re not aware that it’s a trial he gives you, another heartless game he plays, you do just that, leading you to fail the test.

And every failure bears its own consequences.

***

You think it’s a miracle when you feel the doorknob turn beneath your fingers, not knowing that this is the beginning of what will be the worst mistake of your life. After passing through so many attempts, so many days and nights where you tried to unlock it without him knowing, you were so close to giving up. You didn’t even bother to try at first. After all, Jinwoo would always ensure you were locked and secured inside his penthouse, giving you nothing to do except wait for his return.

No matter how chaotic his schedule was, he would always come home in time, just a couple of hours after the sun had set below the horizon. And you would greet him with a kiss on the lips and your legs spread wide open the way you were supposed to, the way you had always done without fail in the last six months he’d been holding you captive.

Yet, for some reason today, perhaps out of habit, you find your feet dragging you back to the front door, mulling to yourself as to why your fiancée hasn't come home yet when it’s already an hour before midnight. There has been no text, no call. It was as if he had forgotten about you.

You almost laugh at the thought. Jinwoo will never forget about you. No matter how much you wish for him to. And that’s why you give it another try, your fingers twisting around the door handle, and suddenly… It clicks.

It clicks open.

It’s hard to believe that the world, as vast as it was, finally appears before you, completely yours to touch, to be lived in. It leaves you spellbound to your feet, unable to do anything but stare.

Then, your mind starts to gyrate.

Jinwoo must have forgotten to lock the door this morning. He was in a hurry, after all. What was it—a dungeon break, he said? That’s your first thought.

No, he’s not stupid enough to make such mistakes. He’s always meticulous when it comes to these things. But then why? Why is the door unlocked? That’s your second.

And as you grip the handle with a quivering hand and a thrashing heart, pushing the door open, your third thought sinks in, louder than the voice of the angel on your shoulder telling you to stay put.

Run.

It’s the only chance for you to escape, to retrieve the rights Jinwoo has taken away from you. It could be a trap, another warning echoes through your head, but with adrenaline pumping through your veins, your lungs breathing in the fresh air, your tongue so close to tasting the freedom you’ve yearned for, you decide to take the risk.

Anywhere is better than here. ***

Twenty-eight-year-old Sung Jinwoo, the guild master of the renowned Ahjin Guild, sits calmly in the quietude of his private office room with his black suit unbuttoned and his collar unfastened. His paperwork is left untouched, stacked into a pile, his mind revolving into something else entirely. Loosening his tie with one hand, he pushes back his raven locks with another, his smile gracing his lips. He leans back comfortably on his swivel chair, his legs spread, his elbow propped on its armrest. He’s watching his favorite show.

You.

“There she goes…” A small smirk tugs at his lips as he observes your every move, his cobalt blue eyes turning violet as he channels through his power. They gleam eerily in the darkness, radiant compared to the pale, silvery moonlight that bathes his equally pasty skin. If there’s one skill he’s eternally grateful for, it’s this—the ability to share senses with his shadow soldiers.

To share senses with the one he’s placed on you.

Through the eyes of his most powerful knight, Igris, he can feel a slight surge of amusement and excitement rising within him as he watches you run. You’re trying your best to flee the home you share together—the most expensive, gorgeous, sacred heaven he bought solely to be with you, to keep you trapped. Your gullible, foolish mind thinks you can escape him somehow, not knowing that he has eyes and ears everywhere, forgetting that the last time his prey tried to escape him, they were shredded to pieces simply by a flick of his hand.

But Jinwoo won’t hurt you. No, of course not. He loves you, adores you with every fiber of his being. He loves you, still, even now, even after you decided that the cruel world outside his embrace was better than the paradise he’d offered you. And he will continue to love you until the stars crumble to ashes.

That’s why he plans to keep you for eternity. Because he loves you.

It’s a shame, really, that you don’t see eye to eye. Instead of being grateful for the love he has given you, you choose to be terrified by the intensity of his affection, slipping away through his hand the second you find the chance simply because you think you’re not strong enough to handle being smothered by his love. But you are. You’ve always been more than enough.

No one could fit him better than you. No one could please him better than you do. You think you’re at your limit, but you aren’t. He knows you could take more of him, the same way you always did when he pushed into you at night, stretching your walls with his cock, molding you until you became the perfect sheath for him and him only. You always said it was too much, too big, too painful, but you always took him so well, didn't you? Clenching around him so tightly as if you never wanted to let him go.

Jinwoo has memorized every detail of you like the back of his hand. He knows what’s perfect for you: him. And you… You are the thread that keeps him sane. The center of his universe. Without you, he’ll let everything burn to the ground. Without you, he'll destroy the heavens himself.

And yet…

“I can’t believe you actually left me…” He brings his hand to his lips, veiling the sadistic grin that blossoms upon them. “After everything we’ve been through… After everything I’ve done for you…” He chuckles once, his gaze burning with the desire to dominate you. “You’re breaking my heart, Angel.”

He leans back in his chair, his strands rubbing against the headrest. Through his shared senses, he watches you break free from the elevator and sprint through the lobby without looking back. Jinwoo nibbles at the corner of his lip, his vile grin threatening to grow.

Run, Sweetheart. Run as fast as you can. Because once I get my hands on you…

His eyes flare, like purple torches shimmering in a black cave.

I’ll make sure you’ll never leave me again. ***

Run, the word continues to chime throughout the labyrinth of your mind as you burst into the cold night air, your body saturated by the city lights. Although freedom is now within your hands, no fragment of your soul is ready to celebrate. You’re still terrified, anxious, feeling like you were still imprisoned, dancing in his palm with blazing shoes.

I need to keep running. I need to be somewhere where he can’t find me.

But… where?

Jinwoo observes you intently, his body set aflame both by the fury of being betrayed and the thrill born from the things he plans to do to you once he gets his fingers wrapped around your throat again. He knows he'll have you back. He can catch you now if he wants to, but no, not yet. He craves to see more, to let you be happy with this freedom you thought you’d obtained on your own.

Because the happier you become, the easier he’ll break you down. Nothing hurts more than being entrapped in the crevice of hell after you descended from heaven.

And he’ll do it. Oh, he’ll break you apart until you can do nothing without him. He’ll make you grow so dependent on him until you’re left with no hope without his presence next to you, no desire to touch the outside world unless he guides you to. He won’t stop until you become his, entirely his—body, mind, and soul.

His smirk widens as he watches you run down concrete steps with nothing but your phone held tightly in your hand. You seem pathetic, adorably so. He can hear how your breathing starts to grow heavy, the untrained muscles in your legs begging you to slow down, to take a rest. Although you are oblivious to the fact that he’s closely monitoring your every move, you can feel dread chasing after you. You slip on the last tread, hissing at the pain bursting from your ankle. You didn’t break it, thank God, but it’s definitely sprained. Still, you refuse to give up.

You’re not yet certain where you should be running to; you just know that you have to before he returns to the neighborhood. You need to be as far away from his building as possible—from him—even if you had to chop one of your legs for it.

“Trying so hard to escape me… How cute,” Jinwoo utters aloud, his voice laced with mocking amusement at your little attempt. He enjoys watching you struggle, deriving some sadistic pleasure from witnessing the painful look on your face as your throat catches fire with each breath you take. He takes pleasure from it because he knows the more you hurt yourself, the more desperate you’ll be when you beg him to soothe you afterward.

That pain on your ankle… He wants to kiss it away. His lips will move gently against your skin before he maps his way up to your knee, your thigh, your soaking cunt, and he’ll torture you just like that, licking you nice and slow, leaving darker bruises than the one that blooms on your injury. He’ll watch you whimper, smiling in satisfaction when you start pleading with your eyes, needing him to give you something much thicker, much bigger than his tongue. And he won’t give it to you. No, he won’t do it until you cry. Until you crumble to your knees, seeking for his mercy with tear-stained cheeks. Until you promise him that you’ll never leave him again.

“Pretty. You’re gonna look so pretty for me, Angel,” he breathes out heavily, feeling himself harden beneath his trousers at the thought. "So fucking cute, begging for me to ruin you."

But he needs to be patient. The game has just started. ***

Beads of sweat drip off your chin as your skin is bitten by the cold of the frosty night. You’re so hasty in making your escape that you run only in the clothes Jinwoo had dressed you with—a beautiful white dress that brought your feminity to the surface.

White, he’s decided from the moment he laid eyes on you, is the perfect color for you. Purity, innocence, divinity—these are the words it represents, the terms he constantly uses to define you in his mind. He wears darkness like a cloak, but you are the blinding light that sheds it away from him. You are his new beginnings, the goddess he reveres. You’re not supposed to be tainted, but he’s a man eager to sin, and you’ll allow him, won’t you? You love to be stained by his hands, by his teeth. You look gorgeous in white, but you appear heavenly with purple roses blooming on your skin, ones that he bestowed with his mouth and fingertips.

Shivers run across your skin as your lungs burn inside. You look up at the night sky above you, velvet black with no diamonds in sight. Winter will soon blanket the earth with its pure white snow. You can already taste the ice in the air with each breath you take.

How much time has passed since I left his building? You’re not sure. But with no money in hand and no wallet set up on your phone, you can’t travel far. If only Jinwoo hadn’t confiscated your belongings, you would’ve had something to purchase a train ticket to return to your home. All you have now is the silver ring he’s placed around your finger.

I can trade it, but…

You shudder at the thought. Jinwoo has promised he’ll never hurt you, and he’s kept his word in the last six months he’s been confining you inside the walls of his penthouse. You trust him, believe him to the point that you’re still somewhat assured that he will take you back without harming you, even if he catches you right now. But if you dare to toss away the token of his love, of the vows you’d exchanged…

He’ll never forgive me.

The sight of your ring glinting beneath the yellowish glow of the street lamps causes you to recall the day when he sank down to one knee, proclaiming his eternal love for you. You said yes, didn’t you? Without a sliver of doubt, you agreed to his proposal, your smile blinding, elation permeating your chest.

Why? You chastise yourself now as you drown in regret. Why was I so stupid? That time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, your mind submerged in the state of sheer happiness that you thought would last forever.

Jinwoo was perfect. Before he unveiled the monster hidden inside him, he was everything you ever wanted. Tall and handsome, modest despite possessing God-like powers, and above all that, he was a kind, respectful man. He was always so gentle with you—so, so gentle—embracing you like a porcelain doll, refusing to touch you unless you permitted him to. Every kiss was featherlight until you deepened it. Every caress was soothing on your skin until you begged him to bruise you. Back then, you wanted to be his, didn't you? You wanted to be the only one who could satisfy him in every way, to be the only woman who could wear his mark on your skin like a badge of honor. You thought it would be the sweetest dream to be claimed by someone as divine as Sung Jinwoo.

Until one incident happened, and it all turned into a nightmare, one that was everlasting, like the shadow that trembled beneath his feet. ***

It began six months ago, the event that changed everything.

You were stuck in your office that night, trying to meet your deadline as quickly as possible. The hours had grown late. Amidst the frustration you held against yourself for not being fast enough to finish your reports, you gave your lover a quick call, apologizing for not being able to come home in time to celebrate your fourth anniversary together.

Jinwoo, the perfect lover that he was, had already spent hours preparing for the special night. A set of your favorite dishes had been served, styled to perfection by his own hands. Romantic candlelights decorated the dining table, the perfect company to the crystal vase filled with fresh lilies to match your everlasting beauty. He had prepared two tall glasses and a bottle of your preferred red wine dipped in ice for a nice, romantic chat in front of the fireplace. Dozens of presents, filled with the items on your wishlist, were hidden in places for you to seek. And if you hadn’t texted him to let you know that you had to spend another few hours trapped in your cubicle, your fiancée would’ve been there with a bouquet of roses to escort you home the second you were off work. Everything was planned to perfection, as that was what you deserved. A perfect night for someone as perfect as you.

And there you were, ruining everything.

“Jinwoo?”

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out, almost longingly. As if just the sound of his name spoken in your voice rendered him weak. “Hey. I was just thinking about you.”

He’d never left your mind, and that sensual, husky voice of his was one of the reasons why. “Honey, I’m so sorry,” you sighed into the phone, massaging the bridge of your nose as both fatigue and a heavy sense of guilt filled you to the brim. “I swear, I thought I could finish my report in an hour or two, but I made a mistake, and now I have to redo everything. I’m probably gonna be stuck here for another hour or two. Is that all right?”

There were two seconds of silence that doubled the weight of your regret, but then— “Are you safe? Do you need me to be there with you?” Those were the questions he always asked, the only things that mattered. Everything else could wait, even his own feelings.

Jinwoo could be in the middle of a perilous dungeon break, protecting the citizens from the starving beasts, and he would abandon everything at once if you so much as called his name, needing his presence. Your safety had always been his first and foremost priority.

However, as wonderful as it was, you often found it overwhelming, especially when you felt his shadow soldiers following your every step. That was why you made him promise not to place one on you, to give you a room to breathe. It was a proposition that he initially opposed, knowing it was the safest way to ensure your security, but he had also grown aware of how much your privacy mattered to you. He respected that. He trusted you. And, so, with a reluctant heart, he made his vow.

You believed him, the way you always did.

But what you didn't know was that in order to respect your privacy, he sacrificed everyone else’s.

Jinwoo had sent hundreds of soldiers to spy on anyone who could come in contact with you. Every family member, friend, co-worker, security guard, even a regular passerby, if they so much breathed in the air that you breathed, then a beast resided beneath their feet.

You promised him you'd be safe without him. He made sure you stayed true to your words.

“Yes, I’m safe,” you answered him through the phone. “Don’t worry. I’m just gonna be sitting here in my seat, doing these stupid reports.” And missing you badly.

“You should quit your job. I’ll provide everything for you.”

It wasn’t a jest. You knew he meant every word, but you tittered anyway. “Maybe I will, once you marry me.”

“Princess, I would marry you this second, you know that. Just say the words, and I’m yours.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering in delight. Honestly, taking a quick trip to the nearest church and pronouncing your vows in front of the priest and a janitor as your witness wouldn’t be too terrible if it meant you could spend the rest of your eternity with him. “I want to marry you, too, Jin. I wanna marry you right now, but…”

There was a quaver in his breath, his voice tight. “But..?”

“I think I’d prefer it better if my family could see me walking down the aisle in my wedding dress.” And seeing you standing so handsomely in your suit, waiting for me near the altar, watching me with devotion in your eyes, the way you always look at me… God, I would trade the world for it.

Jinwoo sighed, yearning for the image you envisioned. “You in a wedding dress, huh? That is indeed a sight worth waiting for.”

“That’s right,” you giggled. “So, should we postpone it for a bit? Until I can find a dress that fits?”

“You better not take too long. You know how impatient I could be, especially when it comes to you.” You could visualize his sultry smirk vividly in your mind. “Now that I’m picturing you in a wedding dress, all I can think about is ripping that same dress off you.”

“Jinwoo…” It was unfair how easily he could make you pine for him, your body needing his touch so desperately just from hearing his raspy voice. “Don’t distract me like this, please. I’ve got work to do.”

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice, despite still sounding as soft as silk, turned deep, drenched with desire. “I just wish you were here with me right now. I know we spend every night and every morning together, but today, I just… I miss you so badly. Maybe it’s because we’re celebrating our anniversary tonight, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day.”

You nibbled at your lip, sharing the same need. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, too.”

His breathing turned heavy before a confession followed. “It’s weird, I’ve never…” He tarried, a slight bashfulness growing evident in his voice. “I’ve never felt this way about someone before. You drive me crazy. It’s like I can’t live without you. I need you, Angel. Desperately so.”

Need, never want. He never craved you solely for your body. He needed you—your kindness, your smile, your kiss, your scent, your love, your everything.

“Come home, baby. Come home to me.”

You felt awful, devastated even, as you heard the wretchedness in his voice. It was your anniversary, for fuck’s sake, and you chose to stay miles apart from him instead of being in his embrace. And Jinwoo didn’t even complain about it, not questioning your actions, your decisions, just simply stating how much he longed for you. Would you have been so nice and understanding if you were in his shoes? If you had spent hours preparing for the perfect night just to see him cancel your plan at the last minute? It would’ve been difficult, for sure.

And that’s why I want to marry him so badly, you thought to yourself as gratitude glowed inside you. You couldn’t wait for the day to come, to have your heart etched with his name.

“I’ll finish this in an hour,” you uttered with a new set of determination. “I promise you.”

“You don’t have to promise me anything. I understand. I adore this side of you, too, how responsible and hardworking you are.” You could sense the proud smile in his voice, could envisage just how soft and beautiful it was. “Just make sure you’ll always be safe. And text me when you’re about to finish. I’ll pick you up.”

You felt so loved, so taken care of. “I will. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Mm. I’ll be waiting for you at home.”

Home. You loved that word more than anything. It was an abrupt decision when you'd agreed to move in with him a year ago, a joyful burst of “Jinwoo, of course, I’d love to live with you,” to answer the invitation he'd proffessed with a soft blush permeating his cheeks. It was sudden, yes, but when you spoke your answer, you knew for certain that it was a choice you’d never regret. Because why would you, when you got to spend every second of every hour of your life with the man you loved?

“I love you, Jinwoo.”

“I love you, too, Angel.”

You ended the call, and it almost felt like a part of you died with it.

The clock was ticking fast. 09.42 PM. You looked over to the stack of unfinished reports. Can I really finish all of these in an hour?

“Oh, Noona. You’re still here.”

A younger co-worker—a handsome man with deep obsidian eyes, a radiant, sunshine-esque smile, and spikes in his raven hair—peeked his head inside your cubicle. Lee Minsung, his name was, and you remembered it by heart as he was always there to assist you with your work when everyone else chose to turn a blind eye.

He was a brilliant man. Humble and selfless, with a great sense of humor. Based on the rumors spreading throughout the building, he used to be an actor when he was younger, but his career went downhill after he was involved in a scandal. You didn’t care enough to dig into more details, but if he was indeed an actor, he certainly had the look for it.

Although he was popular among the women, for some reason, Minsung chose to tag along with you instead, always asking to be put in the same projects as you if the opportunity arose. He said he could breathe easy when he was with you, probably because you only saw him as a friend and nothing more, unlike all the other women who were nice to him to get a sliver of his affection.

“Yeah,” you grumbled. “I’m still here.”

“You haven’t finished yet? It’s almost ten.”

“I would’ve finished a while ago if I hadn’t inputted the wrong numbers. I’m basically redoing everything now, and I still have four more reports to go.” You were close to crying at this point, frustrated. “I’m sorry, Minsung, I don’t have time to chat. I’m in a hurry.”

“So cold,” he joked with a chuckle. Leaning back against the partition with the sleeves of his navy blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, he flaunted a charming smile. “How about I offer you some help, then? I was about to head home, but I could stay here for you if you promise me you'll treat me to some steak.”

That was a cheap offer. You didn't have to think twice about it. “Yes. Yes, please, help me.”

There were only the two of you in the room, and you were aware of that, but as soon as you handed him one of your files, Minsung returned to work in his own cubicle, providing some distance between you, and you felt safe. He really was just trying to help.

Half an hour later, he came over with a haughty grin. “Done,” he said, leaving you gaping in awe at his work. Not only was he fast, he did everything so neatly and efficiently, much better than you did.

“Oh my God, you’re my life savior,” you uttered in gratitude before you glanced at the clock. 10.21 PM. Only two more reports to go. With his help, you could finish this sooner than you expected. And then you could go home to your fiancée’s arms, the man you’d been longing to reunite with from the second you kissed him goodbye that very morning.

“I’ll help you with the rest,” Minsung promised. “But let’s take a break first.”

You didn’t have time to waste. “Sorry, I don’t think I—”

“Please, Noona?” He pleaded with his big, sparkly doe eyes. “Just to get some coffee. It will only take ten minutes max.”

“Minsung—“

“Five. Five minutes. Please?”

You exhaled heavily through your nose; your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You had no choice but to agree as you desperately needed his help. You figured a ten-minute break wouldn’t hurt. If anything, you needed a chance to stretch and unwind your muscles after sitting non-stop for hours. “Fine. I’ll treat you. Let’s go.”

Following his lead, you took the stairs to the next level above you. The lights for that floor had been shut down completely from the main operating room to conserve energy. Using your phone as your flashlight, you stepped into the pantry area. Seeing no one around felt a little eerie, as the space was always crowded during the day, and being shrouded in darkness only multiplied that sensation.

Fortunately for you, the vending machine was still operating as always, providing enough lights for you to make out the shape of Minsung’s affable smile as he talked about the upcoming projects. You felt nervous, still, but you made no complaints. You weren’t going to be long anyway.

Besides… You looked up at the ceiling, feeling your heart at ease once you spotted the surveillance camera strapped to the corner of the room, observing your every action. We’re not necessarily alone.

Minsung followed your gaze, simpering as he stuffed his hands inside his pockets. “What, Noona, are you scared of being alone with me?”

“No,” you answered promptly, and it wasn’t a complete lie. He was a friend you’d known longer than a month. You trusted him in a way. He didn’t give you any sense of danger, but you couldn’t deny being left alone with a man made you feel slightly anxious. “I was just looking around.”

“Thank goodness. I was worried that I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, of course not.”

Tossing you another smile, he walked right past you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he whispered, “It’s not working, by the way. The camera. None of them work on this floor since they plan to install new ones tomorrow. So, it’s just you and me, Noona.”

You quickly grew restless over the news, but you chased your agitation away when you saw him grinning puckishly. He’s just messing with me.

...right?

Minsung, always the gentleman, beat you to the vending machine. He slipped his money inside, purchasing two warm cans of coffee, already memorizing your favorite brand. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” You took the drink from his hand, your palm warming up instantly from the first touch. “You should’ve let me buy this for you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to order a super expensive Wagyu steak to make up for it.”

“All right.” The soft peals of your laughter chased away the silence in the room. “Thank you, Minsung. Seriously. I would’ve been stuck here for another hour without your help. I’m running late as it is, so… It really means a lot, thanks.”

“You have somewhere to go?”

You nodded your head, taking a sip of the caffeine. “It’s my fourth anniversary today, so my boyfriend and I—”

“What?”

You stiffened. There was a sudden change in his tone, like a flare of anger mixed with surprise, but when you whirled your head toward him, no such emotion was written on his face. Was I imagining it?

“I didn't know you had a boyfriend,” Minsung continued. There was something different about his smile. It felt somewhat… alarming. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned him before.”

There was a reason why you never did. As the sixth national-level hunter, Jinwoo was almost as well-known as a world-class celebrity. Everybody had heard his name; most of them admired and worshipped him as their hero, and you were just… someone who happened to meet him by chance at a coffee shop. The difference in status and fame between you could attract unnecessary attention. You could already imagine the amount of journalists that would swarm you with questions if they knew you were engaged.

Fortunately for you, Jinwoo agreed to play along. Your comfort remained his first concern, after all. He probably figured it would be better for your well-being, too, if there weren’t many people informed about the special bond you shared with him. You wouldn’t be targeted as much, both by the probing reporters or the beings who wished to strike him down.

“Yeah, umm, I don’t really like talking about my personal life,” you responded with an awkward chuckle. “But yeah, I have a boyfriend. A fiancée, actually.” As an elated smile flourished on your lips, your hand absentmindedly pressed against the pendant dangling around your neck, hidden by the collar of your blouse. It was your engagement ring, an extravagant diamond placed upon a silver band. You wished you could let it adorn your fourth finger the way it was supposed to, but doing so would defeat the purpose of keeping your relationship a secret. You didn’t wish for your co-workers to start asking questions about it. You could lie, sure, but… You were never a very good liar to begin with.

Silence filled the spaces between you. Without knowing why, the tension suddenly turned palpable, almost smothering. “Uhh… Minsung, I think we should head back—”

“What a fucking joke.”

Your heart plummeted from the sudden switch in his demeanor, the change so abrupt and vivid that it brought ice to the atmosphere. Resentment and disdain were engraved firmly in his tone, his voice harsh and deep, making your stomach churn in fear. He laughed once, bitter and cold before he turned to look at you. There was no warmth in his eyes, his expression indecipherable, but you could tell something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Instinctively, you took a step back, your senses on full alert. “Minsung—”

“I can’t believe I wasted so much time, so much effort to get your attention,” he walked toward you, slow and steady, but with each step he took, you heard the siren in your mind turning vehement. “Just to find out you have a fucking fiancée?”

Still shocked at the sudden twist of the situation, you found your spine pressed against the wall. Minsung caged you with his body, your head trapped between his arms. “You know I like you, right, Noona?” His face hovered a mere few inches above yours as he gazed down menacingly. Perhaps the rumors of him being an actor were true. Never in your life would you have thought that a man as bright as Minsung would possess such a cruel, horrifying personality beneath his prince charming smile.

“I-I didn’t,” you said, quivers in your voice. You weren’t lying. You were completely unaware of his feelings. Your gullible mind just thought he wanted to befriend you, that he was just naturally kind, the type of person who’d find joy in helping others.

“Don’t lie to me.” His words flew past gritted teeth, heavy with threat. “You think someone would act so nice to you without wanting anything in return? All this time, you knew how I felt about you, and you enjoyed my attention, didn’t you? Is it fun for you? Toying with other people’s feelings?”

“I’ve never—“ You flinched when he grabbed you by the neck, your eyes shut closed as pain jolted through your stream. “M-Minsung—” you choked out, your fingers twisting around his wrist, trying to pry him off of you. It was no use. He was a man nearly twice your size, with the strength of an A-rank Hunter if the words on the street were true. “Let me—go—”

“Or what, hmm?” He snarled behind his wolfish grin. “Pretty girls like you always do whatever you like, don’t they? Taking advantage of people and tossing them away like they’re nothing. Well, tell you what, darling.” He peered down at you with hunger in his eyes, the desire to hurt, to break you.“I can do the same thing, too.”

Terror engulfed you at once as your mind wandered through all the frightening possibilities he could do to you in this empty space, hidden in the dimness of the room. Panic brought tears to your eyes, blurring your vision as your heart desperately sought a savior.

Jinwoo! You wanted to cry out. Jinwoo, please!

Help me!

“Look at you,” Minsung chuckled, loving the dread in your eyes. “Starting to fear me now, aren’t you, Noona? Too bad, no one’s gonna come to save you. Didn’t I tell you before? It’s just you and me here.” His face hovered close, his breath hot on your cheeks. “So, let’s make that count, shall we?”

Despite the overwhelming fright, you refused to give up, not yet. Clasping your jaws together, you clawed against his wrist with your nails, marring his skin until blood trickled to color his pallid skin crimson.

“Fucking bitch,” he growled, hissing at the wound you inflicted on him. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

He lifted you up the wall, forcing you to stand on your toes. “Stop—” You gasped out as Minsung tightened his fingers around your neck, carving bruises and crushing your windpipes. You kicked around, desperate to regain some distance. “I said, STOP!”

You heard it before your mind could register what your eyes witnessed—the sound of a human’s skull being crushed. Your eyes closed in reflex as splatters of blood and bits of flesh drenched you to your toes. A sudden eerie silence descended over the room, ruined only by the sound of your restrained breathing. Slowly, with your heart caught in your throat, your lids fluttered open—

And you saw Lee Minsung standing before you. Limp. Headless.

Thick blood painted the marble floor, coating the white walls black beneath the looming darkness and smearing scarlet all over the glass. His body was frozen in place, floating a few inches above the ground as if there was an invisible hand seizing him by the neck. By the next time you blinked your eyes, it toppled onto the floor with a heavy thud. More blood oozed out of the corpse, pooling around your feet and soaking your shoes with its revolting warmth.

You couldn’t scream, trepidation filling every bit of your nerve as you stared at the scene, striking you to your bones. In that brief moment, time seemed to slow down. Your rapid heartbeat rang clamorously in your ears as your mind gravely tried to process the situation.

Then, you heard footsteps closing in.

With trembles running through your entire body, you turned your head to the side, following where the sound reverberated from. You felt a pair of arms pulling you into an embrace before you could take a glimpse of their owner, his touch so tender and careful, rivaling that of a mother. As your face fell upon a sturdy chest, your senses greeted by a familiar warmth and the pleasant scent of cedarwood and musk, you knew this was the home you wished to run to just a few seconds ago.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Jinwoo’s deep, soothing voice felt like cold water pouring onto scalding skin. “You’re safe now.”

Except he didn’t feel like home anymore, or your savior. He was the Angel of Death, one that just took the life of a mortal without batting an eye.

A part of you felt relieved, grateful—and you should’ve, right? He saved your life, protected you from the man who planned to break you apart. But as your lover drew you closer to his chest, his gentle fingers threading through your hair, pacifying you, your stare returned to Lee Minsung’s mangled body on the floor. Jinwoo had killed thousands of beasts before, and you knew how merciless and brutal he could be in the face of his opponent, but you never thought he would act the same—no, worse—to a human.

Minsung was a despicable person down to his core, and you wished he would get caught and rot in jail for what he did to you, but never, never in your life would you wish for him to end like that. To end with his head… exploding to pieces.

“J-Jin—” Your words stuck in your throat the second you witnessed the fury in his eyes. You’d never seen it before—didn’t even think it was possible for such consuming rage to reside in the pair of the gentlest sapphires you’d ever seen. He wasn’t looking at you, not at your face. His gaze was fixated on the bruise that had besmirched your neck, forming in the shape of another man’s fingers. He breathed out heavily, his wrath threatening to take over and destroy everything around him, but when he caressed his fingertips along the marks, they were as light, as cold and gentle as the first snow of December.

“I shouldn’t have killed him,” Jinwoo spoke through clenched teeth, his voice the quiet rumble of an impending storm. “I should’ve tortured him.”

Your heart freefell to your stomach. This side of him appalled you so terribly it left you tongue-tied. Before you could react, your lover suddenly lifted his head, his sensitive ears catching the sound you couldn’t hear amidst the gale raging in your mind, but his concern over your well-being caused him to notice it a second too late. A patrolling security guard strolled by the door with a flashlight in hand, completely stupefied as he witnessed the gruesome scene unfolding before his eyes. You panicked, your mind in a rush to find a way to escape the situation, but before you could even draw another breath, Jinwoo raised his hand—

And the man’s head was severed from his neck.

Bile quickly rose to your throat as you saw it rolled onto the floor. Splotches of blood bathed Jinwoo’s dark trench coat; some spilled onto his cheek, which he nonchalantly brushed away with his knuckles. His posture remained calm and composed, with no emotions written on his face, as if the act of killing an innocent man was never a dire sin in his book.

He brought your body flushed against him, holding you protectively against his chest to avert your gaze from the human remains. “Igris,” he summoned, his voice heavy with authority. “Clear the evidence.”

As black fog materialized in the darkness, you, yourself were consumed by one.

The Angel of Death wrapped his black wings around you and took you away. ***

The next time you fluttered your eyes open, the scene had changed. You had returned home, to the beautiful penthouse you had been living together with him like newlyweds. The blackness of the night shrouded the living space, blanketed every piece of furniture that carried the beautiful memories you shared with him, placing veils upon the photo frames that showcased the romantic smiles and the amorous gazes he directed at you. It was as if the world refused to remind you of the man you loved, forcing you to accept the monster standing before you.

You stood still in the heart of your living room, trapped within his arms. Hot tears emanated in your eyes, filling your sockets and drenching your cheeks. They were not tears of relief, nor were they proof of your gratitude. They were born out of horror, your fear of the man whose name was engraved in the silver ring you wore above your heart. And that man, at that very moment, had you within his clutch. To hold you tenderly or to shatter you to dust, it was all up for you to decide.

He loved you. He loved you now. But if you made one wrong move, one unforgivable mistake that severed the red thread between your fingers…

Will I end up like them? You pondered dreadfully, not realizing how he was capable of doing more. There were worse things than death that you didn’t know yet. But he did.

And he was ready to give it to you should you choose to abandon him.

Feeling you trembling against him, Jinwoo slowly unwound his arms from you, examining your face with careful fingertips. The glimmering city lights from below seeped faintly through the windows, illuminating one side of his handsome features while leaving the rest for the darkness to embrace. “You’re still shaking… How can I make you feel better?”

His compassion, his soft, caring gaze, the way he carefully brushed his thumb against your tears—everything remained the same, and yet, all you could think about were the ghastly corpses he left on the floor.

Just what kind of a monster is he to be able to do something so cruel without any hesitation?

Your strength began to trickle out of you, your legs wobbly beneath your weight. “Angel—” You untangled yourself from him, not wanting his help. Sinking to the carpeted floor with your body and clothes still dampened with blood, you felt so weak you could barely speak.

Jinwoo went down to one knee before you, his eyebrows sewn in deep concern as he reached out a hand to take yours. “Let me carry you to the bed—”

You backed off from him as best as you could, falling to your behind as you jerked away from his touch. You didn’t want his hands on you, not a single finger, not after what he did.

Your action stunned him, but seeing your fear-stricken face, he didn’t take your rejection to heart. He fathomed the trauma you just went through but not understanding that he was the biggest factor that caused it.

“Hey, it’s all right. It’s just me, Sweetheart. Just me.” He assured you with a smile, as saccharine sweet as usual. It felt off-putting as if it didn’t belong there on his face anymore, even if it looked the same. It had been stained by the fact that his hands were now drenched in another man’s blood.

“It was scary, wasn’t it?” He softly swept your hair out of your face, tucking the damp strands behind your ear. “But it’s over now. Nothing can touch you while I’m here. I promise.”

What he offered as reassurance became terror the moment it reached your ears. If no one could touch you if he were with you, then there would be no one to save you.

Frantic tears still glazed your eyes, threatening to fall and join the others that had dripped down your chin. “Y-You…” Your breathing quickened, your heart rate escalating rapidly. “Those men… You k-killed them…”

To your horror, his thin lips bowed, forming a smile so angelic, it felt like heaven’s kiss. “I did,” Jinwoo replied, his tone sweet, almost romantic, his gaze soft without a glimmer of remorse. “All for your sake, my love.”

For… For my sake…?

This is all… my fault?

“I… I never asked you to—” Your words came out in chokes as another surge of panic filled your system. “I never—” There was a pain in your chest that you couldn’t wash away no matter how tightly you clutched your hand over your heart, the world spinning so fast around you, depriving you of oxygen.

“Breathe,” he urged gently, gathering your face in his hands. “You’re panicking, Sweetheart. You need to calm down first, all right? Focus on me. Focus on my voice.” He kept one hand on your cheek, his thumb rubbing soothing circles along the bone beneath your eye as his other one ran up and down your arm, pacifying you. “There’s no need to be afraid anymore. I'm with you. I'll always be with you.”

The more you listened to him, the more intense your fear grew inside you. It didn’t occur to him that you were afraid of him. He believed he did the right thing—saving you, protecting you.

“Match your breathing with mine. You can do this.”

He was a bigger monster than you thought he was.

Despite every nerve of your body begging you to flee, you stay put, focusing to compose yourself, to even your breathing the way he guided you. Colors slowly returned to your face, your heart no longer pounding just as hard.

“There you go, Angel.” He planted a soft kiss on your temple, his own muscles unwinding as relief washed over him. “That’s my good girl. You’ve done so well.”

Brought back down to earth by the same man who showed you a glimpse of hell… You felt sick to your stomach.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” he offered with a smile, a soft caress of his digits on your cheek. Unable to do anything, you let him take control. With one arm supporting your back and the other hooked behind your knees, your lover carried you to the bathroom.

You kept yourself mute as you dwelled in the aftermath of the incident, trying to overcome the shock and the horror of his actions. Jinwoo remained patient with you, not forcing you to speak or do anything you weren’t ready for. He simply took off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt before he sat you down on the edge of the bathtub.

“Lift your hands for me?” He asked before he removed your blouse, never forgetting his courtesy even after four years of leaving nasty lovebites on each other skin. You did as you were told, your body going on autopilot, complying with your puppeteer’s command.

Jinwoo stood on one knee before you, wiping the blood off your skin with such tenderness that it would’ve lulled you to sleep had you been able to chase away all the terrorizing thoughts. But how could you when he was still there right before you, acting like the sweet prince that he was while his victim’s blood still stained his shirt and cheek?

“You’re doing great, love,” he praised your obedience, peeling off your stockings one by one. He removed your skirt next, leaving your legs bare, and for a split second, you thought he would pepper butterfly kisses on your thighs, the way he never failed to do, worshipping your body every chance he got. But he didn’t. He showed compassion, giving you space to breathe, not wanting to remind you of the horrifying way Minsung had touched you before.

Now fully undressed before him, Jinwoo bathed you, starting by washing your hair, taking a moment to ask whether the water was too warm or too cold for your liking. You didn’t answer. A piece of his soul shattered as he watched how crestfallen you were, another part burned with the self-loathing he held toward himself for not being there sooner to save you, and the rest… The rest of him was consumed by the fury he had not yet fully released. Still, with caring hands, he proceeded till the end, scrubbing all the crimson away from your locks and skin before shutting off the water.

Seeing you cleansed and all warmed up, Jinwoo swathed your body with a bathrobe. He lowered himself to his knees once more, meeting your eye level as he dried the excess water from your hair with another towel. You looked so small, so vulnerable that he couldn’t help but gaze at you with his heart breaking in his eyes.

He removed the towel, pushing the stray strands behind your ear. “Can I hug you?” He questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand rested on your knee, his thumb rubbing little circles there, waiting.

The hands you settled on your thighs slowly curled into fists as your emotions overflowed you like a broken dam, your lips quivering in your attempt to fight back the stinging tears. You were scared of him, so terribly scared, but there was a part of you that was still aching for comfort, for the solace that he could only provide. You cast your stare down to your lap, your body trembling as you tried to contain your sobs.

“Oh, Sweetheart…” He brought you back into his embrace, his lips caressing your temple before he settled his chin on your head. “It’s all right, you’re okay now. You’re safe with me.”

There was promise in his words, one that you could easily believe if this incident ever happened. But all you could think right then was—

How can I truly feel safe with you when you’re no longer the man I know?

“Jinwoo…”

He carefully pulled away, relieved that he could hear your voice again. “Yes?”

“The two men from before…” You shakily began, catching the way his body turned still almost immediately at your words. You hadn’t gathered enough bravery to hold his gaze yet, but it didn’t stop you from forming the question gnawing at your chest. “Why…? Why did you do that to them?”

It took a second for him to respond, stroking the back of your head. “Sweetheart—”

“Why did you kill them?”

His gaze hardened, seemingly conflicted as he mulled over his answer. You weren’t sure if he were concerned of how his honesty might affect you, or if he just simply refused to reply, not wanting to reveal more sides of the monster he kept inside. “I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me…?” Incredulity washed over your face as you watched him rise back to his feet, his demeanor still poised while you were shaking to your core. “If you wanted to protect me, you could’ve just stopped him. You didn’t have to—”

“I had to.” A layer of his patience snapped, his voice turning frighteningly low. No storm was darker than his gaze when he looked down at you, smothering you more than the brimming anxiety inside you. “He laid his hands on you. On what’s mine.”

Your heart plummeted to your stomach. The way he said it… It was almost as if you were his possession, an object he’d bared his teeth at anyone who dared to touch.

He killed Minsung because… he couldn’t stand seeing another man play with his toy?

Your fingers gripped tightly against the tub's edge as gravity seemed to double beneath your feet. “The other man… T-the security guard…”

Jinwoo tightened his jaws, his voice rivaling the frostiness of the blackest winter, a telltale that he had lost a shard of his humanity a long time ago. “I couldn’t afford to have a witness.”

Collateral damage. That was how easily he waved it off. A sinless man’s soul, treated as nothing.

The air turned heavy as silence came to join your company. He walked away from you to set away your towel, accidentally catching a reflection of himself in the mirror as he did. The bloodstain was still there, coating his prominent cheekbone, a stroke of crimson over flawless white canvas. He turned on the tap, drenching his fingers with water; his expression remained unfazed. You watched him wipe the dry blood with his thumb as if it were just another stain, not remembering—not caring over—the lives he took when he got it.

“I did what I had to do,” Jinwoo uttered, popping open the top buttons of his shirt before he rested his palms on the edge of the sink. His gaze, colder than the ocean’s depths, was glued to the running water. “He deserved it.”

Deserved it? No one deserved to have their heads blown to pieces! “You’ve gone too far—”

“And I’ll do it again.” He met your gaze in the mirror, stifling your breath. “I’ll kill anyone who touches you. You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. No one can have you but me.”

Your fear of him intensified as anger radiated off of him. You couldn’t avert your gaze away, feeling like he had you by the throat. The glow in his eyes, the conviction… He meant every word.

He’s insane.

He’s insane. He’s insane. He’s insane.

I need to run. I need to go somewhere. Far, far away from him.

It might have been a rash decision—foolish, too—but it was what your instinct told you to do, and you were caught too deep in a frenzy to think straight. You tried to return to your feet, your movement hasty, uncoordinated. It was then that you realized you could barely feel your legs.

The panic attack you'd suffered through before had taken a toll on your body, forcing it to betray you. Combined with the terrifying realization of the monster he had become—no, the monster he always was—your limbs turned feeble no matter how much you tried to steel yourself. Losing your balance, you fell onto the ceramic floor, water saturating your bathrobe the same way horror pervading every line of your face.

No, move. You beseeched yourself, your vision blurring with hot tears. Please, move!

You heard the tap handle turning before his calm, steady footsteps followed. “You need to rest,” Jinwoo said, his tone leaving you barely any room to argue.

Still, fueled by your will to survive, you shook your head. “No, I need to—”

“Sweetheart.” The sudden firmness in his voice staggered you. It was never a suggestion. It was a command. "Do as I tell you to."

You couldn’t do it. You had to leave. Now. The urge for it possessed you stronger than before. With a shot of adrenaline bursting through your system, you pushed yourself off the ground. You’d crawl your way out of there if you had to. You swore it.

One step. One step away from him was all he allowed you before he captured you with one hand wrapped around your waist, dragging you back to him.

“Jinwoo,” you started pleading, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt. “Jinwoo, please, let—” His lean fingers reached toward you, a gentle curtain falling over your eyes. As darkness embraced you, your consciousness began to seep away. “me… go…” You fell into his arms, your body limp, your lips ajar as your words died in a whisper.

The last thing you witnessed before everything turned pitch black was a pair of glimmering purple orbs replacing the blue in his eyes. ***

Your damp strands soddened the pillow as Jinwoo placed you gently onto the sheets. He brushed his thumb against the tear that slipped past your wet lashes, his face contorting in sadness. He didn’t mean to do it, to use his magic on you, but you were panicking again, weren’t you? He couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering through another attack should it worsen.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, bestowing a kiss on your cheek. “You’ll feel better tomorrow. I promise.” He covered you with the duvet, letting it shroud you with its warmth before he’d replace it later with his embrace. “I’ll be back in a minute, Angel.”

There was one thing he needed to do, something to douse the blazing fire within him.

Peaceful in your slumber, you failed to witness the way his entire expression shifted as his eyes landed once again on the marks around your neck. With his jaw tautened and his eyes gleaming in the darkness, the Lord of the Undead stepped into his realm.

“My liege,” one of his most faithful shadows, Beru, greeted him with a deep bow as his king graced him with his presence. Endless soldiers stood on their knees behind the generals, awaiting his order.

"Heal her bruises. Make sure she's not in any pain. Igris," his voice, enough to make all shadows tremble at the sound, rumbled deeper through the air as he turned to address the other general. “Bring him to me.”

The silent knight vanished and returned within the blink of an eye, dragging Lee Minsung’s headless corpse beneath his claws and presenting him like a gift. Jinwoo stood tall with his hands stuck inside his pockets, his gaze piercing, unforgiving.

The raging desire for vengeance rose within him once more, and this time, he knew the perfect way to satisfy it.

“Arise.”

Read the deleted scene here

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slasherbvnnie · 1 year ago

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Bewitched

Mattheo Riddle has a secret girlfriend, it's even secret to her

Bewitched Pt II

Reader isn't in a particular house, implies they're not in Slytherin. Reader and all characters mentioned are 18+ and in college! Hogwarts. Probably will be a spicy part 2 ;)

Modern!Harry Potter AU, College!Mattheo Riddle, College!Hogwarts AU

Questions first began to arise before one of Slytherin’s quidditch matches last month, particularly when Mattheo was changing into his uniform and Draco noticed the scratches down his back. The boys teased him over it, questioning him on who was the lucky girl who made them. Mattheo just smiled on and let them try to decipher who it was from his giggles at each attempt they gave.

On the other end, questions circled around you when your friends first began to notice the hickeys that littered your neck, blushed cheeks and meek responses when your friends pressed on knowing who mauled their friend.

It’s not that you were purposely hiding who they were from, you just didn’t want to say who it was from until both of you knew what you were to each other. Mattheo had been there during a party hosted by Gryffindor, things moved pretty quickly that night when you set your eyes on him. He was pleasantly surprised the new transfer student had her gaze set on him, so much so that he didn’t reject her whispers about going back to his secluded prefect dorm. There were some more nights after the first, some more innocent than others, but there was never one important question asked from either side.

You didn’t know if the Mattheo Riddle was open to a relationship, Mattheo Riddle had simply thought you two were already together in his own world. He just simply didn’t kiss and tell.

While you sat in the stands waiting for the quidditch match to start, you were brought to attention when Cormac McLaggen sat next to you. “Excited for the game?” You questioned him as he chuckled, “if its not my own, not much,” he joked as you smiled. “Why aren’t you with the others? I’m sure the rest of your team are betting against Zacharias,” you hummed.

He grinned, “my bets are always against whoever Malfoy is against, doesn’t play fair,” he said before continuing on. “I wanted to spend some time with you for the game, if that’s okay,” he said as your eyes widened in surprise.

“Me?”

“That’s not a problem, is it?” He asked as you shook your head no. “Of course not, I just, well I noticed you talking with Hannah Abbot recently and I assumed…” your voiced trailed off as you looked away for a moment.

“She…ah, we’ve been comparing notes recently. She wants to get in good standing with Slughorn, she says the club seems like fun,” he admitted as you nodded.

“So there's-“

“Nothing between us two, I assure you,” he said with a smile.

Before you turned back to look at Cormac, you noticed the familiar head of curls staring directly at you two. Even from all the way out in the field, you could feel the death glare Mattheo was giving to Cormac. It surprised you, as Mattheo had never shown interest in any others talking to you before, but he now seemed distracted as they were beginning to set up for the match.

You hadn’t waited to talk after the match was over, Cormac walked you back to your dorm after, saying goodbye to you after telling him how you needed to study for your potions exam. He promised to send a letter later that night, to plan an outing in Hogsmeade on the weekend but when the hours passed and no letter was slipped under your door you grew curious.

It wasn’t until one of your roommates came in, going over to your desk. “Be glad we aren’t in slytherin, lost a hundred points earlier,” she said as you looked up from your notebook. “How come?” You asked as you set down your pen.

“Riddle sent McLaggen to Madam Pomfrey,” she said as you stared at her, quickly getting up from your seat.

“Did you hear why?” You asked her as you grabbed your cardigan, put it on quickly, and went to put on your shoes.

“No, but I did hear he spent the afternoon with you. Is Mattheo the one who gave you all those hickeys?” She asked as you rolled your eyes.

“I am not the reason they fought,” you said as you went to the door. “Where’s Riddle now?” You questioned as she took a seat on her bed. “Back in the Slytherin common room, I heard Dumbledore is questioning taking him off the team,” she said as you huffed, opening the door and heading to the dungeons.

When you made it past the password ridden door, you looked around before you saw Pansy taking care of Mattheo’s knuckles as she was scolding him. “Pomfrey said I was ok, Pans,” he grumbled. You made your way over to the couch he was sat on, his eyes on you when he noticed you were near.

“Why are you here?” He asked, “we have an exam tomorrow, you’re always busy the night before,” he said as Pansy looked between you two, dropping Mattheo’s hand as you looked him over.

“I heard what you did, I wanted to know why McLaggen is nearly in a coma from you,” you said, knowing you were exaggerating it a little. Mattheo only laughed as he stood from the couch, heading to his dorm. “It should be obvious as to why,” he said, anger laced in his words. “Obvious?” You questioned as you followed him.

“Yes, I thought it was very clear why. Why else would I risk being kicked off the team?” He stated as he walked faster.

“You are at risk with every fight you’re in. This isn’t even your first fight this month!” You reasoned as he let out a bitter chuckle. “Why did you fight with him, Mattheo? You won today’s game! So why are you so angry?” you questioned him as he stopped and turned to you.

His eyes were watery despite the angered look on his face, “I am angry because my girlfriend is entertaining other guys wanting to go on dates with her when she doesn’t even go with me,” he said as he stared down at you.

“Girlfriend?” You asked, a bit taken back and hurt by his words. You weren’t aware he had a girlfriend. “You never told me you had a girlfriend,” you said, backing away from him.

He blinked, eyebrows burrowed in confusion as he looked down at you. “you’re- you’re the girlfriend. You know that…right?”

You gave him a bewildered look, “me?” you questioned, just as confused as him.

“Yes. I wouldn’t- merlin, I wouldn’t cheat.” He groaned, bringing a hand up to his face, pinching the space between his eyebrows.

“You’ve never asked me to be your girlfriend,” you said, trying to remember if there was a time that he forgot about.

“You have been the only girl I’ve seen for the past month,” he explained. “I thought, I thought when you kept coming back that it meant you were mine.” He said as you shook your head.

“I just thought it was a mutual understanding,”

“An understanding?”

“You know, like, friends with benefits. You never said otherwise. We’ve never been on dates! Even Cormac at least wanted to go on a date,” you said, Mattheo’s face twitching at the mention of another.

“I was going to take you for our anniversary,”

“What anniversary Mattheo? We are not dating!” You explained as he frowned, turning away from you now.

“We aren’t dating,” he said, nodding as he continued to his dorm. “You can have your date at the infirmary with McLaggen then,” he huffed out.

“Mattheo! Mattheo!” You called out, following behind him. You reached for his arm before he quickly shook your hand off.

“Mattheo, I don’t understand,”

The dark haired boy turned around, getting close to your face now. “You seek me out just for fun, come to my dorm nearly every night that you aren’t studying and you think I did not develop feelings for you? On the nights we don’t spend in my dorm, I spend all night in the astronomy tower, in the common room, at the Black Lake, anywhere you want to go for the night. I’ve shared with you about my father and his expectations and you’ve told me about your life and interests and how school was before your transfer and you just think I see you as some girl I only use for sex?” He asked, looking deep into your eyes, his own angered and burning with tears.

“You think I would risk losing my spot on the team over some girl I don’t care about?”

A lump formed in your throat, tears filling your eyes as you stared into his. “Mattheo..” you croaked out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You haven’t known me for long but I never thought you would take me for someone like that,” He said as he scoffed, almost turned around before you reached for his arm, looking up to him.

“I never, I just thought… I- I don’t know what I thought,” you said slowly.

His face softened, looking away from you for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Mattheo. I just figured, maybe you didn’t want a girlfriend, or that… I don’t know. I truly thought you just wanted to be friends with benefits,” you admitted to him as he nodded.

“I never asked because I was afraid you’d reject me,” he said softly, looking down. “You’re smart and sweet, I thought once you knew about my family, my father…you’d run away,”

“You are not your father,” you said as you looked up at him. “I wouldn’t have said no,” you hummed, catching his attention.

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t have a potions partner if I did,” you teased as he chuckled.

“You really needed to study tonight,” he mumbled before he moved your hand from his hand, lacing his fingers between yours. “I’m sorry for making assumptions,”

“I’m sorry for never asking how you felt,” you said in return, making him shake his head.

“Well….since we’re already here…I do know a way we can make it up to each other,” he said with a smirk, you rolled your eyes.

“You just told me I needed to study,” you said as he grinned, “you do, you still can. I can quiz you,” he said as he leaned in closer.

“You also need to study,” you reminded him as he chuckled. “You’ve been hanging with Granger too much,” he teased as he walked with you, opening the door to his room. “We can study tonight, but tomorrow if you pass, I know a special reward I can give you,” he said as he kissed your neck.

“A reward for me? Sounds like it’s a reward for you,” you mused as he gently bit your neck.

“Are you saying I don’t treat you well? I’ll have to remind you,” he hummed against your skin, making you shiver.

“Down boy, time to study,” you said as you walked over to his desk. He smirked, looking at you before grabbing his books and placing them in front of you. “Go ahead, study,” he hummed sinking onto his knees in front of you. “I’ll be enjoying myself, perks of the top potions student,” he grinned.

#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle smut

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bluebellhairpin · 7 months ago

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Sandor Clegane X Fem!Reader

Summary: A Mouse and a Hound, sounds like the start of a bad joke. It only gets worse when one's been scarred by ice, the other by fire. Who would've guessed they'd help each other face their fears before one chooses to face death. (word count; 8.7K <)

Warnings: Canon-typical themes. Probaby a 'too soft'/ooc Sandor. Injuries + blood + scars. Character death. Fighting. Swearing. Sandor and Reader match each other's jealous freak. Sexual themes (Smut is implied but not shown + they talk about fucking a lot.). Borderline eloping. Pregnancy + food cravings (chicken). Reader is fem bodied + she/her pronouns + called woman/daughter/wife/mother + smaller than Sandor + nicknamed Mouse.

Listening to: 'I Bet on Losing Dogs' by Mitski - "I bet on losing dogs. I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place by the ring... I'll be there on their side, I'm losing by their side."

AO3 Link || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Ice. It can be as thick as stone or thin like parchment paper. It can form as frost, snow, sleet and hail. Most often it covers lakes, rivers and the ocean in the cold weather of winter. Ice is water in its frozen, solid form. And right now you were standing on a giant lake covered in ice.

In the beginning it was so thick, covered in snow so well, that none of you even realised what it was you ran onto. With the weight of the wights swarming at your heels, though, it began to creak and groan.

The noise of the crack below your feet echoed in your mind. Nothing else mattered as you skid to a stop on shaky legs. Your eyes fixed on the slippery ice below, peripherals caught your group continuing to run away - to safety, thank the gods - and wights behind you fell into the water below, but strangely all you could see was your sister.

Her face floated beneath the ice, frozen in time in a place she wasn’t supposed to be, face dead from a time long ago. The wrights disappeared, the new shouts of your friends faded. You couldn’t look away. You’d spent so long trying not to remember what happened all those years ago, running from it, yet here you were.

No longer were you a woman grown battle-hard, but a girl who was foolish enough to ignore your parents warning to not play on the frozen lake. You’d brought your younger sister with you, so young and trusting, of course she’d believe her big sister wouldn’t lead her toward pain. You were supposed to protect her, love her, care for her. You’d see other children sliding around on the ice, so when your chores were done and the lake was void of others, you took your sister’s hand and told her you’d be able to play anything you both wanted without worrying about being knocked over by an older child.

Having the lake to yourselves was supposed to be fun.

It was the worst mistake you’d ever made in your whole life.

Winter was leaving. Although you were in the North, the ice was still thinning. No one else was there because they knew better. You didn’t know better. It took you both two laps before the ice cracked. One step was all it took to no longer support your weight. Your world was plunged into ice cold darkness. The freezing water hit your lungs, causing you to gasp on reflex. Your lungs filled with water, your eyes stung from the cold. You kicked and grasped for the surface, and reached it just before it was too late. Clawing at the ice, you pulled yourself to the thicker ice, coughing and shivering, thanking the Old Gods that you hadn’t drowned.

Then you noticed your sister was gone.

You sister whose hand you were holding. Who you dragged down with you after the ice cracked from your weight. Your weight, not hers. You couldn’t see her. She was so young. She couldn’t swim. It was all your fault.

You screamed her name. Screamed for help. Tears ran hot down your face. By the time help came the sun was fading, your throat was raw and your hands were sore, frozen and bloodied from pounding on the ice. You were shivering so hard your teeth felt like they’d crack. The people around you called your name. You couldn’t look away from the water.

They called your name again, and her face was all you could see below your feet.

Again, and she floated away. Down so deep no one could find her, not even when summer came again.

Again. Your name. Louder. Rougher. More desperate. You looked up from the ice. There was your group. Your friends. And Sandor Clegane. There was so much distance between you and yet you could see fear in his eyes like it was written on paper in your own hands.

Turning behind, you saw wights. Most had stopped still, but the ones closest to you were reaching toward you. Swiping and grasping at the air between you. They were so close. But so was the crack in the ice. It was the only thing dividing you from them - the only thing stopping them from coming closer, and the only thing stopping you from running to your friends. To Sandor.

Sandor had been your companion for so long, and now he wouldn't stop yelling at you to run. You’d run on ice before, it ended with your sister dead. He knew that. He was the only one who did - not Jon, not Tormund, no one else in the whole world had bared their fears to you like Sandor, so you hadn’t bared yours to them. Sandor knew why you couldn’t move, for you it was like the fire that rendered him useless, and yet.

“Come on you bitch, move!” he yelled.

Somehow his words hit you like a tonne of bricks. Your breathing picked up. You stopped listening to the ice. All you could hear was your heartbeat. All you could see was Sandor.

Your foot shifted, the ice groaned under your weight, it cracked behind you as you moved, but you ran. You weren’t even looking when you started running, keeping your eyes closed was the only way you could move at all. If Sandor’s face was the last thing you saw, so be it. You were sure that was going to be true.

Yet as your legs started the burn from how hard you ran, arms encased you. Frosted fur was under your fingertips, and your feet left the ground as your speed made you swing in the hold of whoever caught you. Your eyes opened and you sobbed. You did it. The ice didn’t crack. You made it to Sandor and you were safe. For now anyway, but that was all that mattered.

“You can slaughter wights, but ice is what gets you shaken up.” Sandor said as a cold calloused fingertip traced your jaw with a featherlight touch. “What a woman.”

“Don’t tease me.” you said between the chattering of your teeth. Funny, the cold hadn’t hit you until now.

“I ain’t teasing,” Sandor let you go slowly, as if pulling away would make you fall apart like broken glass. It mightn’t be a far truth with how much you were shaking. His voice was the softest you’d ever heard it. “I just didn’t believe you when you said you were afraid. While you may be quiet as a Mouse you’ve never been afraid like one, but the look on your face made me think you were gonna die.”

“Would you pick water over wine?” you said, “Of course I was scared. Felt like I was going to shit out my own heart.”

“Ah, now I see why the Hound likes you.” Tormund said, nodding with his arms crossed. “You sound just like him. Like a bitch. I like that.”

“Fuck off.” Both you and Sandor spoke at the same time. The contrast between how he growled and you shuddered was comical, but the fact you both said it at the same time made the others laugh despite your dire circumstances. Tormund could only look at you as if to say ‘told you so’.

You looked up at Sandor, he was already looking down at you. With the energy you had left, you could only resign to letting it be. They could say all they wanted about your fondness for him, and his for you. At the end of the day you could deny it all you wanted but it wouldn't make it less true. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling your shaking body to him as your group moved to the centre of the island you'd found yourselves on.

Now all you had left to do was hope the Dragon Queen Daenerys knew to come to your aid - because with the wights surrounding you, there was no way you were getting out of there on your own. Maybe it would've been better to have fallen into the lake.

There was a time when you were never so scared of ice - a feeling lost long ago to the passage of time. There was also a time when you didn’t know Sandor from a stranger on the street. You might never have met him at all if not for being in the right place at the right time.

You supposed the Starks were the cause of a lot of things in your lives.

You happened to be in Winterfell all those years ago when King Robert Baratheon visited Ned Stark. You were a messenger - one of the best - travelling all across the North had been your job over the few years prior. Ned insisted you stayed for the King’s feast before you left again, reasoning that your hard work needed to be rewarded now and then - beyond silver stags you were paid in.

So you joined the Starks to greet the King’s entourage, and that was where you saw Sandor Clegane for the first time. His eyes were hard and disinterested from under the dog helm he wore, and he was so large and imposing - but he was so quiet. The only words you ever heard him speak were when you’d come up behind him to offer to take the reins on his horse. He hadn’t heard you coming, and almost knocked you on your feet when you tapped his shoulder armour.

“Fucking mouse.” he’d said.

You however didn’t speak to him during that night at Winterfell, or at all during the days that followed, but you watched him. Saw him push away a mug of ale for a jug of wine. Watched as he ate, and watched as he walked away with Prince Joffrey. Really, it had taken a couple years to speak to him after you first met him.

Years after Robert Baratheon died, and Ned Stark was executed - you met him again. He was travelling with Arya near the kingsroad.

You’d spent the last few years working for Robb, King in the North. His father and mother had always trusted you to ferry messages and items all across the North, so he did too. You served faithfully until you took a message to the Bolton’s at the Dreadfort. Thereafter Ramsay Snow had taken you as a plaything, which had left you naked and alone in the woods one night with your back and shoulders torn to bloodied ribbons. A couple of farmers from the nearby Hornwood had found you, nursed you back to health - and with news that Robb was still at The Twins, you started travelling there as soon as your healing wounds allowed it.

News reached you of a justifiably dubbed Red Wedding, and the massacre that happened to the Stark army at The Twins. You knew you couldn’t go there anymore. It wasn’t safe there for you, and it wasn’t safe to go back North on your own either, not with the Bolton’s spiders crawling everywhere. So you went south. Aimlessly you followed the Kingsroad, and who else did you meet but a missing Stark daughter.

Arya had recognised you immediately. Your heart sang at the way her face lit up, and at seeing she was alive. She’d been lost after her father died, laying your eyes on her yourself was such a relief. Especially after hearing what the Frey’s did to Robb and Catelyn.

It took Sandor a moment longer. A few moments, actually. He’d dismounted his horse and watched you embrace Arya before giving a name to your face.

“Mouse,” he said. His face was hard to read, but you could see something in his eyes had changed since you last saw him shadowing Joffrey.

“Hound,” you replied. Apparently he didn’t like that. Sandor sneered down at you when he spoke again.

“Bitch.”

“Hey!” Arya said, turning from where she once held onto you. “She’s done nothing worth insults. Don’t call her that.”

“I can call her what I like - I’d bet money I don’t even have that she’s going to stop me from handing you in and getting my ransom.” Arya stepped forward as if to start arguing with the man before you set a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry Arya,” you said, “he can spew insults all he likes. I can see the stick that's shoved up his arse, must be uncomfortable. He has my sympathies to do as he pleases with his words.” Your comment both made Arya burst into giggles and Sandor turn away to mumble to himself. You mounted your horse, and as Arya climbed on after you.

“I’ll let you ride with her only if you follow me like there’s a leash on your horse, understand?” Sandor asked, turning his horse to stand right in front of yours. His eyes were just as hard as they were all those years ago at Winterfell, but they were no longer disinterested. Instead he looked at you in a way that made you feel like he was going to eat you alive. “Unless I have to leash you like a bitch?”

“My back is aching from when a Bolton bastard set his dogs on me, I don’t have the strength to match your insults right now, Ser.” You said. Arya was quiet behind you, the only reaction she had to your words was loosening her grip on your waist.

“I’m not a knight.” Was the only thing Sandor said before urging his horse to walk.

He only ever called you Mouse after that.

Fire. From a forest burning to a candle flame, it can be the difference between death or life. It can heat your home or leave the air smelling thick of smoke and ash. It can help wounds heal or can be the cause of them. Fire is as dangerous as heat can get. And right now there was an entire moat-worth of fire surrounding Winterfell.

You knew that the attack of the Night King was going to be bad - you’d seen the wights firsthand, fought them already, and you’d seen a White Walker take down a whole dragon. The worst part, by far, was having to wait and not being able to see nothing of what was coming, nothing except the ice cold winds of an early winter. The dragonfire helped as the battle started - but it also didn’t. You wanted to see, but as soon as you did you wished you hadn’t.

The sight flashed in your mind like a flickering flame. Coming and going. Waves and hordes of wights as far as the eye could see.

Daenerys’ army and the other soldiers had retreated back into Winterfell’s walls. You stood beside Arya watching the wights get burnt by the flames. They already smelt like death - rot and dirt and cold flesh - now their bodies were thawing and burning, and the smell of charred skin and muscle was being carried high by the smoke. You’d never smelt flesh burn before. You wondered if this was the smell that haunted Sandor.

You turned to look down at the returned soldiers lined up in formation in the courtyard below, searching for Sandor’s face among the dozens of men. When you couldn’t find him you turned back around. What if he hadn’t made it back inside the gate?

The thought that crossed your mind then was so strange. You wished you were facing a thousand frozen lakes. If you were, Sandor would be right by your side the whole time. He had no fear of ice, not like you did. The fire before you had scared him away from your side, if he was still around at all - but you’d much rather fear eaten him alive than death. The realisation shook you. Even now the strongest, most fearless man you ever knew was gone. Because he was scared.

You had a second realisation then. That one made you step away from the wall you perched by with dread - not because the wight’s had figured out how to cross the flames, but because Sandor was probably all alone.

“Where are you going?” Arya asked, watching as you slowly started to move.

“I need to be down there,” you said, your hand grazed her shoulder as you walked past, “I’ll see you in the morning.” you promised. Turning on your heel, you rushed down the stairs, almost slipping on the last one, to reach the soldiers below and begin pushing through them to find Sandor’s face among them.

“Ready yourselves, they’re going to breach the wall!” Someone shouted behind you, but you were too focused on hunting down your Hound. Really, you almost went right past him. He was hiding in a doorway, and if you hadn’t locked eyes you would’ve lost him.

“What are you doing?” you asked, rushing forward. “We need you to help us fight Sandor.” you said. You pushed yourself up, trying to level your face with his own. His head shook, clearly disagreeing.

“It’s fucking useless. Death’s at our door, it’s all around us we can’t fight that.” He wasn’t looking at you. His eyes reflected the orange glow of fire. He wasn’t listening to you, he was listening to the fire. “There’s no point.”

“And death was below my feet yet you made me run from it - and I did run from it, for you!” You said, an emotion reaching your voice that you hadn’t let show yet. “Fuck everyone else, I need you Sandor. I need you to fight. I can’t do it without you.”

Sandor looked at you then. His dark eyes no longer held an orange glow, instead they flickered across your face, distracted. You read him, saw his brow furrow and lips part open - he was going to argue. But you weren’t going to have that. You swung an arm over his shoulders and pulled him down to crash his lips to yours. It was a hard kiss, one that lasted too long to be considered safe in your circumstances, but it was distracting. Grounding. You needed to bring Sandor out of his own mind, and a kiss was a nicer way to do it than a slap to the face.

“If you don’t live to see the end of this night I’m going to find that red witch to bring you back to life so I can kill you myself.” You said with a gasp, pulling away with a hand on your sword. He seemed dazed, yet you could tell he was indeed more focused. “I need you to stay alive,” you added as you backed away to join the fight, “when this is all over I want you to fuck me.”

You were bloodied and covered in dirt, somehow limping, your head hurt like seven hells and you couldn’t stop smelling smoke, but you were alive. Somehow you were alive. The thought made you want to cry.

Not knowing if the same could be said about Sandor did make you cry. Tears blurred your vision as you searched. Every body laid dead wasn’t him, but neither was anyone left standing. It felt like your heart was breaking.

You stumbled through each hallway and room until you reached the doors to the main hall. Who knew what was waiting for you beyond the doors. You refused to dwell on it, instead shouldering the heavy oak open. Your knees almost gave way when you saw Sandor standing beside Melisandre. You surged forward, very nearly jumping into his arms. One wrapped around your waist while the other cradled your head close to his own. If you weren’t so busy being relieved you might’ve teased him about going soft.

But really you didn’t care about that right now at all.

You pulled away, letting him hold your weight completely as you took his face in yours hands.

“You’re alive.” you breathed, smiling in disbelief.

“A mouse told me you needed me to stay alive.” Sandor said, lips quirked up in a rare smile, “Couldn’t let down my woman.”

You’d counted the losses, burned your dead, and now were celebrating those who’d stayed alive. The feast, in all honesty, was magnificently loud. You were sure the only reason you’d lasted this long was because the shock of being alive hadn’t worn off yet.

Tormund had ushered you over to his table of Wildlings, and you'd already decided that you were going to steal their jug of wine when you went back to Sandor. The Wildling leader had his arm slung over your shoulder, swaying on his feet as he told some story about his life beyond the Wall. You were sure his story was as gripping as it was daring, but you really weren’t paying him mind at all. Your eyes weren’t leaving Sandor, and his weren’t leaving you.

He was looking at you like someone crossed a horny dog with a jealous badger, the jealous part flaring whenever Tormand leaned closer to talk right in your ear. He was drunk, and you’d learnt he was quite harmless - Sandor however probably didn’t know that. For everyone’s sake you probably should find your way out from under Tormund’s arm. After all he had the other occupied with another woman, and his drink, both of which would see his night ended happily.

You’d barely looked away from Sandor to grab the wine jug, turning to make up some excuse to pry Tormund’s arm off you when the man interrupted your unspoken words.

“Look,” Tormund leant down once again, whispering loudly in your ear as if attempting to be subtle, “A dead woman!” He pointed behind you, and you turned to see that indeed there was a woman. One who had sat herself down in the seat next to Sandor. Your seat.

“Excuse me,” you said, pulling away with the jug heavy in one hand, slipping an unused dinner knife in your other.

“Watch this lads, you’ll wish she was your wife after this.” You heard Tormund announce to his table as you stalked away. The poor lady had no idea you were coming.

You stood behind them, quickly your hand passed between them both as you reached forward. The tip of your stolen knife narrowly missed where the woman’s hand rested on the table. She jumped in her seat, hand flinching away into her lap, and looked up at you with wide eyes.

“Seeing as you need your tongue to suck a cock, and you probably want to keep yours, I suggest you fuck off and try and weasel your way into someone else’s man’s trousers.” You pulled the knife away from where it jammed into the wood, and she scurried away. In the background you heard a group of men erupt in laughter as you pushed the wine before Sandor, taking up the seat by his side.

“I was handling that.” Sandor said, watching as you settled into a place by his side which was much closer than anyone else would be allowed.

“The fuck you were.” you replied, reaching for his empty cup and filling it. He moved his arm from where you’d squished it between your sides, instead now letting his hand rest on your waist.

“I was.” he disagreed.

“Do you want to get in my pussy tonight or do you want to keep arguing?” You swivelled in your seat to face him, tilting your head. You could tell he was about ready to give up, a smile playing on his lips.

“Both sound like a good time to me.” he said, pulling you a little closer as he spoke, but he relented. Who would’ve ever guessed that you’d be the one to get the great fearsome Hound to heel so nicely.

You could see Sansa slowly walking over, her eyes were on Sandor. She must’ve felt you looking at her because then she looked at you. The softness of her face made you smile, and as much as you’d loved to stay and spend time with her, you could tell there were things that needed to be said between her and Sandor.

Moving to stand, Sandor’s hand tightened its hold on you. Before you left you lent down to capture him in a kiss. Short and sweet, and tasting like wine, a hint of what was to come later.

“You know where my room is.” you said, having distracted him enough to now start to move away.

“I’d knock down every door if I didn’t.” He squeezed your hip one last time before letting you slip away.

Having been a friend of the Starks for so long, and having done so much for them had granted you your own room. No communal servant’s barracks for you. Your room though was still small, but it was yours. There was a lit hearth, a washbasin, and a good bed - they’d even given you a large rug to cover the parts of the floor that were left without furniture.

You stood staring at the bed. It was plenty big enough when there was just you, Sandor though was a much larger person. Where it might fit two of you, It might just be comfortable for one of him. You smiled though, since it meant you’d just have to stay close to him if he did stay the whole night with you.

You really hoped he would stay. Really you’d want him to stay with you forever, but that decision wasn’t yours to make. You could only wish he felt the same.

A knock on your door had your heart skipping a beat. You barely had to open it before Sandor came in and shut it behind him. You took a step back as he stepped in. His only move then was to take your cheek in the palm of his hand.

“You promised. Gonna live up to that?” he asked. You stepped forward, placing your hand over his while your other looped under his belt to pull him closer.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” you said, “and my mind’s never been changed. I want as much of you as you can give me.” Sandor looked down at you with a smile.

Before you could blink, he reached down and his arm wrapped around the back of your thighs. Your hands grasped his shoulders as he lifted you into the air, and his face was level with your chest. Your stomach was pressed to his chest, and by the gods the way he made you feel so small was almost inhuman. Though, the way it excited you was borderline heavenly.

“Careful what you wish for.”

Indeed you were right, the bed was just too small for the both of you to spread out comfortably.

You couldn’t really say you wanted to do that though. His skin was so warm, heartbeat so strong under our palm, and despite how sticky you both were with sweat, being so close to him felt so nice. It was like finally soaking into a hot bath - the relief and pleasure of it even now it was all over - it was like you needed him.

Floating in and out of sleep and awake while being wrapped in him under the furs of your bed was indeed what heaven must feel like.

Although it had you thinking in among your dazed and hazy pockets of sleep. How strange it was that Sandor seemed to feel the same way. He hadn’t let you so much as move to be by his side, let alone let you go.

He’d never been quite like this before - tolerated it from you, sure, but never recoperated to such an extent. It made you feel like something was wrong.

Your head raised from where it was tucked just below his burn scar, and you felt his arms shift to keep you close as you pulled back just enough to see his face clearly through the last light of the candles burning.

“Something is wrong.” you said. Sandor’s chest rose and fell beneath you in a sigh. So there was something he wasn’t telling you. His lips stayed sealed shut though, and you weren’t going to have that. “Sandor, tell me.” you whispered.

“I can’t stay,” he replied.

The way he spoke had genuine concern rising inside you, you’d never heard him talk like that before in your whole life - maybe he never even had until now. It wasn’t that you were worried about him leaving you, although the thought had you feeling so sad you could be angry, but instead you were filled with an awful amount of dread. It was like he was telling you he wasn’t coming back. Like he was dying.

“I want to but, fuck, I can’t. There’s something I have to do and no one else can do it for me.” That made you think back to all the times he confided in you about revenge. It hit you like a wall of stone - that he was leaving you to go kill his brother. Somehow he must’ve felt it land in your heart. A calloused hand ran up your back, lightly tracing your scars up to your shoulders, pushed you back down so your head rested next to his, body pressed flush to his own.

You felt like the only thing you could do was hold onto him tighter, sliding your hands in under his back and pressing yourself so close that your ribs might just open up and keep him there with you instead. But they weren’t, so instead you just let your tears fall.

“But you’ll die.” you whispered, lips tickled by the hair of his beard since you now refused to let him go.

“I know.” he said, and with the gentleness of a much smaller and kinder man, he turned his head and kissed the tears away from your cheeks. “Don’t cry. I’m not worth your tears.”

“No Sandor, you’re worth so much more than that. I’d give my life for yours. I can’t believe you can’t see it for yourself.” Your hands curled, fingernails digging into his skin. Sandor didn’t flinch, perhaps he saw the pain as a just punishment for cracking your heart in two, so you relented, instead pressing your nose into his neck. “I don’t know if I can live without you now.”

For what felt like a long time, he didn’t say a word. He let you cry some more, and didn’t once try to stop you, just held you as close and hard as you held him. Over his breathing, you heard the coals in the fire crackle one last time and fall into the soft ashes.

Your tears had stopped, and breathing turned shallow, when he spoke again.

“When I close my eyes for the last time I want to see your face,” he said. Under your chest, his heartbeat quickened. “The face of my wife.”

A moment passed.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” It took him longer to answer you, you thought perhaps you didn’t say it outloud.

“Does it sound like I am?”

You sat up, palms on his chest as he looked up at you with his hands gripping your hips and waist.

“Sort of? But right after you told me you’re going to fuck off and kill your cunt brother? Your timing is a bit shitty.” you asked. His hand squeezed your hip and his eyes fixed straight up onto the ceiling.

“It’s selfish, to marry you just to make you a widow, I know that but I think you know I’m not someone who thinks much of others.” You leant back over him then. Forearms framing his head as you brought your face over his.

“You do, you think of others often. I know your heart’s bigger than you realise - that’s why I’ll marry you.” The way his face changed when he heard your soft words from one of self-loathing to one full of love - all directed at you - made you wish you hadn’t spent so much time not sharing a bed. “We can do it tonight. We can wake the septa, no one else has to be there.”

“No, no Faith fuckers.” he responded gruffly before pausing, “Unless you want that?” He backtracked so fast it almost made you laugh. You shook your head though. You were from the North, if you believed in gods at all, the Seven weren’t yours.

“I’d rather go before the Old Gods -”

“- then we’ll do that.” Sandor cut you off. He sat up then, with you still placed nicely in his lap. The furs on your bed almost slid away, but he held them up to your shoulders so the cold night air didn’t reach you. “If we do it, we’ll fucking do it properly.”

You knew how foreign to proprietary Sandor was, it almost wasn’t even a word in his vocabulary. You’d thought about marrying him in the past, what that kind of life would be like. You’d imagined just running off someplace no one knew your names and saying you were husband and wife. Never once did an actual wedding cross your mind, yet here Sandor was offering it to you on a hastily prepared silver platter.

It made your heart ache in such a bittersweet way. Why did you both have to wait until it was almost too late?

There were very few people who you could think of to wake for a last minute wedding in the middle of the hour of the wolf. Night was at its darkest, people would be in the dead of sleep. Or that’s what you thought when you and Sandor carefully chose who you wanted most to be there.

Arya was the first person both you and Sandor could think of. She either wasn’t sleeping at all or was having a hard time doing so, because when you knocked on her door she was as awake as you were. The way her face lit up reminded you of when you first saw her after hearing about her brother and mother’s death.

She’d immediately thought of Sansa, as if you hadn’t already. You said Sandor was doing the same as you were with the elder Stark sister, so instead she offered to get Jon herself. As Warden of the North, and head of Winterfell, by right he was the only person who could properly officiate a marriage before the Old Gods. You barely gave her permission to go fetch him before she was off down the hallway to get him all on her own.

There was only one person left for you to get then.

By the time you’d reached the Godwood, there were a surprising amount of torches lined up and around the weirwood heart tree. It had seemed that while a lot of people in Winterfell had gone to bed, word had spread to those who had continued to stay up to celebrate or couldn’t sleep. Sandor and you only invited four people, yet there were at least a dozen torches, maybe more.

Arya and Sansa stood lining the short pathway you were to walk to reach Sandor near the base of the tree. On the other side you saw the faces of Brienne and Gendry. Among the more distant crowd there were people from across Winterfell, and the glint of a gold hand could be seen from the torchlight. Even Daenerys with her white hair had quietly joined with a content look on her face, and a torch in her hand just like everyone else.

You almost couldn’t believe that all those people were awake, yet thought this was worth leaving their beds for. But then you supposed rounding out a victory celebration with a wedding was a hell of a way to do it. Or for some an excuse to prolong their drinking and eating just that bit longer. Whatever the reason, you didn’t really care.

All you cared about was the man waiting for you below the white barked tree, and how badly you wished that this was under different circumstances - that he wasn’t doing it just because he was leaving you to die tomorrow.

"Who comes before the Old Gods on this night?" Said Jon. You had no family, at least none who could come to Winterfell so quickly. Jon was already occupied, so there was only one other person you could think of to drag out of bed to represent you at your wedding. And he was someone who’d probably never been to a Northern wedding once in his whole life.

In fact he was someone who thought you and Sandor were already married.

"A daughter of the North comes here.” Tormund said, he paused for a moment, swaying on his feet as he tried to remember the words Jon hastily tried to get him to memorise. “A woman, grown,” He finally started, “She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods to be wed. Who comes to claim her?" Sandor stepped forward, hands clasped together in front of his belt. He was refusing to look at anyone else but you.

“Sandor of House Clegane. Who gives her?"

"Tormund.” Tormund said, you could see from the way Jon’s eyebrows raised that he was expected to say more. “Giantsbane. Of the True North.” He added. Jon sighed as Arya snickered from where she stood to your right.

"Will you take this man?" Jon asked you. You looked up at Sandor, smiling as an overwhelming urge to cry rose inside you. You willed it down, wanting to keep on a facade that tonight was happy, and not the sweetest goodbye in the whole world.

"I take this man." you said.

You hadn’t seen Sandor in months. You couldn’t lie, you didn’t expect him to come back, both of you knew that a fight against Gregor Clegane was always one that ended in death.

News travelled fast about the destruction of Kings Landing. You hadn’t heard from him since then, there was really no other conclusion to come to except that he’d been part of the massacure. You desperately hoped that Gregor died too, that at least if you did lose Sandor it wasn’t in vain.

Despite that, you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it. So you ran. Weeks ago, you’d arrived at the Wall to meet with Tormund. Almost all the places that you called home were haunted by Sandor - you couldn’t stand to be there anymore. You couldn’t stand to be in the North, so you decided to go beyond. Somewhere where no one would know your name or his.

A land of ice and snow was better than having to stay where everything reminded you of him. If you stayed, you would’ve flung yourself off the tallest tower you could find - and that, you knew now, would’ve been counterintuitive to preserving what Sandor had left behind.

Most of those in Castle Black gave you a wide berth. You didn’t blame them, you weren’t really making yourself friendly. But one awkward conversation about what happened had Tormund acting almost like a guard dog. ‘Nothing could take down your man’ Tormund had said - you would’ve bet money that there were tears in your eyes when you replied ‘You’ve never met his brother’. It was good, having Tormund watching your back like that, since no one ever asked you what happened, but it was bad because no one ever asked you anything anymore.

Most of your days were spent on top of the Wall, waiting until the day you could leave with the Wildlings when they left to return to their home. Not many joined you up there. Tormund came at least once a day, ‘to make sure you haven’t fallen off’ - usually around dinnertime. Any other time meant something happened which he deemed worth your attention.

“A raven came.” Tormund said one day, “It’s from Winterfell.” You could see the crumpled paper in his hand over the fur of your cloak. You turned back to the ledge.

“I don’t want to read it.” Your arms crossed under your cloak, resting over your stomach.

“You should.” He said and stepped forward with his hand outstretched. You turned on your heel, almost coming nose to nose with the Wildling leader.

“Go. Away.” you hissed, bearing your teeth at him in a way akin to a cornered dog. He stared at you down his nose, watching as your eyes flickered over his face, and then as you turned away again.

Apparently though he wasn’t done.

“Jon’s coming.” He started again. You almost rolled your eyes - the man couldn’t leave anything alone. You just hoped this wasn’t the raven that brought the message of Sandor’s death. “Since you’re going to be a bitch about it, you can find out the rest when he arrives.”

In a way you supposed that was good news. At the very least laying eyes on Jon would be a familiar comfort. Having him tell you to your face that your husband died could be considered a mercy.

After having spent time at this exact castle a few years ago after the first time you thought Sandor died, it was almost unfit for Jon to not be here. He helped you a lot the first time, maybe he could do it again. Although this time you weren’t sticking around, and this time you had a little more than just yourself to take care of.

Behind you, Tormund sounded like he was beginning to leave when he stopped again.

“And you should come down. Food’s almost ready, you need to eat.” he said.

“I’m not hungry.” you called over your shoulder.

“I’m not telling you to eat for your own sake,” he replied. You looked back at him, and he raised his eyebrows in expectation.

Tormund, somehow, knew about your condition before you realised yourself. You hadn’t had your blood in months, longer than the last time you saw Sandor, and in the beginning you didn’t think much of it. Sometimes you missed it completely, especially considering everything you’d been through. You reasoned the grief alone would be enough. Tormund thought differently.

When you asked him how he knew - which he brought up while supervising you eating on one of the first night’s you arrived at Castle Black - he gestured to your chest, talking about how they looked different, like those of a woman who's going to have a babe.

He was lucky he moved so fast, otherwise the knife you threw at him would’ve ended in his shoulder and not the wall.

Regardless, it made you think. All evidence pointed to it being a possibility, and as the days turned to weeks with no blood, your unwell feeling seemed less like mourning and more like sickness. Now, apparently, your unborn child had become your weakest point. Tormund could use it to make you do just about anything he wanted - which mostly was making you eat and sleep closer to a normal person than you would’ve liked.

So you sighed with one more longing glance beyond the Wall.

“Fine,” you said, “let’s go eat.”

Not two weeks later, and you were atop the Wall again. That day was particularly cold, even the little fire you stood next to wasn’t helping keep you warm. Your teeth chattered, and you cursed the wind, but you didn’t go back down to the castle.

The sun was barely seen in the sky through the clouds, but you could tell it was only midday when you heard the telltale noises of footsteps trekking in your direction. They didn’t sound like Tormund’s, so you didn’t hold back your bite when called out to them.

“Come another step closer and I’ll shove one of these burning logs right up your arse.” you said, refusing to turn around, shoving your hands under your arms to help stop the cold reaching your fingers. “Tormund can go fuck his horse. I’m not falling for it again, if Jon’s here he can come see me himself.”

“That’s a ‘fuck you’ of a welcome if I’ve ever heard one.” That voice. You knew it. Your head whipped around so fast you could have broken your own neck. “I don’t know what else I expected though.” You were dreaming, surely. There was no way Sandor was standing before you.

“I’ve gone mad.” you whispered, unblinking in case closing your eyes for a moment would make him disappear. “You died.”

“I didn’t.” He slowly stepped forward, snow crunching under his feet, and he came to a stop just before the step up to the ledge you stood on. Your face was almost level with his now. Gods, his face was more worn than you remembered, but he sure looked real. “My wife needs me to be alive. So I lived.”

Your hand reached out to his face, tracing the lines of his scar and the edge of his beard. His hand reached out to grab your wrist, head turning so he could kiss your palm. His eyes closed for a moment as your skin touched his, and when his eyes opened again it was like a shot went through your heart. He really was here.

“You really are alive.” you breathed. He smiled, oh how you missed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you. The sight brought a smile to your own face, something you hadn’t done since you last saw him.

“If I’m not, this is the best death a man could ask for.” he said, and his hand snaked under your cloak and found its place right on your hip - where it belonged. You other hand moved to the other side of his face, cradling it in your hold so you could take in every line, scar, and hair.

“No, Sandor Clegane,” you said, near close to tears in relief to have him back, “you’re as alive now as the day I first met you.” With a gentleness like the kind he showed on your last night together, he leant forward and kissed you. He was so warm, you’d missed it so much more having thought you’d never get a chance to feel it again. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you almost drowned in the moment of finally holding him again.

You barely moved away when the kiss broke, too caught up in having him back to want to pull away completely. It was a shiver that brought you back to earth, one that came from you, and one that had Sandor frowning.

“You shouldn’t be out in the cold.” he said, tucking you in under his arm and pulling you away from the ledge and back toward the elevator, “You hate the cold. Makes me wonder why you were going to go out there in the first place.”

“It’s about the only place this side of the Narrow Sea that I thought wouldn’t remind me so much of you that I’d be sick.” The hand that rested on your shoulder squeezed knowingly. Your own hand reached out from under your cloak and took hold of his fingers. You doubted you wouldn’t be able to physically let go of him for a while.

“Guess that’s not a problem anymore.”

“Fuck no,” you scoffed, turning to him as he pushed open the elevator door for you, “I’m dragging you to Dorne after this so I can thaw out.”

“You don’t like the heat either.” His fingers stayed grasped on yours as he guided you through the door first. Somehow his large hand hadn’t been bitten by the cold yet, and his palm felt so warm against your frozen fingertips. His warmth made you smile, it was more proof that he was really standing before you.

“I don’t care,” you said, smiling up at him, “I won’t care as long as I’m with you.”

“Chicken?” Sandor asked. “You don’t like chicken.”

You looked across at him from where you sat in Castle Black’s dining hall. You were currently sucking a chicken bone clean of its cooked flesh, and you shrugged at his almost confused way of frowning at you. In the past it might have been true - you preferred more iron-rich meats, which often left the chicken all for Sandor - but not anymore. You’d even stolen some off his plate.

“I do now.” you said, licking at your fingers. “Your child has been having a powerful influence over me already. Unfortunately it’s one of the few things I can stomach right now.”

“Child?”

“You didn’t notice?” You sat back, pushing your cloak aside purposefully to reveal your stomach, showing it off a little - as if there was even anything to show yet. “I think I’ve even started getting bigger.”

“Big?” Sandor scoffed, sitting back in his seat but still eyeing you wearily, ”You’re pulling my dick if you think I’d notice. Everyone’s small to me, no matter how ‘big’ they think they are.”

“You’re so mean to me. The mother of your child -”

“For fucks sake.” he mumbled. His eyes rolled, and a hand came up to run over his face when you started talking again.

“- You ought to be nice to me, I’ve been mourning you a long time, and looking after your child all on my lonesome.”

“Excuse me. Liar!” Tormund stood abruptly behind you, causing you to jolt in your seat as his own scraped against the stone floor. “I’ve been keeping you fed! The Hound will have no choice but to like me for keeping his woman healthy for his return.” He spoke proudly, coming to your side and resting a hand on the table near your plate.

“Fuck off.” Both you and Sandor said. You weren’t happy about him coming near your food, and Sandor was just unhappy with Tormund around.

The contrast between how you growled it out and how his voice was more of a mumble made Tormund bark out a laugh. The switch in personalities was comical, even you could see it. It reminded you of a similar time, one where the stakes were more deadly than just losing food, but felt no less homely because you had Sandor by your side then just as you do now.

The look Tormund sent your way was knowing, almost loving in a way that was as inconspicuous as your hulking personality of a husband allowed. Nevertheless his hands raised in surrender, and he stepped away as he sent a wink toward Sandor.

With the Wildling gone, you turned back to Sandor. He was already looking at you. If anyone didn’t know him like you did they might’ve thought he was so deep in thought that he was looking right through you - but you knew better. He was looking right into you instead. Deep into your soul that he might as well have laid you bare and be picking you apart.

“You’re having a child?” he finally asked. So that’s what he was trying to figure out.

“I’m having your child.” You bowed your head, keeping eye contact, pointing to him with a bare bone as you switched to another as you spoke. He leaned forward, tilting his own head ever so slightly.

“You sure it’s mine?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Now was your turn to scoff, food forgotten, and you leant forward so your heads were even closer. So close you could almost whisper and still be heard. “The only person I’ve been with in the last five years is you.”

Sandor smiled then. An almost-full, genuine-looking smile. His next words were softly spoken, almost proud.

“So you’re gonna be a mother,” he said. It made you want to lean even closer and kiss him senseless.

“And you’re gonna be a father.” you replied. He reverted back to that deep stare, an almost dopey, soft look in his eyes now. It took a few quiet breaths before he talked again.

“We’re gonna be a family.”

“We already are.” Sandor had a small gentle smile, one you realised was reserved only for you. It made you all soft and gooey inside. You couldn’t help it, he was asking for it. You had to kiss him now.

taglist: @anxiety-made

#sandor clegane x reader #sandor x reader #sandor smut #the hound x reader #got x reader #game of thrones x reader #asoiaf x reader

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