#feels very natural and tangible

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Hey Emily! Hope your road trip is going well and you're travelling safely 💞

For the prompts you posted, could I please ask for “you wouldn’t, uh, maybe, want to stay the night, would you? i just really don’t want today to end.” with Jeonghan? I've been in severe Jeonghan brainrot lol so, I thought reading about him would help keep me from impulsively writing about him myself instead.

omg hi RJ! we had a safe trip to dc and now we’re on the way to nyc! you absolutely can, jeonghan has also on my mind lately and im so happy to write him for you 💖 lowkey u should write him too tho

“You wouldn’t, uh, maybe, want to stay the night, would you? No funny business, I just really don’t want today to end.”

Jeonghan is… nervous. Nervous out of his mind. It’s only the second date, he knows he shouldn’t be asking you this, but he’s just not ready for his time with you to be over.

He started his day by calling you to confirm the date (and he also might have wanted to hear your voice). He spent most of the morning thinking about you, and when he rolled up to your place and spotted you waving excitedly at him on the sidewalk, he finally felt like he could breathe.

He’s breathless now waiting to hear your answer, but he can see you mulling it over and doesn’t want to pressure you.

Soon enough, you give him a sweet smile and say, “I will if you let me use your skincare and your biggest t-shirt.”

“Deal,” He agrees with an easy grin before offering you his hand and helping you into his car. He’s already got the shirt picked out in his mind and thankfully, he washed his sheets yesterday so they’re all fresh and clean for you.

He wasn’t expecting anything more than a date tonight, and he’s elated you’re up for a sleepover too.

It isn’t until he’s pulling into his spot in the parking garage that he realizes this means he’ll get to sleep next to you, and wake up with you, and maybe make you breakfast and give you a kiss tasting of coffee and syrup, and maybe he’ll just go ahead and fall in love with you too.

He’s already halfway there, anyway. What’s a little further?

You chat about what movie to watch as he leads you down the hallway, Jeonghan proposing the Lego trilogy and you countering with your own favorites. You settle on a few episodes of the new drama you’ve both been wanting to see, and his hand only shakes a little as he unlocks the door and pushes it open.

He hopes you like his place; though it’s a bit small and disorganized, it feels like him and he’s proud of the space he’s managed to create. You seem like you do like it, immediately moving to his Lego display case with wide eyes and a bright smile.

Chuckling to himself, Jeonghan follows you to the plexiglass and begins to point out sets he thinks you’ll recognize. It makes for a simple ice breaker and he watches you grow more and more comfortable as the conversation flows.

It flows right over to the couch, where you wrap him up in a tale of the last time you tried to do a lego set. Apparently, your cat ate approximately fifteen pieces while you were making tea and had to go to the emergency vet. He doesn’t blame you for not wanting to attempt another after such an ordeal, though he wonders if you’d ever like to build one with him.

He’s about to ask when you remind him of the plan.

“Can I have that t-shirt? I wanna get out of these jeans, they’re the worst,” you request, grimacing and plucking at the denim.

“Yes!” He jumps up, taking your hand and tugging you up from the couch. You let out a small sound of surprise, following him on light feet to his bedroom.

Jeonghan feels a little shy as you take in his messy bed and clothes-covered chair but he tries not to show it, immediately moving to his dresser to dig out the biggest shirt he owns.

It’s plain, old, and a bit worn out, but it’s the comfiest thing in this apartment and he’s ecstatic to hand it over to you.

He points you to the bathroom, taking the time to change into his own pajamas and pretending his heart doesn’t skip in his chest when you reappear.

You tug at the hem of the shirt, though it rests about midway on your thighs, and he forces his eyes away from your legs and onto your face.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, offering you a hand and leading you back into the bathroom.

“Here’s my cleansing balm, and I have a few options for serums. Oh, and here’s my moisturizer.”

It’s all lined up neatly on the quartz of his counter and he watches as you pick up one of his proffered serums with a gleeful look on your face.

“You have the expensive vitamin C,” you breathe, gazing at him with wonder.

“Yeah,” he grins. “Seungkwan is an influencer and he gets a lot of PR, so he gives me his castoffs.”

“What’s it like to be God’s favorite?”

“Like a dream, if I’m being honest.”

You playfully roll your eyes at him and he bumps his hip against yours, his cheeks aching with the width of his smile.

He loves this already, feeling so domestic with you, and he’s halfway into hatching a plan to ask you to move in with him when you set the serum down and pick up the cleansing balm.

You set to work, massaging your face with clear concentration in your eyes, and Jeonghan decides to join you.

Watching and giggling at each other in the bathroom mirror, you scrub your faces clean side by side. This feels familiar to him, like it’s something he’s been doing with you for years, like it’s something he’ll be doing with you for years to come.

He’s lucky you’re busy rinsing away the balm while he comes to the realization that he might be a bit more than halfway in love with you.

It’s not ideal, especially because he’s not sure where you stand, but it is kind of exciting.

He’s never been in love before, but that has to be what this is. This comfort, this contentment, this fondness, this passion.

There’s no other explanation as to why he’s riveted watching you pat serums into your skin, why his heart is racing at the sight of you in his shirt, why he’s never been more excited to crawl into bed before.

It’s all because of you, because you’re here with him.

He only becomes more sure when you both decide to forgo the drama and just go straight to bed, curling up on your sides facing each other under the shared covers.

You talk for hours, until your eyes are falling closed and your words are mere whispers, and just before he succumbs to sleep, he sends a wish out into the universe that every single date he has with you ends like this.

[peaches2217]

Well my day quickly got fucky, so fuck it: half-day off for mental health. In comfy pajamas with clean socks curled up for a nap. I’ve done enough pushing through for the sake of productivity. Today, we REST, bitch.

[quirinah]

oogh. imminent film deadline art imposter syndrome crashout. ogh

[paging-possum]

3.5 hours of sleep does crazy things to ones brain and by that I mean. Murderbot gender thoughts

[monster-noises]

I hate having big terrible emotions that I don't feel comfortable putting in a tumblr text post

Cause it means I have nowhere to Put Them and so they just keep swimming around in my head and poisoning me

[depresseddepot]

I'm trying to find ways to slowly ease my way into taking walks (debilitating social anxiety) so I was going to download pokemon go again but my phone is too old :(

[frecklenog]

“self immolation as a form of extreme political protest has a long history all over the world, and aaron bushnell’s death should not be discussed solely as a suicide”

and

“people who are already hurting and vulnerable can do more to help while they are still alive than they could in death, and should not repeat aaron bushnell’s actions”

are statements that can and must coexist, actually.

he felt that he was complicit in genocide as an active duty us service member, and, to an extent, he was. but also as an active duty service member, he was legally not allowed to quit his job as a member of the military.

his final act was to take drastic measures to draw attention to a genocide that many people in this country are turning a blind eye towards, and i commend him for his sacrifice. it should be honored and remembered.

that doesn’t mean i want anyone to feel that they should follow in his footsteps.

he should not have been made, by nature of his employment, to feel that he was complicit in genocide, because those in power should not be funding and supporting it in the first place. but they are doing so, and he made it clear that did feel that way. we can’t change that. that doesn’t give us the right to dismiss and ignore his actions.

“this [genocide] is what our ruling class has decided is normal.” and it shouldn’t be.

keep bushnell’s message in mind as you organize. protest, fundraise, call your representatives. these are actions that have a tangible effect. and they do far more to help than dying.

but i’m not going to condemn him, just as i’m not going to condemn the likes of thích quảng đức. i’m not going to say that his death was worthless, because it brought undeniable attention to the matter at hand, despite attempts by american media to gloss over why he did what he did.

i understand where people are coming from — self immolation is a deeply disturbing thing to witness, even blurred. i was very deeply affected by the video. but that’s exactly why he did it; to get through to people that this matters.

i don’t want anyone else to die, either. but remembering aaron bushnell and what he died for is not synonymous with encouraging suicide.

his last words were “free palestine” and, as people living in countries that are funding extermination, it is our job to carry on that cry until palestine is free.

that means living to see it through. ensure that he did not die in vain.

[mxrcurysb1tch]

𓂃⋆.⟢ Astrology observations pt. VII ⟢ .⋆𓂃

｡𖦹° Hi my loves! I Hope you’re all doing well. Don’t forget that you can send me any astrology related questions to my asks and I will reply the best I can! (Please note that I don’t do vedic, persona charts or super minor asteroids). As always, take what resonates and leave the rest! <3

｡𖦹° 8th house synastry is the energy of unrequited obsession. It feels absolutely magnetic. Naturally, being the 8th house, the obsession will be very secretive and can involve frequently checking their socials, following them and just “happening” to be at the same place at the same time… generally just creeping on them in secret. The connection is likely to be very one-sided, with the house person being much more intrigued and concerned with the planet person. The planet person may be completely oblivious to these feelings. The house person may even be deluded into thinking there is a mutual connection. It can sometimes feel like being torn apart by the sheer weight of this longing and the impossibility of it all.

｡𖦹° 1h: Lilith/Pluto/Saturn/Capricorn/Scorpio: you probably have been told you have a resting b!tch face or just a mean looking face in general. Everyone thinks you look intimidating or angry or unapproachable. Don’t worry though, you’re baddass.

｡𖦹° Moon in the 1h synastry: The moon person is inclined to share their inner feelings with the house person because they feel intrinsically understood and comforted by them. The house person seems to instinctually know what the moon person is feeling and will know what to do to cheer them up and validate their emotions. I have this with one of my friends, his moon in my 1h, and despite us not being all that close, he opened up to me about something emotionally traumatic that happened in his life and I found myself compelled to do everything I could to make it better. We’re now really close because of that experience.

｡𖦹° I’ve noticed that 8th & 12th house natives have this interesting thing where they don’t always need direct experiences to learn lessons. I feel like they pick up on subtleties very easily so they can learn life lessons extremely fast and even without direct experience. They absorb the energy from those around them, learning what to do and what not to do just by intuiting and observing. Their lessons may be very psychic/emotional/mental rather than being outward so they can sometimes feel that though they have all of the same wisdom (and usually more) than their peers, they lack the concrete tangible experiences to go along with it and they can sometimes feel ‘left out’ of or unable to relate to the physical world.. They can also sometimes treat the physical world like it is optional or just not worth their time. 8th housers especially can develop a lot of apathy.

｡𖦹° Capricorn mars is the warrior placement. Mars is exalted in Capricorn and it is for a reason. Unless they also have other more emotional placements or afflictions, these people never ever throw fits. Instead, they calmly get on with whatever life has handed them and make the best of it every time. They are adept at turning pain into power and being extremely resourceful. They may have come from poverty or lack or even abuse but they do not wallow in it or allow it to stop them. These people have the drive and ambition to accomplish their goals despite any obstacle and that is truly an admirable trait.

｡𖦹° Libra moon with Aries Mercury is such an interesting opposition to have because they’re always talking a big game about all the thrills and dramas going on in their lives and all the people that have gotten on their bad side, who they hate and such but when you actually observe them in action they’re very accepting, easygoing people who don’t actually start drama or have these “wild” moments at all.

｡𖦹° it is really important for cardinal signs, especially moon to do something active or physical to get out of an emotional rut or stagnation. Transmuting and expelling energy is super important for them and creating something can help them to feel they’ve accomplished something for the day. Feeling useful and productive is extremely important for cardinal energy. Exercise is the biggest one imo but it could also be channeling energy into work, creative endeavours or even taking the focus off oneself and looking to helping others instead. Anything that is proactive. It may not help them to do a more passive activity or rest before they have had this release of stagnant energy because they might wind up more frustrated than before.

[tarotwithavi]

Your moon sign and the best manifestation techniques for you

In astrology, your Moon sign represents your inner self: your emotions, intuition, and natural instincts. Unlike your Sun sign, which shows how you present yourself to the world, your Moon sign is all about how you feel and connect to your deeper desires.

Because manifestation is about aligning your thoughts, emotions, and actions to bring your dreams into reality, understanding your Moon sign can help you pick a manifestation method that works best for you.

This can also apply to what house your moon is in.

1. Aries Moon

Action-Based Manifestation

If your Moon is in Aries, you’re driven by passion, enthusiasm, and a need for action. Aries Moons often feel things intensely and have a “go-getter” attitude.

Best Method: Physical Action Manifestation

- Set a clear, strong intention for what you want, and then take immediate action toward it.

- Make a vision board or list, but focus more on doing things that bring you closer to your goals.

- Try “energy-boosting rituals,” like lighting a red candle or working out while thinking about your goals.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

2. Taurus Moon

Visualization and Sensory Manifestation

Taurus Moons value stability, comfort, and pleasure. You connect best through physical senses, so you need to feel your manifestation in a tangible way.

Best Method : Sensory Visualization

- Sit in a comfortable space and imagine your dream life with all five senses. Picture the colors, sounds, scents, textures, and even tastes of your goal.

- Use physical objects, like stones, candles, or money, as manifestation symbols.

- Write affirmations about your desires in a journal, and keep them somewhere you see every day.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

3. Gemini Moon

Verbal and Written Manifestation

With a Gemini Moon, you’re naturally communicative, curious, and mentally active. You connect easily with words, making verbal or written manifestation very effective.

Best Method : Journaling and Scripting

- Write about your dreams as if they’re already happening. Describe them in detail, as if telling a story.

- Practice “affirmation speaking,” where you say what you want out loud as if it’s already true.

- Keep a manifestation journal and revisit it daily to keep your thoughts and energy aligned.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

4. Cancer Moon

Emotional and Intuitive Manifestation

Cancer Moons are deeply sensitive and intuitive, meaning you manifest best when you connect to your feelings. You need to feel your desire deeply to believe in it.

Best Method: Emotion-Focused Visualization

- Picture yourself experiencing your goal and focus on how it makes you feel.

- Use moon rituals or water-based activities, like writing your goal on paper and setting it under moonlight.

- Connect with your heart, imagining the joy, peace, and comfort you’ll feel once your dream is real.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

5. Leo Moon

Creative Visualization and Affirmations

If you have a Leo Moon, you’re naturally expressive, confident, and full of warmth. Leo Moons thrive when they bring creativity into manifestation.

Best Method : Creative Visualization with Affirmations

- Use mirror affirmations: say your desires out loud while looking at yourself in the mirror to boost self-confidence.

- Create a vision board with bright, inspiring images and colors that match your goals.

- Visualize yourself shining and receiving praise for achieving your goals, like watching yourself on a stage.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

6. Virgo Moon

Practical Planning and Daily Affirmations

Virgo Moons are detail-oriented, analytical, and practical. You feel best when things are organized and clear, so a structured approach works wonders for you.

Best Method: Goal Setting with Step-by-Step Plans

- Write a detailed plan for each goal, breaking it down into small, achievable steps.

- Use daily affirmations that keep you focused on steady progress.

- Dedicate a “manifestation notebook” where you track your progress and reflect on what’s working.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

7. Libra Moon

Balance, Visualization, and Partnership

Libra Moons value harmony, balance, and connection with others. You manifest best in environments where you feel calm, and often benefit from working with someone else.

Best Method : harmonised Visualization and Partnership Manifestation

- Visualize your goal in a peaceful setting. Think of a serene scene that represents your dream life.

- Use positive affirmations for balance and harmony, like “I attract peaceful, joyful experiences.”

- Consider finding a “manifestation buddy” to set goals together and support each other.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

8. Scorpio Moon

Deep, Intuitive, and Transformation Rituals

Scorpio Moons feel emotions intensely and are highly intuitive. You connect deeply with transformative and spiritual practices, so you manifest best through focused, powerful rituals.

Best Method : Intense Visualization and Transformation Rituals

- Use candle rituals, incense, or crystals to amplify your manifestation energy.

- Practice “shadow work” — explore hidden desires and be honest about what you truly want.

- Use visualization, imagining yourself completely transformed and in your ideal reality.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

9. Sagittarius Moon

Adventure and Abundance Manifestation

Sagittarius Moons are optimistic, freedom-loving, and drawn to adventure. You need a manifestation method that feels fun, big, and open-minded.

Best Method : Future Vision and Gratitude Practices

- Imagine your goal as an adventure waiting to unfold, feeling the excitement it brings.

- Use gratitude journaling: write down everything you’re grateful for daily, especially things that relate to your dream life.

- Dream big — don’t be afraid to visualize goals that may seem “out of reach” and trust the process.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

10. Capricorn Moon

Goal Setting with a Focused Plan

Capricorn Moons are practical, determined, and ambitious. You manifest best with structured goals and long-term focus, often preferring realistic methods over “magical” approaches.

Best Method : Structured Goal Setting and Visualization

- Set a clear, realistic goal and create a plan of action with deadlines.

- Visualize yourself achieving each milestone and feel the sense of accomplishment.

- Create a “success board” where you note each step you complete, keeping you motivated and focused.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

11. Aquarius Moon

Unique Visualization and Group Manifestation

Aquarius Moons are original thinkers, independent, and open-minded. You thrive with unique, forward-thinking methods, and may enjoy manifesting in a group setting.

Best Method : Creative Visualization and Group Manifesting

- Try out-of-the-box visualization techniques, like drawing or making abstract art that represents your goals.

- Write affirmations on sticky notes around your room, or visualize your dream while listening to uplifting music.

- Manifest with like-minded friends or groups, as shared energy aligns with Aquarius’ love for community.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

12. Pisces Moon

Spiritual and Dream-Based Manifestation

Pisces Moons are dreamy, intuitive, and deeply spiritual. You connect best with manifestation methods that feel magical, gentle, and imaginative.

Best Method : Dream Journaling and Meditation

- Before sleeping, visualize your dreams as if they’re happening right now, letting your imagination flow.

- Keep a dream journal by your bed and write down any insights you get upon waking.

- Use guided meditations or spend time by water (like a lake or river) while focusing on your dreams to enhance your natural intuition

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

Manifestation is most powerful when it feels like an authentic extension of you.

*⁠.⁠✧ 🦢

© tarotwithavi,2024. All rights reserved.

[elysiansparadise]

Ruler of the 1st house in the houses

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Throughout their lives, these natives experience experiences that make them very clear that they themselves must be their own priority, that they should never put other people's needs first if that means putting their own needs aside. They are focused on knowing themselves better, increasing their knowledge of themselves and always keeping their priorities in mind so as not to stray. They stand out for being very independent people who may even be uncomfortable having to ask for help from others, in fact, it is likely that they have learned to be independent from a very early age. Many of them have a great ability to lead groups or at least inspire others to empower themselves and do things their way. They never hesitate to say what they think, but they can be more reserved when it comes to opening up emotionally to others, as they have very high walls between themselves and others. They do not like to interfere in the lives of others and hate when others feel they have the right to tell them how to live their lives or how to act, and they won't hesitate defending their points of view fiercely. It bothers them when other people don't take them seriously or when their boundaries are ignored, and believe me, they won't allow themselves to be trampled on by someone, because they stand out for their courage and strong sense of self. Their immediate environment sees them as people with a strong, almost unbreakable self-esteem, they exude power, strength and can give the impression of being invincible, even being able to easily intimidate other people. They do not like to feel or appear weak. They constantly seek to improve either in the skills they have or as people. They have initiative and do not sit back and wait for things to happen, some can be impatient when it comes to seeing the fruits of their work. They don't like to feel unproductive. They are people who will always prefer to be authentic rather than hypocritical in order to fit in or be surrounded by people, and since I mentioned it, many of them can be rather ambiverts. They are very selective with the people they surround themselves with and being alone is not a fear for them.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These natives prioritize finding stability in their lives, in every possible sense, from economic stability to mental and emotional stability. Throughout their lives they embark on a path of self-worth, working on their self-esteem and learning to recognize their positive sides. They are focused on making their lives something they can enjoy and do things that they consider valuable to invest their time and energy. They are very attractive people, they can be seen as naturally elegant. They aspire to have a quiet life in which they have everything they need and did not need when they were younger, they know what they deserve and do not settle for crumbs or little. These natives stand out for being calm and rational, they don't like to rush into things, but they know how to give their all once they make a decision. They highly value their authenticity and independence, however, they do not hesitate to support their closest circle. It is very likely that from a young age they have been a strong support, whether for a parent, other family members or even friends. They give the impression of being very stable, of having things in order in their lives and of being almost unbreakable, they project a strength that is rather approachable and people can feel safe with them, even drawn at them. For them, tangibility is crucial, that is, actions before words, from showing their love and affection with actions or gifts (as well as enjoying being shown affection in this way), to not promising things that they know they cannot. achieve. They are people who work hard and progressively in everything they consider important, whether in the workplace, personal or love sphere. They believe that small details are always important, small efforts that are constant and significant. There are little things about these natives that are considered attractive, often things that are not under their control such as mannerisms or their voice. They take care of their appearance and like to dress in clothes that they feel comfortable in, they prioritize their own comfort when it comes to this. They may easily attract money into their lives or be naturally good at managing finances.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

For these natives speaking their minds is the most important thing, they like to be clear with what they think, want and even feel. If they have something to say they will not hesitate to do so. They stand out for being very rational people, capable of seeing things from different perspectives. Their minds can be restless and that can lead them to be people with a tendency to multitask and even have many diverse and different interests among them. Speaking of which, these people love to learn new things, the idea of ​​knowing everything they can about a topic that catches their attention fascinates them, although sometimes once this task is finished they can get bored. They need constant mental stimulation and to stay busy. Many of them have a strong tendency to overthink things and be somewhat anxious, worrying about the future. Despite this, these people know how to adapt very well to changes and constantly seek to make small changes, whether in their rhythms of life, activities or even in their appearances. These people can read well the environment in which they find themselves and easily adapt to it as well as to the people who are there. Your relationship with your siblings or cousins ​​can be very influential, or they can even be a great influence on your siblings or other younger members of your family. These natives are quite cunning and intelligent and give the impression of being not easily fooled and very cultured. People tend to listen to what they say more easily, because they have a lot of charm. For them, communication is key in any relationship, especially those that they consider important to them, and they could not be with someone who does not have a topic of conversation or who does not let them talk/does not listen to them. They like to maintain a calm and bearable environment, jokers, witty and very funny, they love to entertain themselves and amuse others with their stories and occurrences. There is a playful and slightly mischievous appeal to them, and it should be added that as the years go by, they seem to look younger. It is easy for them to follow a conversation since, as I mentioned, they adapt very quickly to people, no matter how different they are from them. They stand out as good communicators, whether orally or in writing, and also for their creativity. They like to learn how to do many things and it is no surprise that many of them have a wide variety of skills.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Throughout their lives, these natives experience experiences that lead them to always seek their own emotional comfort, to worry and take care of their emotional needs, but above all their inner peace. They are naturally perceptive and caring people when it comes to other people's emotions, they seem to read them very well and never try to make others uncomfortable. They are internally very sensitive people, although they create a shell that protects them from getting hurt or from others taking advantage of this emotionality and their hearts. The family gave great lessons to the native and their relationship with them is quite important to them, whether because of how close they are and how well they get along, or because of the scars they may have left. These natives do not forget easily, and may find themselves constantly thinking about the past. They do not hesitate to go deep inside themselves and analyze themselves, they are quite self-aware, but it will always be a process that they prefer to do on their own. Many of them may have this bad tendency to repress their feelings, always wanting to appear strong or simply preferring to break down when they are alone. They are very supportive and warm people with those they love, always respectful of their emotions and boundaries. They have a strong protective instinct towards all those with whom they form strong emotional bonds. For them it is crucial to feel safe and secure, there is nothing they want more than to keep their inner child happy, avoiding repeating situations from the past that previously hurt them. There is something about them that makes people feel naturally comfortable, people can open up to them more easily and tell them very private things. They may feel a strong interest in the past of the people they care about, from family or friends. It is likely that these natives are very similar, either in physical appearance or behavior to ancestors or older people in their families. Home for them is a place where they feel like they can be themselves, where they don't have to have their barriers up and where they feel protected and comfortable. They may find comfort in being with themselves, although at times the loneliness can become overwhelming. What is clear is that they value quality in their emotional ties with people, which is why they prefer to be on their own rather than calling the wrong person family or friend.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Over the course of their lives, these natives embark on a path toward self-love and self-acceptance. They are people who can place many expectations on themselves and can be very demanding, although very few people see it and realize it. This happens because people tend to see them as very confident, charismatic and incredibly attractive people, since these natives have the ability to attract the attention of others with ease. A mix of attractiveness and sensuality. Throughout their lives, they learn to love and appreciate each other, to never let disrespect pass or be with people who do not love and respect them as they deserve. These people have a very intense way of loving, for them it is all or nothing, they are not people who commit halfway, and despite their flirtatious yet independent appearance, when they find someone with whom they want to be in a relationship, they do not hesitate. They really like romance, details and they love the idea of ​​having a relationship in which love and passion abound. They like emotional intensity in their relationships, someone who adores them and loves them madly, who is crazy about them and shows the same degree of devotion as them. These people know what they want in a relationship, and they would rather be alone than be with someone who doesn't meet the requirements. They are usually lucky enough to be liked back by their crushes and can attract many hidden admirers. These people like to show themselves as strong, confident and empowered, as people who do not depend on anyone or the opinions of other people, because the experiences they have lived have taught them to be authentic and true to themselves.These people may excel deeply in some skill or talent, and may be seen as great at this. They are really passionate about their interests, beyond romance, if they have hobbies they can put their heart entirely into them. They have the ability to charm the people they interact with. They are very honest and open people with what they want, they do not hold back their opinions and can have a lethal bluntness on many occasions. Deep down, they are very expressive, emotional and loving individuals, never leaving any room for doubt about the love or appreciation they feel.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟔𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Throughout their lives, these natives experience the constant belief that to be worthy of something they have to work hard, although this leads them to be dedicated and responsible people with everything they consider important in their lives, it also influences the way they relate to their environment, believing that they have to be something specific or achieve things in order to feel good about themselves. These natives have a strong need to be productive, to do something constantly, and they can feel bad about themselves when they are not being efficient. They are demanding of themselves, they stand out for their intelligence and observation skills. Their independence is one of their strongest characteristics and despite being very capable individually, they know how to work as a team and are quite efficient and collaborative. They like to feel like they are doing things with purpose, meaningful things, and they think very carefully about what they want to use their energy for, making sure not to waste time on things they consider meaningless. They are very helpful and empathetic people from a rather practical approach, from giving advice to being easy to solve issues of any kind. They can be very nervous people, they have a tendency to worry a lot about things, from their own performance to possible outcomes. For them it is important to have a job for which they feel passion, a job that allows them to have a certain individuality and that allows them to grow and continue learning, this placement makes it likely that they will work in something that they really like, even from a very young age. They are people who respect all living beings, whether people, plants, animals, they can have a strong bond with their pets and manage to connect with animals in a unique and wholesome way. Even if they like fun and variety, these people prefer to have a rather stable life, putting their mental and emotional peace before anything else. They are people very focused on their well-being in all areas, taking care of themselves and doing things that give them a sense of fulfillment. They stand out for their high level of devotion and loyalty in everything they consider important in their lives. They have a great work ethic that allows them to grow quickly in the workplace.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

One of the most prominent lessons in the lives of these natives is about relationships, learning that it is better to be alone than in bad company. Many of these natives develop this balance in learning to be on their own, but also in learning to relate to other people. These natives greatly seek quality in their relationships and put a lot of their energy into making them positive and equitable for both parties. They are people who are very easy to understand and read other people, their attitudes, feelings and needs. People find them very alluring, graceful and people who are generally pleasant to be with, because they are not judgmental of others and when they accept someone into their lives they accept them genuinely. Despite this, they are people who are very clear about what they do not want to deal with in relationships and tend to be quite assertive in them. These people appear polite and approachable to other people, they have a certain charisma that others quickly perceive and it is precisely this subtle charm that attracts others. They will never stay in relationships in which they feel that they give more than they receive, because that search for stability and balance that they have applies in all areas but specifically in their relationships. This placement assures us that the natives will be able to feel that they can be themselves in the presence of their partner, feeling more authentic than when they are with other people. They are very romantic, dedicated and passionate people in their relationships, and they can attract a future spouse like that. Marriage will bring you a lot of self-discovery and can be very beneficial for your lives, giving you not only happiness but fulfillment. They can more easily gain the support of other people and in addition to knowing how to work very well as a team, they manage to connect and really make others feel heard and understood. It is likely that when they were young they gave a lot of importance to what others thought of them, and this is precisely one of the issues that they learn to deal with as time goes by. These people do not hesitate to take the first step in love, they are driven and very direct. Their personality in them may be dominant, however, they may be attracted to equally dominant people.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Here we meet natives with a certain aura of mystery around them. They do not usually reveal much about themselves so easily, they choose to keep to themselves everything they consider important or very personal, they are observers, and will always deeply analyze whether someone is trustworthy or not, trusting their instincts and being right most of the time. They seek something more than the reality to which they are accustomed, they seek to break the barriers of the predictable, mundane and superficial, entering the core of things and people. They look for the genuine, the raw and the authentic. These people are aware of the beautiful sides of life, but also the most tense and that is precisely why they remain alert, attentive and careful not to get hurt again. They hate feeling too vulnerable, showing their weaknesses, their sadness or points that others can use to hurt them. They are people surrounded by a lot of enigma and magnetism, many people recognize in them a survivor, someone whose strength and reserve makes them feel strangely drawn to them. They may find themselves attracting attention even when they want to go unnoticed. Loyal by nature, these people stand firm to their words, although they are not usually too open with what they feel, they feel intensely, they are quite intense in fact, and capable of giving themselves completely. It is difficult for them to trust other people, many times having trusted and been betrayed at their earliest ages, they have learned to rely on themselves and it can be a difficult task for them to let others in. The world is a complex place for them, full of bittersweet memories, some that they would like to return to and others that they would like to erase, yet their strength makes them reborn stronger and wiser. They do not hesitate to provide support and guidance, but it is difficult for them to accept when someone wants to do the same for them. They long to know themselves completely, even if it makes them face things about themselves that are difficult to accept, they are not afraid to know themselves completely, which makes them want to know others with such depth.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Gifted with great curiosity, these natives have a way of seeing life that is quite out of the box, not settling for everything they are used to seeing in their daily lives. They have the need to find themselves and their authenticity in a huge world full of possibilities. They are not conformist people, and they are constantly in search of information, knowledge and experiences that bring them positive sensations or that are enough to satisfy that desire to discover. Discovering goes beyond the earthly plane such as traveling or interacting with people from other countries (which may be possible), but rather also encompasses the spiritual, emotional and/or internal terrain. They have a high intrapersonal intelligence, which gives the impression of being rational, self-aware and wise people, and also allows them to get to know others in a more personal way. They stand out for their open mentality and their ability to delve into seeing things from different points of view. Many of them possess a certain charm and natural charm, there is something about them and their nature that makes them attract others and rewarding experiences throughout their lives. They always prefer to live a life with passion and purpose, and they are in constant search for theirs, to do something important or at least satisfactory in their stay in this life, they do not like to do things just for the sake of it, they long to give it life, give it a meaning to things. They do not allow themselves to be prejudiced and prefer not to have them in the first place, they appreciate the beauty in differences and do not like to make others feel uncomfortable with who they are. They are people who have a mindset of not worrying but rather taking care of themselves, they do not seek control over what they know they cannot control and on many occasions they know that it is better to let go and let go, having it easier than other people to do this. They may have interests that people consider unconventional or that are very different from those of the people around them. They are people who take pride in being different but don't feel the need to flaunt it. They have an interest in other cultures and may have plans in their dreams to visit different places in the world to which they feel connected in one way or another.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These natives are perfectly clear about what is important to them, what they want to achieve and who they are. From a young age they know that they have to work hard to get what they want, and from a young age they show themselves to be responsible and dedicated. This is an indicator of a person who had to mature since they were children, carrying issues or responsibilities both personal and from others, and in some cases, from people older than them. They tend to easily attract the admiration, respect and attention of people, likewise many of them can be successful in jobs in which they either have a position of authority or in which they are in constant contact with people. They can easily gain recognition simply by being themselves or pursuing one of their passions or talents. Their image matters a lot to them, so they do not hesitate to defend themselves and fight to maintain everything they have achieved throughout their lives. They have a strong need to feel proud of themselves, they often place high expectations on themselves, and it may be a behavior they have learned from a very young age. There is nothing they want more than to make their inner child proud, and be the adult they would have liked to have by their side. They believe that only they themselves can solve their problems, that no one will come to save them and that they have to make things happen, however, deep down, they wish they could have guidance and support. Many of them are not very open with other people, but what is certain is that having them in your life guarantees you a partner, friend or partner who will always be blunt, supportive and shared with you, never making you feel vulnerable or unprotected. It can be easy for these people to relate fluidly with bosses or authority figures, and it should be added that they can be quite good bosses themselves thanks to their decision and practical and fair vision of things. They like to surround themselves with productive, hard-working people who motivate them, these people being partners, friends or family. People who make excuses, who take advantage of others, and who are hypocritical earn their disdain. They are people who, although open and direct with what they think and want, are difficult to get to know deeply.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

These natives are in a constant search for belonging, they are likely to feel that they hardly fit in with their peers, that they have problems connecting on a deep level with others or forming bonds of friendship. Although it is difficult for them to call anyone a friend, once they give that title, these natives stand out for being very supportive, encouraging and honest people. Precisely because it is difficult for them to form friendships, when they have one that they consider genuine they attach great importance to loyalty to that bond. These natives are interested in deeper and more personal ties, they feel that to form a good friendship, both need to be themselves and adore each other in that way, authenticity and openness are things they look for. They are independent people, very firm in what they believe and what they consider fair, they have their own criteria and do not feel the need to follow the masses or act according to what others believe or expect. Many of them have great charisma, and it seems to grow the older they get, they have a knack for inspiring other people, often motivating them to be themselves and go towards everything they aspire to. Since I mention it, they stand out for being not only creative people, but great dreamers even from a very young age. They stand out for their intelligence, cunning and for being able to learn many different things regardless of how different each topic is from the other. They like to remain rational and act logically and without causing so much drama. They do not like to live in the past, do what everyone else does or feel like one of the crowd. These natives seek to do what seems important to them, but above all in their own way. Sometimes they can think too much about the future, facing tendencies to overthink or worries about what is going to happen. Some are somewhat nervous and thinking about the future either excites them too much or causes them some anxiety. These natives can have great economic stability if they decide to pursue that career that attracts their attention. Many of them may enjoy spending a lot of time on social networks and may become influential, popular or well-known on them. People can admire them quite a bit and even come to appreciate them.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Here we find people who, due to life circumstances, have learned not to reveal much about themselves, including very personal aspects. These people may have experienced a lot of stress or difficult events to process at a young age, causing them to mature prematurely. They have great intuition that makes them realize what others go unnoticed, they sense people's moods, their emotions at the moment and even whether they are trustworthy people or not. They can seem mysterious and very reserved to the people they interact with, they decide what to show and what not to show. They are very empathetic people and sensitive to the moods of the people around them, they are capable of putting themselves in someone else's shoes. They are understanding, sensitive and much more emotional than they show at first glance. These people long to find either a place where they feel like they belong or a group of people that makes them feel understood, since many of them have the ability to make others feel accepted, supported and loved, even when they throughout in their lives they may feel that they do not connect so easily with others. They may have abilities to inspire, care, heal or make others feel better, and people can trust them more easily. These people look for a deep meaning not only in life, but in general behind everything that surrounds them, they prefer depth, that which has a true significance, one that marks them and contributes something to their lives. Many of them may have a strong tendency to doubt their intention, often fearing that their fears will get in the way and cloud their judgment. They are people with a very beautiful and resilient soul, often carrying wounds that people are not aware of, and that is precisely what makes them want to really see inside people, make them feel as seen as they would like to feel. Throughout their lives they experience identity crises, or long periods in which they are searching for themselves, often alone. Many of them seem to be in their own world, because they do not seek to get involved in other people's lives. Things hardly remain hidden for these natives, they have the peculiarity that information always reaches them, even if they do not look for it.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 21st. tom — gun play / dubcon / masochism.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: tom can’t hurt you, but you love seeing him try.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, i truly mean it minors stay back from this one. this is as fantasy as it comes. do not do this at home. or anywhere, ever. empty unloaded gun, gunplay, hardcore gun kink, masochist reader, sadist tom, very ooc tom riddle imo, lots of history between these two, angst and tension and emotion.

It doesn't matter how you got here—trapped in a room with Tom Riddle circling you, hands clasped behind him, his brother standing guard like a fucking solider just outside the door—it doesn't matter that your wrists are bound behind your back, rope cutting into your skin, or that you were caught somewhere deep within the manor, searching for information for the Order. It doesn't matter that you grew up with Tom and Mattheo, all those years in the orphanage, loved them both more than you ever loved yourself.

It doesn't fucking matter.

Nothing does—nothing except the man standing in front of you—nothing except the moment his hand reaches behind him, pulling a gun from where it had rested at his waist.

Yeah, uh, yeah—that might matter. Just a little.

"I never took you for someone who'd resort to Muggle weapons," you manage, but your voice is thin, a strained sound under the pulse thundering at your throat. "How refined."

Tom's eyes trace over you, stalling on the rhythm at your neck as though it's tangible before dragging back up to meet your own. He hasn't spoken in minutes, just watching, letting the silence swell, the tension grow with each passing second.

He's building it slowly, deliberately. It's always been a game to him—one he knows you'll lose.

"There's a certain appeal to them." His thumb grazes the trigger, almost absentmindedly. "So much power at the flick of a finger. No skill, no magic. Just finality."

Heat rises up your neck, settling in your cheeks, and all you can do is stare at him. He knows he doesn't need to touch you to break you—he's never had to. Tom's greatest weapon, when it comes to you, has always been his words.

He steps closer, fingers still ghosting over the gun as if he isn't holding all of your fate in his hands. He slows when his shins brush against your knees, and you hate how your pulse jumps, how you feel so small beneath him.

"You're tense," he murmurs, amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "Is it the weapon? Or something else?"

You lift your gaze because there's nowhere else to look—dark stone walls close in around you and he occupies every free inch of space between. It's laughable, really, the way your heart aches when you meet his eyes. You know he has to make an example of you, to prove something to the Death Eaters lurking beyond these walls, but despite the fire in his gaze, you can see it—the way he's holding back, just like he's done time and time again, for years.

No matter what he's become, there's still something of the boy you once knew buried beneath the surface. The boy who used to curl into you for warmth, for survival.

Your eyes flicker down to the gun again. You force the words past grit teeth. "Do you need that to feel powerful, Tom?"

There's something chilling in how natural the gun looks in his hand, the way he wields it with the same ease he uses to twist a wand. You’re certain Tom could find ease in anything, especially empty handed.

He's silent for a long moment, until he isn't. "I don't need anything to feel powerful."

The barrel catches the light as he raises it, and your skin tightens in anticipation. You close your eyes briefly as he drags it lazily up your arm, tracing a line of cold fire over your collarbone. Your heart is gone, soaring far away from this room, and a shiver rolls through you—not from fear, but from something you can't name. Something that's always belonged to him—

When the gun reaches your throat, your eyes flutter open, drawn to the sight of metal pressed against your skin.

He tilts his head, studying you. "You think this makes me dangerous?"

He tilts the gun beneath your chin, nudging your head back until your gaze meets his again. You gasp, and your thighs tense involuntarily. His eyes flicker down—he notices.

It's not the gun. It's him. Christ, it's always been him.

"No," you force out against the threat at your throat. "I think you make you dangerous."

Something shifts in Tom's eyes—just for a moment, before it vanishes beneath something more potent—determination.

He moves behind you in a slow circle, fingers brushing through your hair as if in contemplation. It's only a moment before his other hand brings the gun back, cold metal kissing the edge of your shoulder. You tense, feeling the weight of him behind you, his breath ghosting over your neck—and he inhales against your skin as he slides the gun lower, tracing the dip between your breasts, dragging like a threat down to your lap until the barrel presses against your thigh.

At this point, your heart pounds so loud you're certain Mattheo can hear it from outside the door—all you can do is stare at where his hand lingers, your mind racing ahead to the edge of terror and something far more dangerous.

"You seem...unbothered all of a sudden," Tom muses, teasing the gun up your thigh, dragging your skirts along with it. "One might expect the opposite reaction, given where this gun happens to be."

You know it's a game. Of course it's a game—his way of toying with you, forcing a reaction, demanding fear where there's none left. Except instead of fear, there's an unbearable heat curling inside you, your thighs wanting to close around the gun, to push against it, to feel it.

God, you hate that he does this to you.

"You won't hurt me," you manage, though your voice cracks. Your hips shift, just slightly, but enough to feel the cold metal slide higher. "If you wanted to, you would have."

That's the truth of it, isn't it? In the darkest moments, when you face him like this, you know with every beat of your heart that he'd never hurt you. You trust him in the way you shouldn't, in the way no one else in the world could. He could kill anyone else without a second thought, but not you.

That trust is what keeps pulling you back here, again and again, even though you've sworn yourself to the Order, even though you've promised to fight against everything he stands for.

"You always did have a death wish." He says, spitting the syllables at you, the disgust in his tone making your stomach lurch. His grip tightens in your hair. "Is that all it takes to make you pliable? My hands on you, a weapon in the room, and suddenly you're eager? Suddenly you trust me again?"

"You've never been able to kill me." You whisper, trying to sound cocky, sarcastic, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too raw. "And you never will."

"I've never needed to." He murmurs as the gun moves again, pressing firmly against the apex of your thighs, nudging toward your clothed cunt. "You destroy yourself just fine."

You can't think, can't breathe, can't be when his voice wraps around you like this, when he presses the gun against you like it's a fucking present. Every nerve in your body is screaming, every instinct warring against itself. You want to grind against the barrel, to push it deeper between your legs. You want to trap it there, feel it pressed so tightly that you can't move. You want to drag his face to yours, taste his breath, break him.

Yet, you want to pull away and strike him across the face all the same—and that is Tom's power over you.

It's always been this way with him. You hate him—he's horrible and corrupt and so goddamn bad for you but he knows exactly what to say—exactly what to do to make you want to hurt him, to make you want to worship him in the same breath. The intensity of it steals the air from your lungs, makes a groan slip from your lips before you can stop it.

"Tell me, Tom," you grit out, forcing yourself still despite every inch of you wanting to move, wanting to react. "Would your fucking gun be on me like this if I was terrified of it? Would you be pressing it against me like this if it was loaded?"

The insinuation doesn't escape him. Not for a second. You have him pinned and it pisses him off because you fucked up by sneaking in here but there’s not a damn thing he can do to punish you for it that wouldn’t be punishment towards himself as well.

His grip in your hair tightens as the gun drags slowly over your clit, and you keen at the contact, your hips pushing into it.

"Fucking vixen," he pulls your head back roughly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice—the rawness— sends a goddamn thrill through you, makes your whole body jerk. "I have you tied to a chair, a gun at your cunt, and you still have the power to make me doubt myself.”

"That's me, Tom." You laugh, breathless. "Always ruining your fun."

His eyes flash with something—something devastating but it doesn't scare you because you've been here so many fucking times before. It only makes you arch your back, grinding against the gun harder, a soft moan escaping your lips just to spite him.

He watches you—eyes lidded, and something in the way he stares makes you ache.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" A question hissed through a tight jaw, words crawling down your spine, burrowing beneath your skin. "You keep testing me...fighting me...just to end up like this...”

You gasp. "I have to stop you—I—“

He cuts you off by yanking your head toward his until his forehead presses against yours—

"I didn't ask why you came," his nose brushes yours as he speaks. "I asked why you keep coming back. Why do you keep coming back to be...this for me?"

His voice is raw, something you've never heard in a long long time—unguarded—so fucking human. It makes the heat in your belly coil tighter, and your eyes flutter shut against the weight of it. You don't have an answer, not one that makes sense, not one that fits the way he's looking at you now.

"I-I don't know," is all you can offer.

Tom makes a noise in the back of his throat—low, frustrated, a sound that hums between you.

"Yes, you do," he hisses. "Don't get shy on me now."

He shifts the gun again, sliding beneath your panties, the cold metal making contact with your slick slit and you fucking gasp—a sound so loud you're sure Mattheo heard it—along with the rest of the goddamn house, too.

"This isn't about stopping me," Tom says, a whisper of words. "This isn't about taking away my control—not really."

He's right, and the truth of it stings. This isn't about stopping him, not entirely. You hate him for his choices but gods, you fucking crave this—him, his power over you. Every time you've come here, sneaking past the Order's notice, pretending to gather evidence, pretending you're smart enough to catch him in something—you know this is what you wanted. You know it's always been about him. The boy you survived with, the boy you loved—it's about how you've always belonged to him, even though you hate him for it.

It's always been him. Only him.

"Fuck," you gasp again as you feel the gun shifting, pressing harder against your cunt, and your mind is spinning because you can't believe he might—he wouldn't really— "…are you about to—Jesus, Tom..."

He's listening, you know he is. He's waiting for any hint of something that tells him to stop—a flinch, a breath that isn't right, the smallest sound that says you don't want this. But all he hears is you. You, the girl he's known since all you had was eachother, the one who loved him but left, who keeps coming back to him, no matter how much you claim to hate him.

He hears you submit, and it fuels him.

"You are..." he jerks your head again, roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes as the gun nudges against your soaked entrance, "...so unbelievably frustrating."

Oh, the irony. "I'm...not the only—oh gods—"

Your words crumble into nothing, dissolving in your throat as he presses the gun inside you. Cold metal pushing deep, rough ridges working you wide, the pressure burning with something almost unbearable in its fucking intensity.

Your mind hazes with it, and a groan that isn’t yours fills the room as you fight to adjust to the stretch.

"I hate this," he spits, his voice like gravel, raw and jagged with frustration, trembling with restraint. His eyes, wide and wild, stay locked on yours as though he can't tear himself away. "I hate how easy it is with you—I hate how quickly you give in, how you let me do this to you because you know I’d stop if you asked—I hate how I can never look at you without remembering what it feels like to be inside you. I hate how badly I still want that, after all these years, even though you left me. I hate you for making me want this."

Oh god—fucking hell—there's no room in your head for coherence now, no space left to argue, to resist—Tom Riddle has been so many things to you over the years, but openly, unabashedly vulnerable has never truly been one of them. Not until now. You feel it—beneath the brutality, the power—something fragile.

His forehead presses against your temple, the intimacy of it dizzying, disarming. You clench around the cold metal and he pushes it deeper.

He continues. “Admittedly, I hate myself most for wanting you to want this back.”

Your voice cracks around a sob—he’s pumping the gun in and out of you now—lewd sounds filling the room and your head tips back against his shoulder. His free hand slips from your hair and cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, a gesture that almost feels tender though you know better. His version of tenderness is as dangerous as anything else he offers.

You whinge. “T-Tom—oh fuck—I’m always going to let you win. I trust you—“

"Don't," he cuts you off in a groan against your cheek. Pumping the barrel into you, making your back arch off the chair. “You have no reason to. You know better."

You hear the unspoken words in his voice, the ones he can't bring himself to say aloud—I don't deserve it—and it makes your chest ache, makes your throat tighten—makes you want to shake him, wake him up from this nightmare—

"Of course I know better," you whisper through a gasp as he mutters a spell, something swirling over your clit that makes your eyes roll. “Gods—but you’ve never wanted me rational anyways.”

"You're right," he hisses and you hear the pain in it, a man who has everything still simultaneously has nothing and it makes him frustrated—all because of you. "I never wanted you to be rational. I never wanted you to be safe. I never wanted you to be anything other than mine."

You keen as the sensation on your clit intensifies and he pumps the gun quicker, you look down to watch his hand, the way his knuckles tense with the movement and you can almost see the restraint under his skin telling you just how bad he wishes he was pumping into you instead. You can hear your arousal—you feel the shame in it and you should be disgusted by it, by everything this is, but instead, it only makes your heart race faster.

You know there's more he's not saying—that he can't say.

He wants you to be his, but he will never let you be his.

"I hate you. What you've become." The words scrape from your lips between moans, your climax charging fast. "It shouldn't be this...this hard."

"This is why I call you frustrating. How can you hate me and still let me do this to you?" His voice is raw, burning with something you don't fully understand, but you can feel it— he's pushing deeper, grinding the gun against you with every bit of anger he has left. You're on fire, your mind spinning out of control, and the ropes digging into your skin only ground you to the pain, to the pleasure. "I'm defiling you...and yet, you keep coming back.”

"God," you grunt, sweat slicking over your skin because you’re so goddamn close and his words only drag you that much closer. "Jesus f—Tom, please—“

"Please what?" His hand slips back through your hair, eyes jerked to meet his. "You need to be more specific, sweetheart."

There's a bite in the pet name, but you don't care. All you can think of is him, of more, of everything he's doing to you, and it's not enough. It’ll never be fucking enough—

“Please!” Words fail you. “Tom—I—“

He shudders at the sound of your voice, at how helpless you are, at all the power you've given him.

"Words," he snarls, pumping quicker. "I'll give you what you want, but you’ll need to use. your. words."

“Please! I need to cum!” You blurt out. “Tom—Tom! I need to—“

With that, he kisses you to cut you off, teeth sinking into your lower lip with fervour that borders on irrational. Which, of course it is. All of this is beyond fucking irrational. It's not careful or soft or gentle, his lips searing against yours as if he's trying to claim every breath you've ever taken, every inch of space between you. And you—god, you kiss him back just as fiercely while hating yourself for the way you want it, need it, how you crave the bruises his mouth is leaving behind.

Tom groans against your lips and it's the sound of something breaking, something starved for way too long, something desperate to pour out of his blood. His tongue slides over yours, wet and warm, and you feel the ropes biting into your wrists, feel the ache where your arms strain to break free. You realize, with a pulse of helpless longing, that if you weren't tied, you'd be clawing at him—dragging him closer, letting him consume every part of you until there was nothing left.

"Feel that shame?" He whispers as he pulls back, just as you’re about to tip over. "That's your punishment.”

And then—you break, shatter, explode and the sound that escapes you is so fucking raw you don’t even recognize it. Something filled with the shame of wanting someone so goddamn bad you let them fuck you with a weapon—the shame of wanting someone so terrible you’d never be able to explain yourself to anyone with a rational pulse. The sounds come without reason, without thought—just a release of emotion that you had held in for far, far too long.

“That’s it. Let it burn.” He coos, hungrily watching you break. “You will always be mine."

A jagged sound escapes you as you twitch in aftershocks and he finally, however torturously slowly, pulls the gun free. You realize just how empty you feel without it now, how Tom made it feel so fucking intimate even though, in reality, it was the furthest from. He didn’t even touch you.

“You’re just weak. For me.” He says, as though he heard your thoughts. Part of you knows he did. He brings the gun up to your lips, urging you to part them. “Clean your mess. This is Mattheo’s gun.”

You grimace but take it into your mouth anyways, tasting the result of your need—the shame that comes along with it, the self disgust—the list goes on. Tom watches you tease your tongue around it, his throat working in a terribly dry swallow as you hollow your cheeks and suck it clean as he pulls it free.

He shudders, and for a moment his control wavers. But then he shakes his head, and exhales.

"I was meant to be alone, I understand that." He whispers, something abhorrently vulnerable, tucking the gun away before working at undoing the ropes around your wrists. “But you...you were never meant to change me. And I need you, to understand that.”

A lump forms in your throat. You taste the tears wanting to well but you force them away and instead, you nod.

“I know.”

He straightens up again and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and almost tender—so different from the way he treated you merely moments ago. It's a goodbye—you can feel it in the way his lips linger, reluctant.

“Good girl.” He steps back. "Don't come back here."

[syluses]

love is a bitch

sylus x female reader

sylus will tolerate your tantrums if you insist on having them- but he’ll have to address them somehow, too.

▻ cw. smut, noncon elements, implied kidnapping, breeding if you squint, sylus is soft but the consent is still very dubious, 18+ characters, dark/yandere content, possessive behavior, stockholm syndrome

▻ notes. no explanation tbh. its around like 6k words i think.. with SEEMINGLY minimum plot but sylus is so whipped for mc. like truly whipped. this dynamic has a very special place in my heart its like canon to me. i wanna make a dragon sylus fic next… maybe another caleb one OR do a siren! raf thing. hope the girlies enjoy this <3

ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 (๑´ `๑)♡

You’re stubborn, tonight.

Between two days spent enduring your mean cold shoulder and the precious vase you threw to the ground, sending it sprawling in a million bits across the floor that Sylus fears will end up lodged in your feet, he’s a little emotionally-charged as well.

Sylus has never been one to bend over, no- his two most reliable henchmen are there for that, and they do it gladly. But there is something about you that makes him stick his neck out time and time again… So, without a word, just a resigning glance thrown your way, he lowers himself to a crouch and sweeps the glass shards into a dustpan.

Love will do that to you, he supposes with the ghost of an obliging grin.

It’s not in his nature to roll belly-up, but he’ll meet you halfway somewhere on his side.

It’s not the first time he bent a knee for you, anyway, and certainly won’t be the last. Still, Sylus holds abundant self-awareness and knows this is more than a bad look for him; fortunately, his weak spots only ever reveal themselves in the privacy of his manor’s walls where you hold it down in his absence.

The twins- Luke and Kieran- they won’t enter your bedroom, not tonight, regardless if there’s a mess or not. Onychinus’s leader has plans for you and no intentions of allowing any interuptions. With a watchful eye trampolining between the fragments underfoot and your rounded shoulders as you curl up to the headboard and tremble, Sylus decides he can handle this little issue fine enough himself.

With a set jaw, he trawls through the glittering pieces until his gaze darts to something particularly shiny.

He lets out a breath.

…So you did throw it out; Sylus wondered what you were fidgeting with behind your back moments before your sudden outburst, but it’s with a pang of startle- and hurt- that he unearths the nitid wedding ring buried beneath layers of geometric shards. Discarded no different than trash would be.

It’s not like he needs physical proof to boast your marriage— even strangers can spare one look at the two of you- the arm forever wrapped around your shoulder or middle, the possessive flair in his eyes paired with a doting, bottomless affection- and make the conclusion that some sort of intimacy runs deep there...

So no, some filed-down gemstone, dazzling as it may be, doesn’t determine your relationship. It certainly makes him feel good, though, to see it wrapped around your finger as a perfect match to his- a tangible token of your bond. It’s a beautiful reminder of you that he absently toys with throughout the evenings to the backdrop of a silent stopwatch, mentally counting down the seconds until he can return home to you.

It’s all the more reason to adorn you in pretty things, anyway. Jewelry and twinkling beads that clang loudly together no matter how quietly your feet fall.

And he likes that, to be fair- not to be superficial, but it’s one of his simpler joys, to pamper you like a princess in every sense of the word.

You don’t need to like it, to want for it; Sylus has always stared at you like you were the epitome of royalty. And royalty only deserves the best, doesn’t it?

He dresses you in fine silks that you slip out of as soon as he’ll allow, trading designer brands you can’t even name out in favor of one of his sweaters or shirts. Stood behind you, he’ll insist on threading dainty, flax chains around your neck, smiling softly in the reflection of the full-body mirror.

You never meet him in the eye, then, too put off by the delight that practically oozes off him as he spoils you rotten to look at him right.

Sometime later that night, his hand- large but always careful- will resume that chain’s place around your neck, and thumb over your pulse affectionately.

You never did find much use, or joy, in any of his glitzy expenditures.

If- If you’re being perfectly honest you’d much rather he buy you a ticket home. Maybe that’s the one wish of yours he’ll never bring life to, much less humor in the first place.

But you’re nothing if not persistent. Oh, sweetie, Sylus has been made abundantly aware of that fact. He takes it like water off his back, though: just another little quirk of yours to catalogue to memory and dote over.

His stubborn, precious girl.

Tonight, frustration reaches its zenith in you and you snap. Grow teeth and snarl in his face.

You don’t want to be angry— ugly— God knows you loathe what’s becoming of you, but your captor doesn’t leave many other options on the table.

You shriek when he tries to coax you towards the plush fur draped over the bed and he watches with a resigned sort of sorrow as you throw things off the coffee table and shout.

You scream your throat hoarse. You taste copper on your tongue as if you’ve been running. Maybe, the truth isn’t all that far off. A man like Sylus is something to run from; all sentient beings with a sense of self preservation, no matter how small, would take off on foot immediately.

There’s not many places you can run to, though. Not when there’s constant surveillance on you- iron-wrought gates and a damned bird that soars watchfully overhead if you so much as step into the courtyard.

Your tantrum lasts all of three minutes before you retreat to the nearest corner- Sylus’s lavish bed- and quietly lick your proverbial wounds.

He’s never hit you before, no, not physically, but he’s the kind of man to leave everything within his radius reeling sooner or later. Doesn’t matter where his loyalties lie. It will happen.

And, you know, he’ll treat you like you’re some exception to that rule- to his streak of cruelty and the chaos that he lets unravel around him- but you’re not. You’re really not and you just desperately wish he could see that—

“Talk to me, sweetie,” a low tone draws you from your reverie.

You don’t let your eyelids flutter open right away; you’re re-experiencing a vivid memory in your head- a sunny afternoon in Linkon with a warm hand woven in yours by the shore- and don’t want it to slip away just yet. It’s a comforting piece of your past you want to hold onto.

As pathetic as that may be, despite Sylus having all but birched your hope for rescue to a bloody pulp, you still look back on better days with bittersweet longing and pray someone will come and save you. If not them- your old buddies in the Hunters Association and your closer friends that Sylus has voiced a particular enmity to- then yourself. You want more than anything to save yourself, but it’s not like he gives much opportunity for that.

This is your home, now. It always was. He’s dogged in his attempts to prove it to you, purring in your ear while he fucks you slow and deep that he’ll take as long as it needs to convince you of that simple fact. It’s indisputable: you’re his.

You’ll… come around to it eventually, Sweetie.

Biting your tongue, you hold off on responding to him.

There was nothing to say, really- you’d already just screamed your throat raw and still it wasn’t enough to make him budge or even at least reconsider this awful arrangement he’d launched you into a number of months ago.

If you open your mouth, you tell yourself in a mix of childish bravery and cooling ire, sloped against the headboard defiantly, it’ll be to bite him. Certainly not talk to him. Especially not in any civil manner. You think he’s lost that right ages ago- the priviledge of your softness.

You hear him heave a faint sigh, but for the moment, he leaves it at that. “Okay, then,” he murmurs with a tinge of understanding that you hate, “You cool off, sweetie. Take slow, deep breaths. Lie down if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

You remain sat upright. One half of it is because you don’t quite feel safe going prone right now with adrenaline still buzzing in your veins, and the other half is for the sole purpose of spiting him.

Sometimes it feels like you can’t. Spite him, you mean. His wounded eyes, which resemble a kicked puppy’s to a shocking degree, are as rare as they are effective. You really shouldn’t harbor any capacity of guilt for the man, but you’re human. Glaringly human. And his forlorn little frowns after you’ve winced under his harmless pets or refuse to face him after he’s fucked you within an inch of your life and wants to curl up to you like some overgrown cat- they tug on a vulnerable part of you.

It’s- It’s not Stockholm Syndrome at all, or even the latent stirrings of it. It’s just— It’s just a basic human trait to feel, and…

You suppose that might be the one veritable thing he hasn’t quite ripped from you. Maybe more so for his benefit than yours.

After Sylus is done sweeping up your mess, he approaches the bed and caresses the blade of your shoulder. The movement is just barely hesitant, like he doesn’t want to send you flying five feet in the air with some violent flinch response. It’s happened before on more than one occasion.

You don’t know whether to count his caution as endearing, oddly sweet, or fucking maddening. Perhaps it’s a fair combination of all of that as well as sickening.

Your consolation that came in the form of a now distant memory peters out into heavy, intermittent throbs of your chest. Sadness thumping a gentle song. The smell of sea salt spraying up from the ocean fully wafts away as he brings a hand up to your forehead, gentle as ever, and guides you to turn to face him.

His own scent- a base amber with notes of vanilla underneath, in two words: warm and rich- replaces that. You draw it in in small, shallow breaths and feel it tingle behind the bridge of your nose.

Sometimes it comes like a precursor to his hands- something that’ll have you bracing for impact in fetal position. Other times, when he’e got your thighs pinned either side of your head and his cock delving in and out of your pussy, hitting so deep in your belly you think nothing will sate your appetite for days, it’s a dizzying smell.

Consuming and concentrated, rubbing off on you like a bad influence as he grabs and gropes and nips.

You hate to admit it (and don’t know how it got to this point) but on occasion, Sylus’s scent is even comforting.

You would never tell him that. In fear of it getting to his head, if nothing else.

His warmth tickles the shell of your ear, his lips peppering a chaste kiss to your shoulder as he settles in beside you. Your frenzied heart, just as it began to slow, begins to thump faster, but you remain otherwise composed. When he moves a hand to lift the blanket over you, fuzzy and stupid-expensive, you make a grunting sound and shove his wrist away.

Stubborn, Sylus thinks, and bold.

But his. His and perfect.

Behind you, his chest rumbles. He lets out a laugh, gentle and light, but you wonder if it’s the remnants of exasperation that’s interwoven in it. He nestles up at your back and curls a possessive hand around your middle, his other brushing some hair off your shoulder.

You’re not quite dumb enough to interfere with it this time. Or, for that matter, the glittering ring he puts on your finger- back to its rightful spot- and reverently slips down to the slim base of your knuckle.

“You’re not cold, kitten?” He mumbles at your ear, taking you in through slow, decadent breaths,”I guess you did work yourself up by a few degrees, huh?” The proximity used to raise the little hairs on the back of your neck, but he has dulled your fight-or-flight response considerably over the past handful of months.

Kudos to him, for that.

He’s not entirely wrong, though. Your cheeks still feel toasty with anger, your fingers twitching and unfurling by your lap as if to test your own mood.

“Are you…” he starts, contemplative, “still frustrated?”

…Are you still frustrated? You don’t know. Maybe just sad.

Everything you want you can’t have. Everything you want- your veritable livelihood- he’s plucked you out of no different than a mother would her errant puppy, by the scruff. With possessive teeth that latch on painlessly and say mine.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, before quickly remedying the part of you that grows anxious at admitting your own vulnerabilities to him- “yes. I’m upset.”

Sylus gives a little sigh.

Long fingers skim the column of your arm. He leaves behind small goosebumps and a warmth that somehow feels cold over your human flesh; a brush that tingles like a static shock.

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, voice becoming oddly heavy. Breathy, rugged. And you wryly suppose the solution he offered is just so helpful, isn’t it?

The palm laced around your middle gradually slips downward, his hooked nose pressing into your jugular like he can smell the hot blood beneath and it’s appetizing, before a feeling of dread overtakes you.

Dread, and another feeling you don’t want to name— a thrill of excitement ghosting down your spine.

When he cups the seat of your panties, you shiver and revolt as if you’ve been burned.

“N-No—“

He’s ready for that, your… hesitance. His other arm, the one that doesn’t end nestled between your bare thighs, keeps you lassoed to him, his breath heavy at your collar. Growing more labored by the second.

He hushes you, using his cheek to stroke against your hair since his hands are otherwise occupied. You don’t give any more fight other than that- the violent flinch- but you remain stiff as a board as he notes your trembling with a genuine, deep frown. Furrowed, sad brows and all as if he actually has the fucking capacity to feel sorry for something—

“It’s okay, kitten,” he breathes out, “Hush.” Four fingers deliver a series of slow, tantalizing rubs to your pussy, marking the beginning of his painless assault as his thumb toys with the waistband of your panties, and you shudder against your will.

You scramble to hold onto his thick forearm, straightening against him as he leisurely works you into a writhing, fiery mess. Your veins warm, but not out of anger- not anymore, at least. Traitorous flames sprout in the pit of your belly, fanning heat across your face— hot-blooded and filled with want over just a few of his touches.

Oh, you hate him.

“Just relax, loosen up. I’ll make you come,” he murmurs against your neck, laving the fleshy space there with amorous kisses.

Man with a mission. Man with a promise. If you know him, then you’ll know he keeps them.

He suckles gently at the sensitive skin before breaking off with a soft pop, a hot tongue lolling out to chase away the redness, rendering you speechless. Speechless and on the brink of forgetting just why exactly you loathe him so much— but a vestige of that repulsion remains, melancholic and weak, and you try one last time to push him away, throwing an ineffective elbow.

He glues his front to your back completely, locking your joints in place, and slips his fingers down your panties. His knuckles peek out from the lacy hem.

Sylus lets out a little groan when you call his name, shivering behind you.

He doesn’t care if you say it like it’s a perjorative or an invocation of some reprehensible, filthy spirit— if he had it his way, it’d sound coated in honey, but he’s learned to take what he can get with you. It still makes his cock throb beneath the white folds of his robe. In any case, it’ll sound real sweet soon enough, ringing out from your lips in pretty, gasping moans as you gouge your nails into his back.

Grudge him all you want, honey. He’ll make you shake and scream, tonight. Squash all the enmity you doggedly hold for him within the span of an hour with worshipful hands and concentrated, ardent thrusts that leave you with little choice but to take it and moan.

When your struggling stops altogether, Sylus takes ahold of your little hand and appreciatively thumbs over your ring finger. “What sort of husband would I be if I left you all hot and bothered, hm? A poor one,” he answers for you.

Gently, he maneuvers you onto your back and insinuates himself between your legs. His eyes are aflame. The look in them steals the last of your shivering breath, your heart doing a perfect backflip in your chest.

Ruby eyes flutter with passion, his pupils so big you can hardly spot the red glint as they dilate unevenly, his lashes dewy. He sucks in oxygen with short, winded intakes, his silvery hair- still slightly damp from his shower- falling over his brow. And to be fair that’s bunched together, too; all the little muscles in his face tight and strained as he lets out a clipped sigh.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers on his perusal. His gaze flits all over the place when he hoists shiny silk up your breast (tonight, a royal-blue negligee) and unwraps a stringy pair of panties from your legs.

“You’ll be good for me tonight, won’t you? Or is there any more… frustration you need to let out?”

The invisible apple of your throat bobs. You retain your silence.

He dryly comments, “I guess I owe you that.”

Sylus unties his robe, eyes glossy and intense.

He does so with an affected patience, knuckles moving ridiculously slow as he feigns autonomy over his own rampant emotions. You eye him with a misty desire as he does so, your hips giving an involuntary shimmy as you prepare for what’s to come.

Sylus grasps for the very last of his self-control like a beggar would the lavish tailcoats of passersby, but it’s all for naught. His fingers are shaking when he finally flips open his robe and shucks it from his broad shoulders. Oozing less confidence and more need than anything, the tips of his ears flushed a bright red that you don’t get to see often and nobody else gets to see at all.

He stoops over, then, laying his naked chest flat to your breasts.

“This,” he says, pinning your hand- the one with a flashy wedding band- onto the silky duvet and intwining your fingers with his. “This belongs, with you. So make a mess. Throw your fits and say those cruel things to try to get back at me, sweetie… But don’t ever take this off your ring finger, do you understand?”

He breaks off from your hickey-dotted neck to get a close look at you, pressing his forehead to yours. And right then you’re almost scared to look at him, an instinct existing deep in your gut saying you’ve just been taken into the maw of a big bad wolf— but his nose brushes with yours and he feels… human. Fleshy, warm. Shockingly vulnerable in the moment.

His hands that hold yours greedily are callous and big, sure- and you’ve seen firsthand the destruction they can raise- but they’re not clawed and malicious as they touch you. No, actually, they tremble with unbridled excitement at the opportunity to make you feel good.

And— And you hate him, y-you do.

Sylus cradles you close and nurses a few indulgent kisses from your lips, eating up every precious gasp you can’t stop from slipping in time.

Reluctantly, you return them all with budding desire.

“Do you understand?” He manages to heave out after a breathless moment. There’s no threat masquerading behind his candied words (no, he’s never been one to hold things over your head, surprisingly) but his timber is firm and meaningful. You have the implicit understanding that you must say yes- or, that’s your best option for the moment.

You look up at him and his eyes are wide, unblinking, not exactly the heavy-lidded picture you were expecting and had just witnessed mere moments prior.

And it’s a million things all in one— reverent and intense, enigmatic in its roots, you think, because you never could wrap your head around just what he saw in you and why, but he’s completely besotted. It brightly reflects in his eyes like chopped moonlight over calm waters- and you never once denied that. If you’re being honest, he made denying that- his very real, and unabashed feelings for you- an impossible task.

“Yes,” you mumble. “I understand.”

He seems contented, at that. Sighing and tempered.

He pants and nudges his brow to yours, one hand unloosening from its knot with yours to make a slow descent. Torturous and controlled like he wants you to shrivel up and die from the grudging need for his touch- for him to pivot deep up inside you and erase all conscious thought from your brain.

Sylus captures your lips in another kiss, more heated this time, raunchy and a bit toothy, as he takes his cock and, without any anticapitory strokes or anything, lines it up with your hole.

“M’ sorry, sweetie. I just don’t think I can stay away tonight. You…” His skull throbs with blunt, scalding want. “You’re worth all your trouble, you know that?”

A ripcurrent of fondness, unbidden but strong, gusts through your chest.

There’s just nothing in this world you can do to ward him off you, is there? No way to spook him?

The epiphany, dulled by a lust broiling between your thighs, is as comforting as it is horrifying. You don’t- You don’t know anything more. You just can’t be sure of what Sylus is to you, how he makes you feel— all his disservices done to you a cruel piece of your reality or not.

Tonight, you’ll blame it all on him.

He nudges apart your folds (growingly wet: an unfortunate discovery of yours that makes his chest puff with pride) with the fat head and begins his entrance. It’s grand but gentle; painstaking, almost, as his pelvis draws closer to yours but only at a snail’s rate.

A lewd squelch sounds out. You suppose you’re not entirely beyond the luxury of shame quite yet, because you toss your head to the side and refuse to meet his piercing gaze, embarrassed.

You… suppose you’re also a bit wetter than you’d thought, or wanted, for that matter.

You wince as he feeds inch after inch into you. Sylus is twitching; maybe you’re just hypersensitive or your fresh bout of anger has you experiencing everything in overabundance, but you can feel his long member writhe inside your gooey walls— every ridge and curve as you struggle to make room. On instinct, you clamp down on him and he hisses like he’s been slapped.

“R-Relax, kitten... Let me in. I’ll be gentle with you, I promise. Are… you scared?” He pants.

You swallow hard. Sylus tracks the movement with alarming precision, cardinal eyes watching your throat bob. Sweat beads there. He licks it up without thought, with half the brain to follow up his question with, “Don’t be. I would never hurt you,” he whispers. And to be perfectly honest, you believe him. In his own weird, roundabout way, he wouldn’t hurt you. Not in any physical regard, at least.

(Although, perhaps bullying his thick cock between your plushy, tooth-marked thighs is the exception to that statement.)

“Y-You’re mad at me,” you caterwaul, but it’s really a question in its own, uncertainty blipping past your wet eyes. “You’ll punish me.”

Something like hurt reshapes the hard lines of arousal in his face, tanned skin unfurling with brief sorrow. He looks sweet and puppyish- all momentary, of course, all his slips of vulnerability compiled into these isolated, intimate moments with you.

He frowns, “I won’t punish you, sweetie.”

“I broke the vase. Threw it, and- and my ring.” You reason in a thin voice, your fingers curling thoughtlessly. He takes them in his own. Kisses all the tips of them.

“So?” He dismisses with a breath, “I can buy a million more, honey. You forget who I am. As for your ring,” he pauses, gaze rapidly flipping across the bridge of your nose, as if trying to discern whether or not you’ll do it again somewhere down the line. Of course, it’s an impossible task to tell the future. Sylus wishes that wasn’t the case, though.

“…You wouldn’t do that again, would you? Throw it away, take it off. You’d cherish it, just as I do my own…” he alludes to the own band on his finger, resplendant and with a price tag you’d prefer not to count the zeroes on.

It glitters in the mellow lamp light when you briefly glance to it.

“I want you to look at it,” he decides after a beat, “and think of me. I want it to… make you happy.”

With that, you blink and he’s withdrawing, straightening his back to loom over you again- resuming that position of dominance without issue. He paints the most traditional idea of authority. Tall and muscled, with stoic eyes that glow with the silent dare to challenge him and hands that can make putty of the most rebellious spirit. He molds you like clay on a potter’s wheel. You reel underneath the unexpectedly soft ministrations of his worn palms.

Funnily enough, there was a time where you were convinced he wanted nothing more than to erase your person and rewrite your identity, but now you’re not so sure… It seems if anything, the only thing he wants to strip you of is your fear. Most notably, of him. He’s so violent but… painless. Sylus has always confused you, in that way.

With men like him, you’ve quietly wondered, maybe it’s just better to close your eyes and let your breathing slow.

“You’re doing so good,” he rewards with his words, “Relax your hips… yes, just like that. Maybe I’ve been away too much, mm? I’m sure the twins have been… more than talkative with you. Bothersome. Fuck,” he shudders.

“…You’re all pent up,” he determines out loud. “But don’t worry. I’ll make it better. I’m only asking that you’ll,” you think he gasps faintly, bringing a hand to touch over your belly, “make some room for me here. Could you do that for me, kitten?”

Without fully understanding the possible implications of his words, caught between the sweltering heat of his body and a confusing, inner blend of desire and fading resistance, you give a nod.

Sylus digs a fang in his bottom lip and forces himself to look away. His too-intense eyes settle on the syrupy juncture of your bodies, where he disappears into you and you, for once, eagerly invite him in.

“Sweet kitten.” His praise is cloying. Genuine, sappy. It sticks like frosting to the roof of your mouth— a feeling you can’t quite squirm away from because it’s lodged inside you. He’s smitten, and you think you hate him. You must. You were only screaming your head off about it moments prior and throwing precious, ornate vases to the floor, confessing your repulsion to the whole entire world (more accurately, Luke and Kieran, overhearing it from somewhere down the hall and the damned bird currently perched in his cage).

His words of encouragement, bitten and breathy, keep you from bucking your hips up and away, but only barely.

Your husband keeps you anchored beneath him with a fervid, loving stare and fingers that constantly remind themselves not to dig too deep into the fat of your hip lest they leave bruises. Save for the petal-like hickeys spiraling the pillar of your neck and your thighs- the ones that made you yelp with pleasure as he left them- Sylus doesn’t want to leave anything behind that exists for the sole purpose of hurting.

Right now, everything does. Your pussy lips mouthing around him and desperately trying to receive him, the prominent vein at the base of his cock throbbing under the tight fit.

It doesn’t matter how many times he’s nailed you against the headboard or taken you folded over the marble kitchen counters as the twins hurriedly scuttled out— you’ll never quite get used to the sheer length of him. All thick and pulsating, the upper half of it flushed and curved under its own weight.

Terrifying, the first time you saw it and he pried apart your legs all attentively and soft, tracking each and every expression that passed your face despite the drugs in you making every tiny muscle go almost entirely lax.

And it was terrifying the second and third time, too.

…It’s terrifying even now, but that sense of startle is buried deep down under gritty layers of hopelessness and bitterness and a disloyal arousal- your core throbbing with want as it nudges aside all rational thinking. It says to let him in. Let him inside your panties and heart but you still dream of homeward during every sleepless night, familiar, Linkon paths surrounded in hazy serenity. You dream of the sun, too, the buttery light that waits just outside of the N109 Zone and its boundless darkness—

Outside of him. Your stalker, your captor. With the recent addition of a big sparkling gem on your finger- your apparent husband.

Sylus is neat, down there; fine white hairs tickle above your clit as he bottoms out with a final groan- seconds before he stoops back over you and recoils his hips.

He fucks you good and slow. Expert thrusts that he pairs with tentative, darting looks from your pussy to your eyes to note every zipping emotion.

He coaxes honeyed moans out from you with relative ease. Admittedly, it feels heavenly where his body meets and parts with yours— your head made so dull, devoid of thought, your limbs weighed like bags of sand as he ruts into you like a man possessed.

He makes a pleasured sound, pulled deep from the barrel of his chest. “I love you.” You believe him. He definitely looks the part; in love. He can hardly speak. “Kitten. Tell me how it feels, tell me how you want it,”

“Good,” you cry breathlessly. “Feels good.” He watches you clamp your eyes shut and groans with dissatisfaction, taking your jaw in his whole hand and pressing his nose to yours. If he has one wish right now, it’s that you’ll understand in indisputable clarity that you make up the very atoms of his world, that in a wasteland of slate grey and white— you hold color. Hold it like a fully saturated sponge. With every piston of his hips, he drinks his fill from you.

Bitterly, you think with withering rationale, he drains.

“Then open your eyes. Look at me,” he demands. So close he’s near suffocating- every fibre of your being consumed by five letters and an adoration so heady it feels treacly. It emits from him like radiation, poisonous and insidious.

Sylus puffs out humid, minty breaths, and you take them in, recycling it between each other. Your lungs feel like a hearth. He’s gasping like he’s just concluded a several mile long run, perspiring at his temple.

Belatedly, you flutter open your eyes.

He’s handsome. He’s wolfishly handsome and the way he looks at you is both precious and earth-shattering all at once, crushing you under the sheer weight of it like a flimsy object placed under a hydraulic press: you stood no chance. Not against someone like him.

Obedient, you stare at him and whimper, half-tempted to cup his V-shaped jaw and indulge in the feeling.

Sylus moans and rewards you with a hot tongue pressed flatly to your neck. You slam your head as deep as it can go in the duvet. Your eyes fall back into your skull and you hold him tight- tighter than tight- squeezing his thick forearms like they’re fruit to juice. He doesn’t seem to mind.

Your back makes a crescent-moon. He relishes in the way you cling onto him for dear life, branding him with the tips of your fingers as he imparts mind-numbing pleasure. Euphoria thrums in your veins. It’s hard to breathe, your cheeks bloating before you dazedly remind yourself to breathe.

Your inner voice resembles Sylus’s to an unexpected degree.

“Breathe,” he really says, rasping. “Breathe, kitten.”

Your slick cunt winks around him with satisfaction, a gusty breath pouring down your throat.

Pointed teeth tickle your jugular. For a split second, you experience the very real, but perhaps needless fear that he’ll sink down and tear tendon from bone. That he’ll pull away with red spittle and a predatory smile and say, I’ve won. You’ve given in, sweetie.

It’s all for naught, however; instead, he washes you with sloppy, suckling kisses and you mewl unabashed for each and every one.

Molten pleasure sends a violent jolt through you, his saliva marking you and right then you feel no different than a bone to a dog.

Sylus wonders vaguely if you’ll ever come to the realization that while yes, he is a dog, you are his master— you give him name and purpose and occasional tugs on his leash that tell him where to go and what to do. He’ll trail you endlessly. Follow you to hell even if he smells the char clear ahead.

And you just don’t get that, do you? It’s as humorous as it is exasperating.

“Look me in the eyes, sweetie. Tell me how you feel. I want to know how- far you think I reach.” He shudders.

You whimper, “Far. S-So far, Sylus.”

A visible shiver racks his broad shoulders at the sound. His palm, callous and large, cups your chin tenderly and his damp lips shift against yours with every dull clap of his pelvis to yours. His free hand leaves its perch at your waist in favor of your breast, hovering over the valley of them with splayed fingers.

“And what about here?” He croaks, “Am I reaching this spot here?”

Your neck is straining as you plow it deeper into his fancy, expensive mattress. There’s a small uncertainty in you that raises the silent question of whether or not you’re trying to escape the man looming over you or you’re just overstimulated from his handling. Either way, it goes unanswered, put on the back burner to make room for a rattling pleasure.

Comprehension slips away. It’s taking you several seconds to grasp onto what Sylus is asking of you.

You take ahold of a pillow beside you and grab it so hard you think feathers might erupt from your fingertips. You’re getting close, you can feel it; a foamy wave in the distance growing taller and taller as it nears the shore. He’s not fairing any better, the threads of his composure splitting like dead ends.

Your heart, you finally realize in a blink. Is he reaching your heart? And it’s almost delicate, the response your chest has to it, your lungs drawing in a short breath and keeping it there for a long moment as if you need the extra time to process that morsel of information. That unexpected smidgen of fondness that bowls through you and scrunches your brow as you flit between his eyes. Cherry red and agog, wholly invested in your answer.

Before you can provide a real one— the wave crashes.

Bigger than you’d imagined, more powerful. Tsunami-like in nature: it casts its shadow over you in its entirety and steals the breath from your lungs as it curls and flattens. It rolls over you and sprawls to the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, your whole body convulsing as you’re swept up in its waters.

“Y-Yes,” you gasp without consciousness, fucked into perfect dumbness. “I love you, Sylus- I love you I love you I love you—“

Sylus’s hips stutter and fail.

“Fuck, sweetie!” He growls, “Do you mean it, do you—?” He delivers one last onerous ram into your twitching hole before letting out a roar and stilling completely. Rope after rope of hot cum glutting into you, your spasming walls feeling volcanic as he unloads his fat balls inside them.

You tremble and lose your tether to reality, for one moment. Cut off completely and barred from it.

Eventually, he lets out a deep, sated sigh and collapses over you. Drawing your boneless body to his front, tucking you safely under his muscled wing.

You numbly slant yourself against him and press your cheek to the damp, hard planes of his chest. His heart is hammering wildly beneath your ear and you don’t know whether to feel flattered, startled, or a fair mix of both. Perhaps you’re beyond the point of caring- although, sometimes it’s hard to get over the knowledge that Sylus indeed has a functioning heart capable of sorrow and anger and joy.

It’s… confusing, to say the least.

A long while passes afterward.

In the dewy afterglow, he plants a lingering kiss to the crown of your head and uses his center fingers to move away the hair pasted to your forehead. You can tell he’s holding back on something, just don’t know quite what.

Then, he murmurs, with a vulnerability that will never not look stupefying on him— cocksure, devilishly-handsome face warping into the gentle portrait of doubt—

“Did you?” He blinks, slow as he drifts along your sleepy face and watches your eyes hazily lift to meet his. “Mean what you said? Just now, when you came... Did you mean it, kitten?” He whispers softly.

Your mouth opens and wavers.

A plethora of contradictory feelings make quick work of the last of your common sense: loathing, trading itself out for hesitant affection; deepseated fear ducking out the way for the inexplicable want to unfurl your tight limbs against him and allow yourself just to be held... By him, of all people.

Your captor, who utterly uprooted you from your home and cut off every string connecting you to the people you considered most dear. Your tormentor and kidnapper and husband, whether you liked it or not, the relation only recently scrawled in paper in sloping, flowery letters. You signed yourself to him. (Albeit, you had very little say in the whole ordeal.)

You shut your eyes, hard. Your jaw follows.

You don’t give him an answer. Maybe you don’t truly know it anymore, not for certain. What this man has done to you is all too confusing and he’s made you all too tired, tonight. Nothing can keep its foothold for long in your fogged brain.

With a rapid thump of his heart, devastation falling headlong into the pit of his belly, Sylus thinks your silence, that in itself, is your answer.

…Nonetheless. He’s nothing if not persistent. And you’re warming up to him, he can tell— those fuzzy, latent feelings part of your willing acknowledgement or not.

So he arms you impossibly closer and nuzzles his hooked nose into your hair.

You think it’s a wry little smile that prods your temple. “You’re still playing the long game, hm, kitten? …It’s alright,” he breathes. You note the microscopic hitch in his otherwise even words with an unwanted pang of guilt.

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Epilogue

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and his lover :) That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, finally some fluff lol A/N: I missed writing for Error!! God, deliver me from the shackles of schoolwork and capitalism pls (I wanted this, I wanted this....) Enjoy! <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“When I look at you, I can't believe it's true You're all I ever dreamed of, and you love me (And you love me) And you love me.”

The two of you are holding hands as you make your way to the new café that just opened on 6th Avenue, near Darlington Square, your fingers woven into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You’ve heard great things about the place, and not just the usual noise from clickbait-y blogs desperate for engagement, but from people who actually know what they’re talking about. The hipster types—the new-age purist fucks who claim they can taste the "notes of apricot and the warmth of an abuela’s love" in a single origin Santuário Sul pour-over, brewed with beans ethically scoured from the mystical depths of Carmo de Minas or whatever.

You think they’re full of shit. But for all their unbearable pretentiousness, they’ve never steered you wrong. So.

It still feels… unreal sometimes. Sylus, here, beside you. Present, in a way he never could have been before. In a way you two could only think of as a passing pipedream, not so long ago.

He’s here. Solid, tangible. And so, so warm. 

His thumb traces soft circles against your knuckles, an absentminded caress that sends a shiver up your spine. He does that a lot—little touches here and there, like he’s committing the texture of your skin to memory. Like there’s still a part of him that can’t quite believe that you two exist in the same space now. In the same plane of existence. 

And maybe you’re just as bad; sneaking glances at him whenever you could, half-expecting him to flicker out like a glitch in the system. Like some cruel error will right itself and erase him from this reality at any given moment, when you least expect it.

He never does. 

He’s still with you. Always with you. 

And day by day, the knot in your chest loosens; not all at once, but in slow, steady increments. Like frost clinging to the soles of your boots, melting under the first touch of spring. Day by day, the small voice in your head—the one that whispers warnings of borrowed time, of happiness slipping through your fingers—slows to a mum. 

Not gone, not yet, but it's quieter. Fainter now. Sounding more and more like the lingering echoes of a bad dream.

(You hope that one day, when you look into Sylus’ fathomless grey eyes, the reflection staring back at you will be filled with certainty. Of this. Of him. Of what you have. Nothing else.)

And whenever reality hits you – and what a novel thing it is, that this is what you now consider reality – it steals the very breath from your lungs. 

It’s an exhilarating kind of happiness; the way it makes you feel as if your heart's too big for your ribs, too much for your mortal body to contain. It spills over, bright and absurd—almost to a ludicrous degree, honestly. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. The utter magnitude of your bliss. 

And he’s just as lost in this as you are—though you suspect he’s just a tad better at making it less obvious.

He never strays too far away from you. He stays close to your orbit, always within arm’s reach; his fingers brushing against yours when they can, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to let go. Your personal shadow.

It’s more than just physical proximity. There’s a gravity to him now, almost on a molecular level, like he’s in the very air you breathe. Inescapable, even if you tried.

(Not that you’d ever want to.)

Sometimes you think you’re not even consciously doing it, but when he moves, you move with him. You lean into him as if by instinct, finding the curve of his body and the spaces in between as though it was made just for you. It’s a rhythm that feels both thrilling and comforting, the kind of closeness that makes your heart thump a little faster; your cheeks a little redder. 

“Sweetie.”

Sylus’ voice breaks through your thoughts. It settles over the buzzing noise in your mind, soothing as ever. As it always has.

Has it really been four months?

You still find yourself mesmerised by the way he’s easily integrated himself into your world. His world now, too. All six-foot-five (!) of him; impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and so naturally magnetic. 

It’s in the way he carries himself—not unlike the way he’s always done, back when he was no more but your impossible, sentient character. That presence is still there, the one you always thought was larger than life. But it's slightly more subdued now, toned down into something less intimidating. Something less… exorbitant. 

Something just for you.

And then there’s also the fact that he’s stupidly, ridiculously handsome.

It’s unfair, really. As if it weren’t already enough of a miracle that he’s here, real, flesh and blood, he had to step into this world looking just as breathtaking as his video game counterpart. And hey, maybe you’re a little biased, but you think the changes that came with his mortality only made him all the more perfect in your eyes.

Sure, you miss the silver hair from time to time. And occasionally, your brain still expects the sharp contrast of crimson when his gaze cuts to yours—only to be met with a monochromatic grey, deep and electrifying as a thundercloud in mid-July.

But then there’s everything else. The way his chest rises and falls under your palm, the steady heartbeat that lulls you to sleep at night. The way his hair sticks up in all the wrong places in the mornings, no physics engine rendering it down to a smooth perfection. The scratch of stubble when he steals kisses from you throughout the day, because body hair is a thing now (thank god). 

The off-key singing when he’s taking a shower—

Oh. Nevermind. 

The little imperfections that weren’t designed to be attractive but somehow make him even more so.

He isn’t all clean-cut lines anymore, no longer a carefully-crafted fantasy meant to appeal to an audience. There’s a rawness to him now, something that’s inexplicably human. He’s just some… guy. 

Granted, an extremely hot guy, but still. 

Just himself. Just Sylus.

And maybe… maybe, that’s what makes this version of him the most beautiful of all.

Because he’s yours. Completely and wholly yours.

“Sweetheart, we’re here.”

There’s laughter in his voice. You blink up at him, only to find that look in his eyes—amused and endearingly fond. You realize, a beat too late, that you’ve been spacing out for the last couple of minutes. 

Sylus tips his chin toward the double doors a few metres away, and he feels the way you startle slightly. 

You give him a sheepish smile. He merely chuckles, squeezing your hand in response. 

He’s used to this, revels in this. The way your mind drifts so freely when your hand is in his. It’s not unlike the way you used to depend on him, back when his existence was confined to a screen. 

But now, in this corporeal form, he can be more than a voice in your ear—do more than just watch from the sidelines. 

He can pull you back when you get too close to the curb, for one. Tuck you into his side when the cold bites too sharply at your skin. He can prevent you from walking straight into oncoming traffic whenever you get too lost in your own head… because of course you would. Carefree thing that you are.

He likes seeing you at ease; so completely trusting of the man who, in the grand scheme of things, has only truly been here for a fraction of a year.

As if he’s always belonged by your side.

Oh, how he adores you.

He’d take care of you forever, if you let him. His little dove.

You two enter the café, and immediately, your eyes are drawn to the eclectic décor of the place. It’s almost like you’ve entered a fever dream—or what you can only describe as a frankensteined aquarium. 

Circular faux windows line the stone-clad walls, imitating a sort of subterranean oceanic sanctum, drowning the space with an atmospheric blue. There are hanging lamps reminiscent of jellyfish floating at sea, casting vivid hues of bioluminescent purples and pinks across the room; the mix of colours gives off the illusion of something sunken, almost psychedelic. An abundance of plants of varying sizes can also be seen at every corner, from the creeping ivies to the potted lilies, as if they’ve simply sprouted into existence.  

The main kicker, though, is that – aside from the predominantly nautical motif – the owner seems to have a strange fondness for… the cabaret? 

Framed photographs of harlequin girls wink from gilded edges, and there’s a signage in cabochon lettering that looks like it belongs outside a burlesque theater rather than in here. It spells out a cryptic phrase in a swirling font, in a language you don’t recognize.

You’re still trying to process the visuals of it all when you register the familiar notes of Paradise Circus filtering in through the speakers.

…They’re committed, you’ll give them that. 

"Woah," you can’t help but say, momentarily disoriented by the overwhelming interior of the unassuming—or at least, from the outside—café. "This is… definitely something."

Sylus glances around, his lips curling into a wry smile. "Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting a full immersion," he remarks dryly. "I was wondering what all the fuss was about. Glad to see they didn’t oversell it."

You snort. “I hope good coffee is part of the experience.”

You both amble toward the counter, third in line behind a girl with a bob cut who’s swaying to the music in a pair of silver bell-bottoms, and a shorter fellow wearing a flatcap and trench coat like he’s on the damned set of Peaky Blinders.

Clearing your throat, you quickly glance up at Sylus—just to see him watching you with a knowing look, an eyebrow arched.

You roll your eyes, pressing your lips to suppress a smile. Judgemental little shit. 

"It’s possible we missed a dress code somewhere," he says drolly. 

“Shh,” you hiss at him, trying to keep your voice low—or as low as you can manage—trying your hardest not to laugh. “You’re wearing leather pants. You don’t exactly have the fashion high ground here.” 

Sylus pinches your side in retaliation, and you swat his hand away. 

Tommy Shelb—rather, the cap wearing twenty-year-old-something dude—gives the two of you the stink eye, clearly unimpressed by your not-so-quiet banter. You can’t help but think that maybe he’s the type to take himself a little too seriously.

After a few minutes, you two are next in line.

You’re looking up at the hanging menu—an aged wooden board with elegant yet slightly smudged calligraphy, suspended by fibre twine that gives it a rustic feel without making it look too tacky. Your eyes skim past the more familiar offerings before landing on something called The Drowned Saint. 

It’s intriguing. You’re intrigued. 

Why not?

“Ready to order?” an easygoing voice asks, prompting you to tear your gaze away from the menu.

The barista in front of you is tall, with large, square glasses that sit slightly crooked on his nose, like they’ve been knocked askew one too many times. It gives him a friendly, bookish vibe, the kind of charm that might fool you into a sense of security… if not for the sly look in his eyes. 

Something that spells mischief. 

“Oh, hi—yeah, can I get The Drowned Saint? Just, uh, a regular.” You say, glancing down at the silver name tag pinned to his shirt.

… Red. Does everybody in this establishment need to have a certain degree of quirky to them...?

“–-and a strawberry muffin, too.” 

“And for you?” The dark-haired man seems to size Sylus up, his gaze sharpening with something you can’t put a name to. “Sir?”

There’s a pause. It makes you peek up at Sylus, and you’re surprised to see the same look of quiet consideration on his face.

You shift your weight awkwardly, glancing between the two men. Um.

Finally, Sylus lists his order in a measured tone. Red hums noncommittally, grabbing a paperboard cup from the stack behind the counter.

"Alrighty, and can I get a name for that?”

“... Silas.”

A snort; followed by a barely-restrained cough. 

Your brows lift. Okay. What’s this guy’s damage?

“Riiight, so do you spell that with an ‘I’?” There’s a deliberate smirk playing on Red’s lips. “Or maybe a ‘Y’? Sorry, still getting the hang of–” he makes a vague gesture with his fingers, “all this.” 

You squint, getting a little annoyed by the whole ‘cool guy’ act. Fucking hipsters, man. “Look, it’s not that complicated. It’s S-I-L–”

You feel the light press of Sylus’ palm at the small of your back—a silent reassurance while he cuts in, unperturbed. “It’s alright, sweetie,” he murmurs by your ear. 

Then, without looking away from the irritating barista, he languidly pulls out his wallet. There’s something almost amused in the way his brow lifts, the barest flicker of challenge. “Write it however you want.”

Red, looking unruffled for the most part, is already jotting something down on the cup. There’s no visible reaction; just that same ever-present ghost of a smile, which you’re starting to find… kind of weird, to be honest.   

After paying, both of you move to the side, settling into the wait. You narrow your eyes at the flamboyant man who's busy humming something upbeat under his breath as he moves effortlessly behind the counter. Steam rises in the air while he works the espresso machine like he’s done it a thousand times before. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if he started twirling a milk frothing pitcher mid-pour, like a performer in some kind of latte circus act. He seems like the type.

Finally, Red pings a tiny brass bell by the pick-up area, the tinkling chime almost mocking. “Order up,” he calls out, flashing the two of you a toothy grin. “Enjoy, lovebirds.”

Sylus scoffs, unimpressed. He doesn’t respond—just picks up the tray in one smooth motion, nudging you toward an empty table near the centre of the room, right below a floating indigo anemone. 

He pulls out a chair, and you drop into it with a huff. “The fuck was that guy’s deal?”

He takes his seat across from you, unbothered. To your surprise, instead of the ire you expected to be written on his face, he looks more fascinated than anything. 

He studies you, eyes flickering with something you can’t put your finger on. 

“Does he remind you of anyone?”

You frown. The question throws you. “Huh?” Your brows knit together, head cocking sideways in confusion. “Wait—you know him?”

He gives you an indulgent smile, but doesn’t say anything. He picks up his cup, gaze dropping briefly as he turns it in his hand.

Do you know him?

Sylus watches you, patient, the faintest curl of his mouth betraying nothing as you mull it over. It’s as if he’s waiting, trusting you’ll make the connection yourself without his help. But how would you know the owner of a newly-opened café—if he even is the owner? (He sure carries himself like he owns the place.)

You wrack your brain, trying to pin him down. Where else would you know a roughly six-foot-tall guy with dark, wavy hair and shifty-looking eyes the color of a dead aubergine? 

He’s certainly… a character. And he doesn’t pass off as local—maybe foreign, or at least mixed—so should be easily recognizable, right? 

Yet, for some damning reason, nothing’s clicking. 

It’s in the way he acts too, you think. The easy arrogance, the look of mirth lingering in his expression, as if he’s in on some inside joke you’re not privy to. It’s nagging at you, like an itch in the back of your brain. You’ve seen him before, right? 

You’re pretty sure you have… but for the life of you, you can’t figure out where.

“I mean, like, he does look kind of familia—” Wait.

Oceanic décor. Dark irises that glint into a near-violet hue under the dim, overhead lights. 

Red. 

Reddie.

The realisation hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Wha—no.” You spin your head around so fast it almost gives you whiplash. 

And as if he’s already expecting it, Rafayel meets your wide eyes. 

He gives you a wink. 

Holy fucking shit. 

“So he found a way out, as well,” Sylus muses, his large hand comically dwarfing the coffee that he’s back to examining. When he meets your stunned gaze, he casually flips the cup around, revealing the name scribbled on the sleeve.

‘Sylus’ 

And just right below: ‘still got here first lol ;)’

You let out a sharp exhale, the dots starting to connect in your head. “Did you know?” Your voice pitching higher than you intended, brows scrunched up as you look at the calm man in front of you—the nonchalance to your overreaction. “Is that why you wanted to come here?”

He picks up your strawberry muffin, tapping the excess crumbs off the edge of the plate. “I had my suspicions,” he admits, cupping a hand beneath the pastry, angling the muffin closer to your face. “Ahh, baby.” 

With no small amount of frustration, you take a bite, your eyebrows still furrowed as you chew. The flavors don’t even register on your tongue as you try to wrap your head around this… unexpected development. 

Of course, that’s putting it lightly—inside you’re freaking out. What does this mean? When did this happen? Two of them now?

Are you losing it? Again?? 

It’s too much to process in one go. You’ve just come to terms with your very own freak of nature, thank you very much. 

Sylus tuts gently, dabbing a napkin at the corner of your lips. "No need to stress over it, my love," he rubs his thumb on your lower lip to draw your focus back to him. The corners of his mouth curl into a small smirk when he sees you nibble on it absentmindedly. "Careful now."

Suddenly, your ears pick up a voice calling out, “Raf!” from behind, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see someone step out from the small kitchenette. 

They’re wearing a navy blue apron over a glittery top, carrying a square pan of what looks to be a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls. 

On the taller side, standing only a couple of inches shorter than Rafayel, sporting a silver nose ring. Their hair is in a split-dye, parted down the middle, and styled into intricately braided space buns—likely a labor of love from the man himself. 

“Ah, that must be his partner,” Sylus notes idly.  

Rafayel reaches for the tray with all the confidence of someone who has absolutely no plan beyond offloading the weight from their lover’s hands. His partner, quicker and clearly wiser, snatches it away at the last second with a knowing look. "Cutie, I was about to get that," he whines in protest, lips forming a pout.

"And yet here I am, actually getting it," they reply dryly, maneuvering the steaming buns out of his reach.

Undeterred, he makes another attempt; only for them to sidestep, holding the tray higher like a seasoned veteran at dealing with his antics. 

Rafayel huffs but refuses to back down, making for another grab. This time, faster. 

He gets his fingers around the edge of the baking tray—only to hiss in pain and immediately jerk back. "Just let me– ow, fuck, hot!" 

His partner gives him a long, unimpressed stare. "You don’t say."

"You could’ve warned me," he accuses, shaking out his hand with all the theatrics of a man in peril. 

"I did. With common sense," they deadpan, but you detect a hint of laughter beneath the monotone.  

That earns a full-blown scowl, but it’s betrayed by the way his eyes soften—something unmistakably fond in the way he watches them, as if their amusement alone makes the now-forgotten burn worth it. 

You don’t miss the subtle shift in his posture; the way his shoulders loosens, the telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth like he’s biting back the urge to grin.

After a few more playful back-and-forths (one of which involves Rafayel attempting a truly ridiculous reach-around that gets his wrist lightly smacked in retaliation), they finally place the cinnamon rolls into the glass display, arranging them alongside the rest of the baked goods.

It’s the ease between them that sticks with you. The way he casually fixes the strap of their apron, how they don’t even flinch when he brushes a stray crumb from their cheek. 

It’s an old, familiar rhythm—one that speaks of something long-established. The kind of comfort built over time. Like it's already habit. 

It makes you smile. 

(In your periphery, you catch Sylus smiling, too.) 

You exhale a long sigh, sinking back into your chair, only now noticing the weight you’d been carrying—the one you hadn’t even realized was there—finally lifting off your chest.

Questions swirl in your mind, most of them aimed at the busy couple manning the counter. The hows and whens. The adjustment period. The hardships. 

And, honestly? Just the need to have someone to freak out with and scream say, Can you actually believe this? 

… But you suppose it can wait. There will be time for questions, for stories, for untangling the mysteries of it all.

For now, you’re just going to enjoy a normal weekend afternoon with your very normal boyfriend.

After all, they’re not going anywhere. Nor will the two of you.

- -

An errant thought pops into your head.

Before you can stop it, your mouth blurts out: “You think Xavier’s ever gonna come out of the game, too?”

A beat.

Sylus freezes for a split-second before his gaze locks onto you, wry and amused—like he’s debating whether he heard you right. 

You get the bad, bad feeling that you’ve made a mistake somewhere.

He lets out a low, throaty chuckle. “Xavier, huh?” he muses, almost patronizingly, eyes alight with an intensity that makes you squirm in your seat.

The nervous little action doesn’t escape his notice.

“Look at the time, kitten.” His voice drops an octave, deceptively calm and even, but there’s an undercurrent to it that has you squeezing your thighs together. “I think we’ve stayed here long enough. Don’t you?”

Uh-oh.

End A/N: Ok, so I’m a big, fat liar who lied about not including anything about the silly lil fishman ≽^-⩊¬^≼ I’m anal about spoilers if you haven’t noticed. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited

[loveemagicpeace]

5th house - creative, joy, vibes, what do you like to do

5th house in Aries

your creativity and joy are fueled by passion, excitement, and spontaneity. You love doing things that make you feel alive—things that have an element of risk, thrill, or adventure. Your artistic expression is likely bold, raw, and unapologetic. You thrive on physical activities that feel like play—dancing, acting, or even something competitive like sports or martial arts. Spontaneous dates, last-minute trips, or doing something bold in love brings you joy. You like passionate, fast-burning, and exciting experiences in love—there needs to be heat. You’re the person who throws ideas out and gets people moving.

5th house Taurus

You enjoy artistic pursuits that engage the senses—things that feel good, look good, and have lasting value. You likely have a natural talent for art, music, fashion, or anything that involves aesthetics and craftsmanship. You love working with tangible materials—painting, sculpting, designing, singing, or even cooking could be creative outlets for you. You enjoy slow, indulgent hobbies—reading a great book, painting in the sunlight, or cooking a delicious meal. In love, you crave deep, sensual, and loyal connections. Poetry, journaling, or any form of self-reflection through art is a natural outlet for you. You enjoy romantic moments that are slow and intimate—candlelit dinners, cuddling, meaningful conversations. Physical touch is very important—you love skin-to-skin closeness, affection, and comfort in relationships. You're the type to curate a perfect aesthetic—whether it’s your outfit, your home, or the vibe of a gathering. Warm, sensual, and artistic—you bring a grounded and magnetic presence wherever you go.

5th house in Gemini

You’re naturally gifted at writing, speaking, and storytelling—poetry, short stories, journalism, or even social media content might come easily to you. Anything that involves words, ideas, or movement excites you—singing, acting, podcasting, or even stand-up comedy could be fun creative outlets. Hobbies that involve quick thinking and adaptability (like improv, trivia games, or debate) bring you joy. You’re attracted to witty, mentally stimulating partners—you need someone who can keep up with your conversation and curiosity. You’re great at entertaining people with your stories, humor, and observations.

5th house in Cancer

Your joy comes from feeling emotionally safe, nurturing others, and creating things that have deep emotional resonance. You might love nostalgic or sentimental art forms, like scrapbooking, photography, or storytelling.Your creative expression is cyclical—you create based on how you feel in the moment.Poetry, journaling, or any form of self-reflection through art is a natural outlet for you. Spending time near water (the ocean, lakes, or even a warm bath) might be particularly soothing and inspiring for you. Being around animals, children, or anything that brings out your nurturing side gives you joy. You seek deep emotional connections in romance—you don’t do casual flings unless there’s a strong emotional bond. You might be the "mother" of your friend group, making sure everyone feels included and cared for.

5th house in Leo

You naturally shine in anything artistic, and you love to express yourself in bold, dramatic, and attention-grabbing ways. You have a strong sense of personal style and might love fashion, makeup, or anything that lets you express your personality visually.You likely enjoy entertaining others, whether it’s through storytelling, humor, or just being the life of the party.Hobbies that involve performance, leadership, or creative control excite you the most.You love grand, passionate, and theatrical romance—you want love that feels like a movie. You’re drawn to partners who adore and admire you—you want to be treated like royalty.Magnetic, playful, and full of energy—people are naturally drawn to your light.

5th house in Virgo

You take a methodical and skillful approach to creativity, enjoying activities that allow you to perfect your craft. You may enjoy writing, editing, design, or any art form that involves structure and precision. Hobbies like pottery, knitting, woodworking, or technical arts could be appealing because they require patience and skill. You enjoy healthy, productive activities, like yoga, journaling, meal prepping, or DIY projects.You’re attracted to people who are reliable, intelligent, and detail-oriented.You might enjoy simple, cozy, and thoughtful dates, like cooking together, taking a walk, or sharing meaningful conversations. You don’t seek the spotlight, but your attention to detail and dedication make you stand out. You bring a calm, thoughtful, and skilled energy to any creative environment.

5th house in Libra

You have a natural flair for art, design, and all things that bring people together, whether in relationships or in creative collaborations.You’re drawn to art forms that emphasize balance and symmetry—painting, sculpture, photography, or even interior design might capture your imagination. You might also be drawn to performance arts, where the interplay of light, movement, and color creates a visually harmonious experience. Hobbies that engage your sense of style and design—like fashion, decorating, or even culinary arts—can be very satisfying. In romance, you appreciate mutual respect, charm, and an effortless sense of style. Flirting for you is an art form—graceful, playful, and refined, with an emphasis on genuine connection and shared interests.Creating a harmonious and aesthetically pleasing environment for dates or intimate moments is important. Your presence is charming and diplomatic, making you a natural at social gatherings and creative collaborations.

5th house in Scorpio

You don’t just create for fun—you create to express deep emotions, uncover hidden truths, and evolve. Your creativity is deep, emotional, and transformative—you don’t do lighthearted or surface-level art. Art forms like writing, poetry, film, music, or painting can be a cathartic way to express what words alone cannot. You have a magnetic and hypnotic artistic style, often leaving a lasting impact on others.Transformation is key—you may love alchemy, shadow work, astrology, or even extreme sports that push you beyond your limits. Love for you is intense, passionate, and all-or-nothing—you crave deep emotional and physical connections. You might experience powerful, fated love affairs that change you at your core. You don’t settle for superficial fun—you seek meaning, transformation, and raw self-expression.

5th house in Sagittarius

You approach life with passion, enthusiasm, and a thirst for knowledge, always seeking new experiences that expand your mind and soul. Your artistic style is expansive, bold, and adventurous—you love experimenting with different forms of expression. You might love writing, filmmaking, or even comedy because they allow you to share wisdom in an engaging and fun way. You find joy in travel, exploration, and expanding your horizons—whether physically or mentally. You may enjoy dancing, music, or anything that makes you feel free and uninhibited. Love for you is an adventure—you need excitement, freedom, and intellectual stimulation. You enjoy relationships that broaden your perspective on life, and you may even have a thing for long-distance romances or people from different cultures. You bring an exciting, energetic, and optimistic presence wherever you go. Your natural storytelling ability makes you a magnetic speaker, writer, or performer.

5th house in Capricorn

You take your creative projects and hobbies seriously, often striving for mastery and recognition in what you do. You may be drawn to classic, timeless art forms like architecture, sculpture, classical music, or writing. You enjoy hobbies that involve skill-building, strategy, and discipline—such as chess, calligraphy, photography, or business-related activities. Physical activities like yoga, weightlifting, or hiking may appeal to you, as they allow for gradual improvement and mastery. You are reserved at first, but once you commit, you are deeply loyal and dependable. You don’t rush into romance, preferring to build trust over time. You see relationships as an investment and don’t waste time on flings or superficial connections. You bring a calm, wise, and authoritative presence to creative environments. You prefer quality over chaos—your fun is more about achievement and excellence than reckless spontaneity.

5th house in Aquarius

You don’t follow the crowd—you create your own rules when it comes to fun, art, and romance. Your artistic style is unique, experimental, and ahead of its time—you don’t like to create the same thing as everyone else. You may be drawn to technology-driven or futuristic art forms, like digital art, film, music production, or experimental fashion. You might enjoy abstract, surreal, or avant-garde art, as well as sci-fi, astrology, or anything futuristic. Hobbies like coding, astrology, gaming, photography, filmmaking, or anything tech-related may appeal to you. You love group activities, festivals, and social gatherings, especially ones that feel alternative or different. Love for you is unconventional and exciting—you’re not into overly traditional or restrictive relationships. You might be drawn to unique, rebellious, or intellectual partners who challenge your mind. You may be open to non-traditional relationship dynamics, long-distance connections, or partners from different cultural backgrounds.

5th house in Pisces

You are highly intuitive and drawn to creative outlets that allow you to escape into other realms—whether that’s through art, music, fantasy, or romantic connections. Your artistic style is dreamy, mystical, and imaginative—you’re drawn to art forms that allow you to express deep emotions and tap into the subconscious. You might be drawn to painting, poetry, music, dance, or other fluid, expressive arts that allow you to channel your feelings and connect with others on a soul level. You may feel compelled to create works that touch on spirituality, fantasy, or escapism, or that invoke deep empathy and compassion. You may love dreaming, daydreaming, and creating alternate worlds in your mind. Hobbies like meditation, astrology, photography, or creative writing may appeal to you, as they help you connect with your inner world. In love, you crave deep emotional and spiritual connections—you’re not interested in superficial relationships. You might be drawn to idealized or romantic fantasies in love, sometimes putting partners on a pedestal or falling for someone based on a dream rather than reality.

-Rebekah☀️🍓🌙

[bitchlessdino]

Killer Courtship (m)

Pairing: divorce lawyer!jihoon x ex fiance!fem!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut Word count: 25.9k rating: R tags: Ft. Seungkwan, brother in law!seungkwan, mentions of crime/murder, mentions of blood, murder suspect!reader, murder suspect!reader, mentions of controlling parents, heiress!reader, divorce lawyer!jihoon, college au, domestic au, unwanted touches, unprotected sex, oral sex Summary: It you were lucky enough in love, you'd end the doomed engagement before it stirs up in inevitable divorce. If you were unlucky, however, you'd end up going to your divorce attorney ex for a different marriage you're trying to get out of. Bonus points if you're a murder suspect. author note: thank you @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading i always love and appreciate your help. part of DON'T HATE, LITIGATE Collabe hosted by @/Haologram. everyone else enjoy and sorry for the drought 🥲

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys @idubiluranghae

The happiest you’ve ever been…

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be Mrs. Lee Jihoon.”

Jihoon chuckles at your whimsy before shielding your eyes with his palm, drawing the heat away from the sun. “How long are you gonna look at that thing?”

You let your simple band bestowed on your ring finger gleam in the sunlight, turning your hand over and back with no rest. “Oh, this is gonna be my personality for… the end time.”

“For the end of time?”

“For the end of time.”

He conjures an impressed expression, gently tracing over the curve of your jaw. “That’s a very long time.”

You place your hand over his, beaming up at your now fiancé. “And yet it’s still not enough. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

He shares the same sentiment, but still he asks, “Why?”

Your hand reaches out to touch his face, feeling how tangible he is, how real he is. The man of your dreams, the reason you breathe, the embodiment of everything amazing and wonderful is in your grasp, looking in admiration at you the way you are at him. You gush, his smile making you feel more elated than the giddiest of schoolchildren. Meanwhile, your heart moves in a steadily growing rhythm, and you don’t think you could be more happy until you’re at the aisle walking towards this same man. “I never thought I’d meet someone that could want me so much. Especially you. And now I can’t imagine it being anyone else.”

His eyes soften, gently stroking the side of your head. He bends down to meet your lips that naturally fits his mold, tasting each other as you’ve done a million times, and yet are never sick of. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” Your eyes bat slowly back at him, swallowing the breath you take as you take in everything for all it is. “I always will.”

Present day…

The clock hands tick away as if taunting the young lawyer’s last moments. He twirls a pen between his fingers, finalizing the last case for the hour before the annoying clock inevitably strikes 6 PM, his quitting hour if he can help it. 

For the last few years, Jihoon has done nothing but work past the last work hour to make ends meet, but today is the day he’ll leave on time for once. No buts, ands, or ifs. No exceptions.

Fifteen minutes and going. He’s gonna make it. He’s so sure, that he even let the office aide head home early so she can tend to her kids and useless husband. She deserves it, much like Jihoon deserves this. A proper end of the day. 

Five Minutes. Everything is looking flawless. He’s looking front and back, left and right, electrically and manually handling everything to avoid errors. He’s going to make it. He’s going to make it.

One minute. Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, and he’s betting on it being Cheryl, the office aid, so he can scold her for going against his orders but not really. He appreciates her too much and knows she has it rough. 

Despite the guest being unwelcome—“Come in. This better be good,” he shouts from his desk.

The knob turns reluctantly, anxiously even, and Jihoon still has not looked up from his desk to check who it is because there is not a single person he could think of that would be worth overtime. Despite that, he knows he's not looking forward to whatever case is being thrown his way, judging by their inconsiderate choice of timing.

“Hello, my name is Lee Jihoon, Family Law attorney at large. How may I help you today during the very late work hour…?”

When he finally lifts his gaze from the desk, he sees the source of the disruption. All thoughts are suddenly out of the window. His legs move before his mind catches up, pushing him upright as awe anchors his gaze. Slowly, he removes his glasses from the bridge of his nose, narrowing his focus on the figure before him. Is it his eyes deceiving him—or his mind—that conjures this painfully familiar mirage standing just out of reach?

“Hi, Jihoon.” You finally say, a soft smile on your beautifully aged face. “I’m sorry for coming so late. I needed assistance as soon as I could, and I just came out from work.”

“Hey, you.” Great start there, big guy. “How are you here?”

“Well,” you point your thumb over to the obvious, “the door to start.”

“Ha, yeah. I mean what brings you in,” he asks slowly, putting back on his glasses and settling down in his chair before gesturing to you to do the same in one of the seats in front of him.

“Well,” you begin settling in the leather of the chair, “I want a divorce.”

Well. Those are never words he thought to hear from your mouth. And he never thought he’d be on the other end relieved to hear them. Fuck it.  Another late night it is.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” he replies with the utmost sympathy, hiding the hint of interest threatening to slip through his tone. This is his first love after all, god forbid he isn’t still a little in love with them, and happy to hear they’re looking to be back on the market again.

Your hands settle on your thighs, acknowledging his gesture with an incoherent mumble before meeting his eyes, remembering how beautiful they always looked gazing back at you. “Yeah, well it was a long time coming. The marriage lasted a lot longer than it should’ve.”

“I bet.” Jihoon quickly catches himself, “I mean, a lot of clients feel that way, but before any big decisions, I should ask you the standard questions I always ask potential clients before we proceed.”

“Of course,” you amicably agree. “Do what you need to, Hoon.” You’re now the one catching yourself, finding yourself calling the familiar nickname you called your ex-boyfriend/fiancé. “I mean Jihoon. Mr. Lee? Attorney Lee?”

“Please stop. It hurts to watch.” He teases, crinkling his nose with a feigned look of cringe, but smiling like a man who feels otherwise.

You playfully roll your eyes. “Okay, okay. Lay it on me.”

Jihoon asks you the typical questions. Living arrangements? Presence of children? Assets? Reasons for divorce? And any heavier topics that he wouldn’t ask otherwise unless put in the situation. Then again it was you. He’d probably learn all there he needs to know to have you safe.

He’s pleased to learn that no children were involved, and you’ve been living at your summer home away from your husband for a few months now; and it’s a no-fault divorce, but he knows that already. That was a good sign for him already. Assets, however—

“You kind of know the gist, having been there at the beginning. I was inclined to marry him, and if I didn’t, risk future inheritance and be possibly shunned from my family until the end of time. The divorce would bring that all come to fruition with the prenup. Doesn’t help that he has the same deal with his parents, so there’s been a little friction with that, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need their money. I just want out.”

He taps his pen against his notes, earnestly analyzing the words from front to back. “Hmm, it’d be useful if you’d bring it the next time you visit. Hopefully during working hours this time? Like lunch or something.” He hints and feels the regret seep in as the guilt washes over your face.

“I really am sorry again.” You make yourself small in your seat, squeezing your thighs tightly together as you bow your head. “God, I’m treating you like a therapist.”

He waves his hand reassuringly. “It’s alright. What’s divorce attorney ex-fiancés good for if not to help out their ex with their divorce and listen to their marital issues?”

You break out in a smile, shaking your head as your cheeks fail to deflate. “It really is so good to see you.”

“You too. You look good.” The weight of his words is damning, dripping with longing poorly masked by his professional disposition. He feels his role as lawyer that he’s worked at for several years slips away in a matter of seconds as his eyes take in every atom of you.

The simple words heat up your cheeks, and his shameless gaze knocks the wind out of your lungs, all the familiar feelings rushing back. “You look good.”

He savors your saccharine tone as it makes his blood rush down in places he wouldn’t dare mention in front of a client, even you. He hides his impatience behind his desk, gripping the edges to support and restrain himself from crossing the lines that take him out of a rational mind. “So, how did you find me?”

“Excuse me.” You cross your arms with a warped smile. “You probably have one of the most common names in existence. ‘Lee Jihoon?’ I’d have to look through hundreds—if not thousands—of them to find you.”

“Well, did you?”

“Well, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t kind of excited seeing your face on the website.”

Jihoon has to remember to thank Wonwoo, who insisted on taking his work profile picture for him, later. “I make you excited? Well, Miss, I may be arranging your divorce, but you are still married. Find some self-control.”

“Shut. Up.” You attempt to feign sternness, but your smile deceives you, almost inviting the banter the lawyer incited. 

“Make me.”

You stare back at him for a moment, watching the flirtatious challenge ooze from his eyes in a familiar way, which stirs something in you that you haven’t felt in a long time. Its lightheartedness starts to burn hotter, turning your stomach and deflating your chest as you expel a faint breath.

“I…should go,” you respond, breathless. You pick up your purse and turn away, a sly grin tugging at your lips as you toss the next words over your shoulder. “Lunch tomorrow it is. I’ll bring the paperwork.”

“And I’ll be here,” he bids with a salute, which he quickly regrets as soon as you leave.

Jihoon feels compelled the following day to dress in his best office attire, well-tailored but not trying too hard, and spritz a cologne he thought he threw away a long time ago along with the relationship that came with it. Its familiar notes fill him with a warm sensation. The kind that tightens his chest and tenses his muscles that cling to the fabric of his clothes. And he knows that when he checks himself every few minutes in the bathroom mirror or the reflection off the glass of his office room window—making sure it emphasizes just how much he’s been building his body to be at peak physique while simultaneously watching the time slowly tick until his appointment.

When you finally arrive, you carry a certain demeanor that makes him feel twenty again, as if you had just stepped out of class to see him waiting for you to walk you to your next one. You're perfect in your perfect blouse and perfectly tight pencil skirt. It makes him take a breath, loosening the grip on his tie to lessen the strain. “Hello, Miss Client.”

“Hello, Mr. Lawyer,” you lightly greet back.

Jihoon chuckles, waving you over. “So, what are you craving while we work on things? Lunch on me.”

You talk shop over gyudon, a meal that immediately comes to mind, and fortunately, a good and quick spot is just nearby. It reminds you both of something you would eat together religiously back then. To this day, Jihoon sometimes can’t pick up a piece of shredded beef topped with caramelized onions without picturing you parallel to him doing the same.

He knows he’d be crazy to admit out loud that it is straight out of a dream to be eating lunch with you again, but it is. Even more surreal that you’ve now become a client in a case that caused your breakup in the first place. 

Before the breakup…

To say Jihoon felt drawn to you instantly the first time you met was the understatement of the century.

But before you, he only knew the law. Having grown up with Criminal Minds and SVU, he knew since his pubescence he was going to be a lawyer. No tragic backstory of a relative dying from a crime. No story of him or someone else being almost convicted. He just simply thought that to be in the hands of someone's fate in the courtroom was not only intriguing but dangerous. A power not to be taken lightly.

It became his whole life and the only thing he’d ever thought about doing ever. So, he did the only rational thing he could do: he studied his ass off every minute of his life if he wanted to pass the bar one day.

That is, until a little distraction like you came along. At the ripe age of twenty years old, Jihoon met someone who would one day change the trajectory of his life. Someone just as important as becoming a lawyer was. He didn’t think that was possible for someone as ambitious and driven as him. Distractions came rare to him. There was never space for a romantic subplot in his story.

He mentally thanked his former roommate, Soonyoung, everyday for taking the last afternoon slot for the required Psychology course. If he hadn’t, he wouldn't have been forced to take the morning classes, the same morning classes that you ended up attending. 

He wouldn’t have gotten to occupy the seat next to yours every day for all of the semester, having the habit of getting to know you and learning things about you that he would’ve otherwise ignored about anyone else. Like how you prefer iced coffee no matter how below freezing temperature it was, or how your fingers curl and crunch up anxiously before giving a presentation—the little things.

And he most certainly wouldn’t have given in to the pressure of asking you out if he hadn’t gotten to know you in the class the way he did. There wasn’t a chance in hell he would’ve had the courage to approach you. A blessing in disguise shaped in the form of a breathtaking human being. And for some crazy reason, you said yes, because you liked him back. Gosh, his heart was soaring that day. He finally understood what butterflies in one's stomach meant.

What had started as a budding infatuation, blossomed into an epic love story for the ages—well, at least he liked to think so. He knew he’d remember and relive this period of his life for as long as he was alive. There was nothing like being in love.

And what was crazy to him was that you liked him as much as he liked you. The way you’d look at him as if he held the universe in the palms of his hands, or how tight you’d hold him when he would pull you towards his chest and lock you in a secure embrace. It’s as if the world faded around you—or maybe, you just became his world.

Before he realized it, you had become just as much a part of his life as his studies were, if not more. It pivoted his life in a path he never planned for, and strangely enough, he looked forward to it. He looked forward to the route you were taking him in. Whatever life had to throw, he’d be ready if you were by his side.

And that’s how it was for the first couple of years. You spent every waking moment together, every meal, every lecture, everything that mattered. With you, everything seemed to matter. And that’s how he ended up proposing too; that day during a picnic with the sunniest of skies under the biggest tree in the park with the cheesiest smile on his face. He was truly the luckiest man he knew.

God, did he love you. And god, did you love him. 

But something changed shortly after the proposal. Drastically.

You had been distant with Jihoon for reasons he couldn’t explain, but he’s never been one to pry, so he'd given you your space, even when you never asked for it. He respected boundaries and would never make you give up yours for the sake of his comfort, so he waited.

Maybe that’s when it started. When he didn't fight for your attention. He wonders if that’s where things started going wrong.

Unlike you, Jihoon isn’t one for confrontation, but if you want him to burn the world, in a heartbeat he would. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you, he just needs to hear it. It’d be anything.

“I can’t marry you,” you say in a quiet voice.

Almost anything.

You push your engagement ring towards Jihoon, unable to meet his eyes, as dark clouds hover above your head.

Jihoon gulps, choking on a breath he’s been holding since you called him over for this lunch date. He’s thinking things are just turning around, that you’d stop avoiding him like you have been. Then this hurdle–hurricane is thrown in his face.

And he knows exactly why. 

After he proposed, he met your parents for the first time, your parents who lived in a different world than he ever could. They didn’t approve of your choice of a partner given his inferior background. They didn’t approve of this marriage. They didn’t approve of Jihoon. They had other plans in mind for their one and only daughter. Bigger, grander plans than Jihoon could ever fathom.

Since then, hope seemed lost. However, you thought you could convince them. Jihoon put his faith in you, because why wouldn’t he? He’s madly in love with you. He trusts you. He knows that you did the best you could.

“Didn’t budge, huh?” he asks with a bitter smile. 

You sigh, before running your hands over your face in frustration. “You know it’s not your fault. They’re so stubborn about me marrying to preserve the company. Why should it be my responsibility? I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Your eyes flit to meet his, barely staying open. “If I had it my way—“

“But you don’t,” he cuts off.

“Hoon.”

He holds your hand in his, his thumb caressing over your naked knuckles. He swallows back a laugh of disbelief. He knew that happiness couldn’t have been that easy and within reach. Finally, he looks back at you and brings your hands towards his lips, kissing the balls of your palms as a single tear falls from the corner of his eye. “I love you. You make me the happiest person alive. And I want to marry you…but if our worlds are tearing us apart…”

The image of the man you love crying rips you to shreds, the agonizing pain stretching throughout your entire body, and you move towards him and you take him in your arms. Your lips quiver, letting out a shattered breath, feeling his tears now soaking through the cotton of your shirt. You don’t know what else to say at this moment except, “I love you, Jihoon.”

Present day…

“Okay, the prenup settles pretty much most of what we’re looking for, so the process will luckily be pretty straightforward.”

“Okay,” you nod in acknowledgment. “Like I thought. How long of a process is it going to be?”

Jihoon hums, tapping his pen to his chin. “Depends on the talk with his attorney. It'll be a clean and quick process if they're anything like me.”

You can’t help but smile. “No one’s like you, Hoo—Jihoon.”

He grins, catching your slip-up. “Well, one can hope.”

You press your lips in a firm line, your ears growing warm as you gather your files, tapping them on the desk to line them up in a neat stack. “Well, this was really helpful. Thank you for taking time out of your lunch to do this. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Anything for a friend.”

A light dims in your eyes, and your grip on the belongings tighten. “Right. Well, I’ll talk to him about the situation, and we’ll set up an appointment so we can all meet. I’ll let you know.”

“I look forward to it,” he responds earnestly.

Finally, Jihoon would be able to meet the bastard that your parents thrust upon you face to face. 

He wants to assume that now and in the past your husband is just like you, forced upon this marriage for the sake of appearance and business ties. However, the more he spends time, how little you speak of him, the more he notices how you grow stiff when he’s audibly brought up, implying a strained relationship. That guy has already lost Jihoon’s good graces by that alone.

“Thank you. So what can we do in the meantime?”

“You make your plans moving forward as a single woman. Get your things in order, and that includes your personal matters, like your family that I assume are involved.”

You stiffen, nodding at the sad reminder. “Yeah. They are. Thank you for lunch.”

As you begin to leave, Jihoon can’t help but stop you in your tracks. He knows if he doesn’t say what is on his mind now he’ll regret it, unwilling to make the same mistakes he did in the past. “Hey, um. If you’re looking for more advice regarding this matter or what to expect after this whole ordeal, my office is always open during lunch hours. For you anyways.”

You give him a soft frown, shaking your head. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

“No, really,” he insists, not taking no for an answer, a touch of plead in his eyes. “I think with you around it’s the only way I actually eat during lunch.”

The corners of your lips finally turn up, tugging at Jihoon’s heartstrings and eating him up from the inside. “Then, maybe I’ll take you up on it.”

There is a certain comfort in the routine, knowing there’s something to look forward to every weekday at noon between the hours of 11:45AM to 12:55PM. You inevitably have to go back to your office, but Jihoon looks forward to those hours now, watching the hands of the clock tick by until lunchtime. It’s a game he’s started to play by himself, somehow always the loser with a big grin on his face when you’re right at the front of his door and the same loser with a sad smile when you have to leave.

“That’s so you. I can’t believe you still listen to that stuff.” Jihoon chuckles, stabbing at his teriyaki chicken pieces before stuffing them in his mouth.

“Oh, of course I do! These are real! Cut-throat! Blood-thirsty murder-cases! Most of the time involving women. That could be me one day. Can never be too safe,” You playfully warn, pointing your chopsticks at him.

“Maybe, but you come from one of the wealthiest families in the country and married into one of the other wealthiest families in the country. You no doubt have a near impenetrable security system keeping you very locked up and safe in your very nice big home.”

“Which makes me an even bigger target. Ah-ha. Didn’t think about that, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, grinning ear to ear. “Fine. But what does that have to do with crocheting again?”

Your eyes light up, giddily clapping your hands at his reminder. “It’s really nice—well, nice isn’t really the right word—but I listen to it when I'm crocheting. I once made a whole blanket listening to an entire season about a missing person’s case that turned out to be a missing people's case.”

“Of course, you did.”

You get a quick glance at your phone when you grab your drink, seeing a notification pop up to reveal the time. “Oh shoot, I have to head back.”

“Already?” Jihoon tries not to sound too disappointed.

“Yeah. Sorry. It feels like these lunch hours are getting shorter and shorter every day.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be just lunch. We can always get dinner—to talk more about the process and what your next steps can be. How about tonight? Unless that’s too soon?”

You blink back at him, unable to suppress the growing smile on your face. “S-sure. I’ll meet you at your office?”

”Actually, I thought of picking you up at yours?”

With a gentle hum, you nod. “It’s a date.”

So he waits, watching the clock's hands tick until it reaches the hour that indicates the end of the day. He has something he’s looking forward to, giving him all the more reason to take advantage of the extra suits in his office wardrobe for emergencies. Something that has only ever used to be for emergencies, not if he feels like the color navy brings out his eyes more today. But tonight, he has the excuse to look his sharpest, unsure if he’ll ever get this opportunity again.

He can’t help the smile on his face as you walk out of your office building, pushing himself off his car to completely take in your presence as if he hadn’t just seen you hours ago. Resembling someone watching their prom date dramatically descend a flight of stairs, Jihoon feels his chest squeeze as you walk closer before standing in front of him, and every date you’ve gone on flashes through his mind, leading up to this very moment.

“Hi.” he softly greets.

“Hey,” you greet back, taking a step closer.

”Ready?” he asks, and a nod is all he needs before you lose yourselves in the night.

You explore deeper in the center of the city, sauntering the streets aimlessly as you look for a spot to situate yourself, somewhere you could talk and enjoy each other‘s presence without interruption. As if someone heard your pleas, a cafe catches your attention off in the distance, its white fluorescent sign flickering its bold cursive back at you, beckoning you towards it. And as you turn to Jihoon, his expression matches yours, knowing you’ve found just the place.

Once the door swings open, Jihoon is immediately hit with the aroma of freshly ground coffee brewed to perfection. Its nutty sweet scent dances in the air as sweet, fruity notes linger nearby. Nostalgia hits him in an instant, and he recalls a younger version of himself with you by his side feeding him a sip of your devilish concoction of a strawberry mocha with two shots of espresso. The disdain on his face was evident, when he kissed your lips, it was a different world. It was tolerable, or maybe everything you had to offer made him infinitely love you more.

“Oh my god,” he quietly whispers to himself.

“Jihoon?”

He jolts back into reality, your beautiful face warped as your eyes scans over him with concern. “Sorry. I think I got lost in a moment there.”

You curiously narrow your eyes, following after him as he entered the cafe. “Really? What happened?”

“Let’s sit first. What’ll you have?”

After retrieving your drink order, Jihoon glances at the drink in your hand, saddened that you opted for a plain americano over your college usual. It was about every other day that you’d order one, and to this day he wonders how you’re alive and kicking with thousands of calories you consumed from that beverage alone. It seems things have changed since, and he’s unsure whether it's for the better, but it gave him all the more reason to order it for himself. Although he hated it in the past, maybe he'd like it now.

“Blech!” Nope. Still awful.

You muse at his disgusted expression. “Oh my god, Jihoon. What did you order?”

“Don’t recognize it?” He lifts up the drink, licking up the whipped cream from the corner of his lips. “Your famous strawberry mocha.”

“You remember that? You hated that drink!”

“Yeah, but,” he holds the drink close to his chest, as if cherishing it. “You liked it. Why don’t you anymore?”

“It’s not that I don't, it's just…so bad for me.” You grip your Americano loosely, gulping at the decadent visuals of the nostalgic drink in his hand. “I can’t have something like that all the time.”

Meanwhile, Jihoon sips the drink as you explain yourself, making faces as he listens in. You narrow your eyes at him, the corner of your lips turning down before you give him a disciplinary tap to the shoulder.

“Stop drinking it!”

“I paid for it. I’ll do what I want.”

You groan, shoving the untouched Americano and stealing the strawberry mocha for yourself. “There. Now everyone’s happy.”

“Who said I wanted an Americano?” He retorts with a smile, happy to see his previous beverage right where it belongs.

“You definitely don’t want the mocha.”

“I do though.”

You roll your eyes, softly scoffing and giving him a wry smile. “You’re so stubborn. It's written all over your face how much you hate it.”

“But you like it,” he retorts, sipping his new Americano, somehow missing the conflicting taste of his previous beverage.

You cover your hot cheeks with the palm of your hand, eyes pointed away from him as the sound of your accelerating heart pounds against your ear drums. You start to wonder to yourself how this man at damn near thirty years is still as cute as he was at twenty years old. 

“You really haven't changed.”

He snorts. “You insulting me?

“Not at all.” Chuckling, you sip your newly acquired drink, the clash of the bitter coffee and sickly sweet fruity syrup battling on your taste buds. It may have been more of your tastes back in college. “So that moment you had. What was that about?”

“Moment?”

“You stopped all of a sudden when we came through the front door. It was like a lightbulb went off in your head or something.”

He softly smiles, taking small sips of his drink, warmth rushing toward his cheeks in contrast to the chilled beverage wrapped with his slender digits. “Something like that?”

You tilt your head, “Hmm?”

He hesitates, avoiding your gaze. “I…just suddenly thought about back then…when we were together honestly. It was nothing.”

You suck in your teeth dubiously, smiling with your eyes. “Sure didn’t seem that way.”

“It made me happy,” he admits earnestly, his voice coated in something reminiscent of honey, so decadent, you feel the strong desire to taste more.

“The memory?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a faint smile, “A lot of things you did make me happy.”

Your lips part as you drink in his response, whatever words you were about to say next dying on your tongue as you take a long nervous sip of your stolen beverage, cheeks ablaze. You watch as the blood rushes towards his cheeks, flushing them a soft pink as he leisurely sips his newly acquired drink, stealing glances at you.

Jihoon finds it nice to divulge his past once in a while, but he doesn’t have many people to do that with, and the person he wants to do it the most with for the longest time was married and out of his life. But even if he did talk about his past, that meant having to confront the obstacles he jumped, the losses that were out of his control, and the pain that he endured only to end up the loser. Now, he doesn’t have to be scared anymore. You’re back. Back in his life and hopefully for good whether it is as a friend, or employer and employee, he’ll take it.

“This was really nice.”

Jihoon hums in agreement. “Yeah, kinda felt like we were back in college again.”

You chuckle, turning to him as you reach towards the steps of your residence. It was a lot different than the dorms from back then. Yet, you can’t help but understand where he’s coming from. “Yeah. It’s funny. You’d always walk me back to my apartment too, even though yours was in the opposite direction.”

“And it was worth it,” he retorts, stubbornly. “Because I got to see you get inside safely. The distance didn’t matter to me.”

“And you wouldn’t take my gas money.” You pout, tugging on his sleeve.

“No, I didn’t.” He shakes his head, accepting your hand in his and finding them naturally interlock. “Not when I can pay for myself just fine.”

“So I would invite you inside, let you have a drink—or three.”

Jihoon chuckles, reminded of his coke zero habit that you’d always indulge with a splash of rum. “And…” he steps closer towards you, closing the distance. “I’d end up staying over longer than I expected to.”

You lightly grasp the lapel of his coat, eyes glossing over his appearance. “And I didn’t mind it one bit.”

Your gaze drifts off to his lips, softly puckering as they part. Your chest heaving, you feel yourself drawing closer. Jihoon’s warmth is a tempting mistress before he holds you in place, startling you as he puts a halt to your movements. Your eyes shoot back at him, rapid panic in your eyes, disappointment seeping through you.

“That might be a bad idea,” he warns, but not backing away.

Your hands creep up his neck. “When have we ever let that stop us?”

He lightly scoffs, able to name once—the last instance you were together. It emerges, memories that he can’t help but twist up his heart that’s been stretched and pummeled until past recognition. He has to be realistic. “We’re a little older now and…you’re still technically married.”

“We’ve spent the better half of a decade avoiding each other because we were scared of the consequences. We don’t have to be scared anymore. I haven’t seen you in years, and I still feel the way I did all those years ago. Tell me you don’t.”

“You know I…” His words die on his lips. It’s obvious what he wants. He wants you. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

Your hands caress over the nape of his neck, and the hairs of his neck stand stiff as goosebumps pebble his skin. “You what, Jihoon?”

His eyes flutter in disbelief, melting against your touch as he succumbs to your warmth, the world around him fading. The only drinks he had tonight night were of the nonalcoholic variety, but staring back at you, he feels drunk, feening for a taste of something else right in front of him. “Want you more than anything.”

When his lips crash against yours, he can feel your heart leap from your chest, air pushing against his lungs. The heat that radiates off your body envelopes him despite the biting cold winds, flustering his cold cheeks as he feels you kiss him back. He takes a deep breath, reveling in the silken sensation of your lips, searing against his as his hand falls into your hair.

He isn’t sure if he knew how it felt to kiss you again, but it was muscle memory. From the way you drag him by his coat collar, slipping through the thick fabric to find the warm body underneath, he knows nothing is coming back from this. And even if there is, he doesn’t want it if it doesn’t have you.

You both barely make it up the steps of the house after hearing how one of you haphazardly closes the automated locking door, and he follows your footsteps to a room of your choosing, knowing he’ll follow you anywhere. 

The large coat is tugged immediately off of him, hearing it thud on the ground, you make his sweater follow suit. You grapple at the seams of his dress shirt, gingerly unlatching one button at a time, and Jihoon’s lips find your neck, burying himself in the crook, rendering you speechless as he tastes your flustered skin. Meanwhile, his hands roam over your figure through your clothes before the skirt becomes as useful as his coat as he shoves it down your thighs and lets it fall to your ankles to be kicked aside.

Your flesh spills between his fingers, kneading your ass between his knuckles, and he feels your moan vibrate in your throat against his lips. Jihoon sighs, familiarizing with the ache and longing of your voice as he lifts you from the ground to wrap your legs around his torso, nudging his excitement against lower abdomen.

He presses you against a wall, his hand cushioning the impact to your lower back, he reunites with your lips, devouring you endlessly. He feels for your thighs as he holds you still, dragging his hips against them as he rid himself of his shirt and you of yours, the only thing keeping you apart being his trousers and the underwear scantily clad on your body. The body he’s imagined for years after you left.

“Jihoon, don’t stare.” Jihoon lets out a shattered breath before regaining clarity, realizing that he let his eyes linger longer than he intended, broken from his trance at the sound of your whines. 

“A lot has changed since we were last intimate, ” You softly defend, pressing yourself against his body to shield your build, only letting his hunger to swell against the seams of his pants.

“It has.” His lips land on the center of your lips, hugging yours as he slips through and collects the underside of your breast in his palm. With a gentle squeeze, the vibrations of your mewl run a chill path down his spine. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

“And you…Fuck,” You cry in anguish, holding his face in your hands, fingers combing through his hair as your chest heaves. “You have no idea how much I wanted to see this gorgeous face again.”

You’ve taken the words right out of his mouth, and hearing them out loud only kindles the fire in his stomach brighter and uncontainable. He can’t take it anymore, he has to have you. In sheer desperation, he maneuvers the unbuckling of his pants, adjusting the waistband of briefs, too frantic to even bother pulling either of them down properly. Instead, his desire springs out from their confines, raging and bold as he grasps himself by the shaft, the elastic hanging by his firm thighs. “God, I missed you. I need to find a condom. Please tell me where one is before I embarrass myself on your floor.”

Chuckling, your hands slide down his cheeks, meeting his eyes that glisten in anticipation as his swollen lips part in an eager quiver. “I don’t want you to use one. After so long I just want to feel you—all of you. Please...”

“You’d let me do that?”

Your fingertips softly dance over his pink cheeks, emitting tingles against his skin. “I’d let you do anything you want.”

“What I want to do…” He lets the tips of your noses meet, and you bite back a premature moan, melting at your flushed skin pressed against each other. “...is make you remember what you sound like screaming my name. Have you feel so much pleasure you’re begging me to stop.”

You take a sharp inhale before your mouth curls in a smug smile, letting your hand the firm touch of chest, pulsing beneath your palm. “How convenient. Our interests align.” You close the gap, tasting the heat and your blended breaths. “I knew I picked a good lawyer.”

“Or I just know the right clients to accept.”

Sliding your panties aside, he feels for your slit, finding your slickness as it satisfyingly coats his fingers. He lets his fingers run over your arousal, gliding across your folds, reacquainting himself with an old favorite pastime, and wedges himself between your folds tauntingly. Your smile drops as you bite your lip to suppress a mewl, stabling yourself on his shoulders, while he invades your arousal and thumbs over your clit agonizingly slow. Your throat tightens at the same time your abdomen tenses, unable to stop yourself from arching your back and leaning into his touch.

Your vision flutters in and out of view, legs tingling as he dips a single digit to penetrate your blossoming walls, the slickness welcoming his thrusts. Your jaw drops slightly, the pads of your fingers pressing dents into his shoulder blades as he curls himself inside you, and you shudder and a whimper exposes your urgency.

“That good?” He gives you a cheeky grin. “Must be if you’re that fucking wet.”

“Shut up,” you lightly retort, only to feel him push it in deeper, holding it inside you before plunging himself into you at a gradually growing pace.

He draws his lips to your ears, his usually gentle voice dropping lower and saying that familiar expression that always made you a little crazy when you heard it. “Make me.”

The finger is joined by another, and he starts playing with your vocal cords as if they were strings of violin, making music that bounces from wall to wall. His toned body pinning you down only taunts you, the lack of mobility only offering you the opportunity to sink your teeth in his shoulder or mark his neck in splotchy love bites. Otherwise, you writhe under his claim, grind your sensitive bud against his palm, and your mind draws a blank, any once coherent thought becoming a jumble of words that doesn’t even come close to belonging in the English dictionary.

Jihoon’s eyes flicker with determination, consumed with unbridled lust, and deep down you revel in it. You weren’t sure if Jihoon had moved on from you since everything happened, and selfishly you hoped that he hadn’t. When your hopes rang true, you jumped at the chance. Perhaps had you done it sooner, you’d see these gates of this heaven earlier, and the angel before wouldn’t any longer just be a wet dream, but a soaking reality.

“I’m gonna cum,” you weakly warn.

“So soon, should I stop?” He teases, only shoving his fingers deeper, reaching past his knuckles. 

“But I want to cum on you.” Your bottom lip swelling up in a subtle pout, gripping his form. “I want to cum on your cock.”

His nose traces over yours, his Cheshire grin gracing your flushed cheek. “And you will, because the first time won’t be the last. So, just cum, hmm? Cum all over my hands for me, Angel.”

You brace for impact against the wall, back arching as the moment hits you like a lightning bolt, striking you in erratic shakes, and you clench your legs against his sides. The heat of your climax travels up to your head as it spills out of your body and bucks your hips into his palm. 

Jihoon strokes your side, soothing you as he carries you through your moment of weakness. He coos at you, peppering kisses on your face as he savors your faltering shudders then pulls out his fingers and watches how your eyes shift when they vanish past his lips. Biting back a soft gasp, you hear the sound of his gentle moan against his knuckles as his tongue runs across his digits, snaking and sucking everywhere that shined, chuckling and seeing a burst of fire reignite in your eyes.

“Now put it inside me,” you command, panting and clenching around nothing, already missing the presence of his company.

He tilts his head, smirking. “Already? So soon.”

You shake your head, “I can handle more. A lot more.”

Jihoon scans over you, watching everything from the rise and fall of your bare chest to the tears that briefly stain our cheeks. He can feel his heart pounding his ears and throat drying up like the desert as he stares at your kiss-swollen lips, holding your gaze as if he has only begun appreciating the visionary you are for the first time in what felt like forever. Looking at you feels like falling in love all over again. And love makes Jihoon do anything you want. 

He fiddles with the hem of your underwear, rubbing the lacy material between the pads of his fingers before pulling them down. He lifts your body slightly off the ground, exerting you against the wall, nudging his knee to hold you in place before aligning himself, licking his lips, seeing your arousal on your thighs as they seep out of you like honey. “You asked for it, okay?” 

Your pupils flicker at the back of your skull before looping your arms around his neck, anchoring your legs around his waist as your pussy swallows him between your folds, stretching your walls and spreading your legs wide as your thighs squeeze tightly around him. “Oh, my–fuck…”

There’s only a fraction of him inside you, yet he already has your brain short-circuiting. “Shit,” Jihoon scoffs, dragging his hips in a tight thrust and slamming you hard enough for the vanity table beside you to have a bottle knocked over. “You still feel like you were made just for me.”

“W-wait. Why do you feel so much bigger than I remember?”

His hands caress the underside of your thighs, bouncing you in his grip, as they stiffened in his grasp. “Well, it’s been a while. Maybe you need to get adjusted to my size again. Would you like me to help with that?”

You timidly nod, holding on to his biceps in a vice grip. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Do you want it to hurt?”

“…Yes.”

Snickering, he plunges into your walls, pulsating as he molds you into his shape down to the veins. Your bodies meld into one, not one without the other, and he honors his word. Every second of him buried inside you stings as skin collides, stretching your strained walls, letting you consume the agonizingly indulgent sensation. You swallow the drool pooling in your mouth as his hips continue to snap. You dig your nails into his flesh, forming white crescents, attempting to retain some of your sanity.

Your heart drops the split second you feel his hands leave your body, and you almost plummet to the ground before he slams you against the wall, catching your thighs just before it’s too late and conveniently pushing in deeper. If he cares at all about the mini heart attack he gives you every time he decides to do that, it doesn’t show. No matter how many times you scold him, although, in his defense, they get drowned in the sound of your hunger. 

“Hoon…” You weakly jab at him. “Asshole…”

“You like it,” he teases, before thrusting deeper as his lips roughly trace your mouth. “I hear it in your voice, try to be better at hiding it if you want to convince me.”

You anchor on him by the shoulders before he does it again, almost dropping you to the ground before catching you at the last second, ripping ungodly moans from the depths of your throat. Jihoon finds them delicious, almost as sweet as the sound of his name on your tongue. He doesn’t want to stop when you sound that enticing.

And you hate to admit it, but here’s a thrill every time he does it, the way he manhandles you as if you are his to play with. As if you are his. You could get used to that. After years of being forced apart, you’re ready to take on the world with him again. 

You rake a hand through his hair, pulling at his bottom lips with teeth before he sharply rams into you, hitting your head against the wall only once before pulling off it to carry you to bed. He drops your bodies on the mattress and revels in your heat as he buries deeper inside you. His hands roam up your arms before they pin down your wrists, lips parting in moans as your legs anchor around him.

“I’m never letting you go,” he softly mumbles. “Nothing—no one will get in my way again.”

“Hoon,” you whisper, eyes looking back at him with awe. “And nothing will.”

Your nostalgia filled pleasure plays like a cinematic movie, and your moans and whimpers are the soundtrack of the night. The way your fingers still curl with every caress transforms the home you use as an escape from the rest of the world into a safe haven, completed with the presence of the man you have loved all your life. Lee Jihoon’s mark on you is something that could never be washed away, and once this whole damned situation is over, you will be eternally his. Just as it is meant to be, as it was always supposed to be.

Your bodies fit together seamlessly, nestled underneath the thickness of the thousand-thread count blanket that trapped you both in its security. Your hand slides perfectly over his, while his firm and strong arms envelop your body as his head knocks against yours. You hear him smile as his heart pounds against your ear, fast and alive even in moments of rest.

“You’re staying the night, right?” you timidly ask, turning your head slightly towards him to meet his eyes. “I want to stay in this moment a little longer. Even if you have to leave.”

He gazes down at you, pressing his lips to your temple, the scent of his sweet breath wafting into your nose as you fight off sleep to be conscious in his presence. “I’m not leaving even if someone tried to pry me off you with a crane. I’m staying with you all night.”

Your heart swells as you tenderly smooth your hands over his backside. “Promise. I’ll wake up and you’ll still be here.”

He grabs your waist tighter, the hum of his voice tingling your cheeks as he speaks. “I promise, Angel.”

You bury your face in his chest, arms looped around his neck, inhaling what you’ve longed for for years. There’s nothing else like his warmth. You’ve passionately love it for years, and being stripped of your 

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” you muffle.

You can feel your heartbeat restless against his. It’s as if they’re both catching up with one another, just as you and Jihoon are intimately doing now. All the time you spent married to someone you didn’t love in the slightest, worried about what your parents wanted for you, worried what they’d do to the people you love, what they’d do to Jihoon. All those years wasted when you could’ve been here, simply his. If you had each other, just as you both promised, perhaps there would be more nights like this.

“Me too,” He admits. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”

You pull away from his chest to face him, tears blurring your vision as you clasp your hands on his face. “I know I never stopped loving you. I thought of you every day when I knew I never had the right to.”

He strokes your sides, bewitched by your sincerity, and he embraces you. “We were twenty, you were listening to your parents—”

“And at twenty years old, I was still wise enough to know a good man and have a heart when I see one. I could never make it up to you, but just know you’re never getting rid of me, Lee Jihoon.”

He wistfully smiles. “Is this a life sentence?”

“And an afterlife one.”

Your lips crash against his, melting into him before losing yourselves in one another, losing yourselves into the heat of your reunion before you’re overtaken by the night and fall deep asleep in his embrace. Unlike you, however, Jihoon can’t sleep, fearing that the moment he closes his eyes, he’ll be the one left alone. He’s dreamt of nights where he’s holding as close as he is now, breathing in your essence, savoring your skin, basking in your warmth. And the dreams are cruel the moment he opens his eyes and realizes you were a figment of his deepest desires. Experiencing it in person is better than anything his consciousness could come up with.

He moves your hair away from your face, letting his fingertips ghost over the curve of your cheek, and tenderly smiles down at you. Holding his breath, he feels you stir, that saccharine tone of voice ebbing in mumbles as you press closer against him, tucking your legs between his.

He feels as if he can stare at you for hours, relearning the rhythm of your breath, the number of strands of your lashes, creases of your lips. He does not want to miss a single thing. If he is going to have you, it’ll be all of you. If not, then he’d let himself be all yours. He hopes at least you can give him that much. Especially when he’s missed several years of your lives together.

Before he knows it, morning arrives as the sun rises higher in the sky, peeking through the small division of the bedroom curtain, and Jihoon realizes he didn’t sleep a wink. Yet, he does not mind it one bit. And when your eyes pry open to see him still holding you, his smile stamped on your forehead, that it had been all worth it to hear you greet him with sweet words and your lips that taste even better than he last had them several hours ago. It truly feels unreal still.

But now it’s morning, and that means he is to take care of you like he promised himself he’d do if you ever reunited, so he jumps out of bed to make breakfast. Your tired expression chuckles as he enthusiastically asks you over his shoulder what ingredients you had in your fridge. He’s never and has never been much of a cook, but for you, he is willing to put in the effort. 

“You never really learned what to put in an omelet, did you?” You tease, seeing him toss sliced cucumbers, diced ham, and cottage cheese in his egg batter.

He shrugs, softly pouting as he tugs you towards to join his side. “I can’t make it as good as you. Sue me.”

“How did you go on living without me?”

The corner of his lips softly jerks up. “I’m wondering the same thing.”

You pull him towards you by his waist, letting your hands glide over his exposed back and settling on his shoulder blades. You inhale the natural aroma of his body, inhaling him and remembering every second of the night you shared. Your memories of intimacy with Jihoon haunted your present day, but images of last night make you feel as if you could finally breathe. “Well, stop wondering. I’ll eat your weird omelets and burnt toast. Just never leave me.”

He strokes the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair. “I should be the one saying that to you, Angel.”

Your smile grazes his skin and your grip on him tightens. “I can’t believe I’m hearing that name again after so long. Now it really doesn’t feel real.”

“Then we can stay in dreamland forever,” He hums, slotting your lips between his with the tilt of your chin.

His arms border either of your sides, pressing you against the counter, parting his mouth wider as his moan vibrates against your lips. Like always, his kisses start sweet before they’re hungry, feverish to taste every inch of you. You feel him lift you from the ground, planting your bare thighs on your cool marble counter as he settles between your legs, hands moving towards the festering, wet heat between them.

“Now I’m feeling like dessert for breakfast first.”

Beneath the shirt that you stole from him to wear is nothing but your vulnerability, coated in the slickness that he remembers was heaven on his tongue, yet sinfully addictive at a mere whiff. He pulls up the hem of the shirt, letting it meet your lips whispering, “Bite it,” before watching you claim it between your teeth.

There, he smooths his hands over your thighs, kissing and tasting the skin before his plush lips aim for your burning core. His eyes shoot up at you before dipping his tongue, letting it run up along your slit before sucking against your folds. You clench your raised hands, shielding the lower half of your face as the sound of his endeavor invades your ears, blood rushing towards you rapidly and fiercely. 

“H-hoon…”

He pulls you closer towards him, his moans vibrating against your skin and his tongue slithering inside you as it massages your walls. Meanwhile, the pads of his finger rubbing against your swollen bud, swirling your arousal in circles, the intoxicating scent wafting into his nose before he delves deeper. “I’ve missed this so badly. You have no idea.”

“You’re gonna make a mess,” you blurt out in a moan.

“Get used to it for the rest of our lives,” he mumbles, hungrily devouring you with no remorse.

You feel closer to reaching the peak so fast, your whole body going up in flames until the very last second, and his name is all either of you hear. He still remembers all the right spots, effortlessly bringing you to the tears streaking your cheeks.

Before the moment can last a second longer, your attention is ripped away by the doorbell. Your head falls on his shoulder, hands clinging to his forearms. You groan, bringing you back to reality. “You have to hide.”

He tilts his head with a straight face, sighing. Standing upright, he cups your face to meet his gaze, the warmth of your cheeks so inviting and sees you clasp your hands over his in response. “Am I now the secret lover that has to hide my passion for the woman I love from the world?” he asks dryly, earning him a soft whine.

“It could be him, or worse, my parents. So, to not complicate things any further,” You drag your hands over his bare chest, letting the ripple of muscles stiffen against your palm, instilling your gaze with mischief. “You’re my dirty little secret until the divorce papers are processed. After that, it's you, me, and the end of time.”

He softly scoffs before pressing a chaste kiss on your lips with a smile. “Please get decent. No matter how good you look in my clothes, it’d be best not to look like you just stepped out of my wet dreams for whoever is at the door.”

You grasp at the cotton, enjoying his lingering scent that you hope never goes away. “So, you still dream about me.”

“Angel.”

“Alright, alright.” You interlock your fingers through his before hopping off the counter and returning to the ground. “Help me pick something out?”

You tug him upstairs to your bedroom, giggling like teenagers and trying to get you ready as efficiently as possible with Jihoon’s lips attached to your neck. From last night up until this morning, it’s been nothing short of thrilling. Had the doorbell not rang, you would’ve returned the favor and continued what he started. You couldn’t see how the rest of the day could go wrong. Even if it were your soon to be ex or your parents, you didn’t think they could take away the smile permanently tattooed on your face. You just couldn’t wait to get back to him.

But for now, this can wait. You have all the time in the world to rekindle the flame that had exploded in your bedroom. For the time being, he has to stay hidden, and the first place you think of is your walk-in closet that’s more than enough space for him to hide. And after choosing something decent to wear, you leave him with a peck on the cheek before descending towards the front door doorbell sounds again, hearing whoever is on the other side evidently impatient. As you swing the door open, you mentally strategize for whoever is on the end, but nothing—no amount of courage or time could have prepared you for this.

“Officers, good morning. How can I help you?” The pads of your fingers are pressed against the door, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, and your breath seizes just at the entrance of your mouth.

They ask for your name and your relationship with that man you’ve been trying to sever ties with for the last several weeks—or admittedly, several years. You blink back at them, heart picking up pace as you clutch your blouse. “Has something happened?”

“Your husband, Boo Hyunkwan, was found murdered in his complex today.”

Your eyes shoot open, skin running cold at the break of the news, and you expel a breath of disbelief. “What…? I don’t understand.”

“I’m sure this is shocking news, however, Miss, we are arresting you for the suspected murder of Boo Hyunkwan. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“Wait–” You’re trembling as you’re put in handcuffs, feeling the cold metal snap and squeeze around your wrists as your panic sets in. 

Your head oscillates from one officer to the other, pleading in your eyes as you insist that this is a mistake, asking how this was sanctioned. Then, your main concern dawns on you, and now all that you can think about is the man you left hidden in your closet. You suppress the instinct to call for him, letting his name die on your tongue as you tuck away in the police car.

You had just reunited, and now you’re getting taken away again. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Not now. Not like this.

Jihoon. Help. 

The man in question has always respected your wishes, but his curiosity got the best of him, blaming it on the years spent away from each other. He just had to see that you’re okay, maybe get ready to break out in a sprint if the situation calls for it. Careful to not to get caught, he undercuts through the big windows looking out towards the front lawn, peering just over the windowsill enough from your bedroom window to make out the scene outside when sees flashing red and blue lights.

Standing pin straight, his hands plants against the window, watching the scene before him unfold without a say otherwise. Eyes glued to your restrained posture shoved in the backseat of the cop car, and it reeves its engine before leaving your driveway. The man still in hiding could only grit his teeth as your name burns and swells his throat shut, breathing no longer an option.

Not that he has many options at this point.

After meeting your parents and after the engagement…

“That couldn’t have gone worse.” Jihoon loosens his tie, but he’s unable to rid himself of the tightness around his throat.

You fall on the couch beside him, a soft gaze directed at him as you smooth out his collar. “It wasn’t that bad. You were perfect, my parents—”

“Were looking after their precious only daughter. As would I.” Jihoon holds your face in his palms, feeling the heat fester as he brushes his thumbs over the plane of your cheeks. “I would protect this Angel too.”

You clasp your hands over his, your scowl only deepening as you take them in your hands. “They still shouldn’t have treated you like that. They’re a reflection of me. What does that say about me?”

He presses a soft kiss against the tip of your nose, feeling your grip on him tighten. “You’re a product of nature, not nurture. It’s your nature to be beautiful inside and out, Angel.”

“What did I do in my life to deserve you?” You coo, throwing your arms around his torso and pressing your ear to his chest, his heartbeat resonating louder by the second.

It’s soothing. The purest form of truth that not anyone could deny. You don’t need to hear a single song if it means giving up this sound and the body that contains it. But his kind words, the words to match the rhythm of his restless heartbeat. One is not one without the other. Just like you are not yourself without Jihoon.

“Love me. So don’t stop now.”

You let out soft gasp, clinging tighter as warmth fans throughout your body. It’s clear as day. You couldn’t imagine a world with him, not a world where you aren’t miserable. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jihoon has already been nervous about meeting your parents, but having met them just confirms his suspicions. You’re the heir to an empire, while Jihoon’s family is nothing remarkable. He had a good family, a decent home life, but almost nothing to his name. He was painfully ordinary with the passion of being a lawyer, but the passion didn’t make him one. After all, he wasn’t on the path of many currently successful lawyers that paid thousands for their education.

Despite it all, Jihoon knows that he has a future with you in it. For the time being, Jihoon is determined to see it through.

“I assume you know why you’re here, young man.”

The sternness in the older woman makes Jihoon’s blood run cold, even with the hot tea that was provided for him. He knows what this is. He’s watched enough television to understand this is the inevitable meeting that he is destined to face. 

“You wanted to discuss your daughter.”

She scoffs, emphasizing her smile lines. She crosses her arms, leaning against her chair before bringing the tea cup to her lips. Now the sudden fear of liquid—or in this case, scorching hot tea—dawns on him. He hopes that this is something you just see in film, and he won’t have to suffer from second degree burns from a soap opera cliche. “I suppose you aren’t daft, perhaps that’s why she likes you so much, but clearly still not smart enough to realize you are not suited for her.”

Jihoon bows his head, the thought of meeting her eyes bringing an irrational amount of fear he never realized he could garner. He tries to swallow it, but it only ends up clogging the words of bravery that he had practiced so many times to win your parents over.

“If you care about her, you’ll walk away. She has a future bigger than this.”

She doesn’t stop for his response and instead throws a thick envelope on the table, the kind you see on multiple cliche dramas with an amount that could change his and his family’s life if he accepts it. An offer he can not dare to refuse. 

“$500,000. Should pay your student loans and all of your tuition. Plenty left over for your family.”

Jihoon clenches his fist, biting his bottom lip until he tastes iron. All for you. All for their one and only daughter. They need him out of your life so badly that this money is nothing to them but a hunk of change they can throw to get exactly that. “I can’t accept this.”

“So much pride with so little to show for it.” She stands from her seat, looming over him coldly. “She is arranged to be married. Someone of equal status. You’d understand, Jihan, is it?”

His thoughts are running amok in his head, bouncing off every corner of mind and rippling waves of ache every passing second. Yet, not one of them revealed themselves in front of the woman before him. Cowardice comes naturally in this circumstance, but Jihoon never thought he’d be a victim of it.

“No matter,” she continues, “Break it off as clean as possible. Or better yet, make it hurt, so that she won’t come running back. This will be good for the both of you.”

Jihoon knows that is the last thing he needs to hear. He knows you don’t think this way. You never gave implications you do, but he can’t help but wonder if your mother is right. Maybe what your parents are offering is better. He couldn’t possibly match up their standards, your standards that you grew up with. What can he offer you that a family with generations of fortune can’t? He has no idea.

Maybe…he shouldn’t hold you back. Maybe this arrangement is what you really need and deserve. If he truly loves you, letting you go would perhaps be the last biggest sacrifice he can make for you. 

So, he coordinates a date, what he assumes would be your final date. He’d take you to somewhere private, in the nicest place he can afford, and buy you your favorite meal with the money he’s saved up from working his part time job. He’ll give you your happiest day before breaking your heart and the news that you can’t be together. He at least has to give you that.

But you beat him to the punch.

“I know what this is.”

He grimaced, looking up from his dinner, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

Your eyes stare through him, piercing, ebbing beads of sweat down his forehead even when he tries avoiding your eyes. “I know you met with my mother.”

“Angel–”

“I’m not giving up, Jihoon.” You twist the plain gold ring on your finger, thumbing over the band. “I love you too much.”

He desperately wants to trust you, to believe in the words you speak, just as he always has. But doubt gnaws at him, fueled by mounting evidence and a gut feeling he can't ignore. The stakes are too high, the consequences too dire to rely solely on blind faith. In his most vulnerable moments, when fear and uncertainty cloud his judgment, it feels as though your love alone isn't enough to withstand the inevitable.

Present day…

Jihoon charges into the police station, haphazardly dressed in yesterday’s clothes with his shirt untucked and buttoned up until the first two top buttons. Everyone present in the room looks towards him momentarily before turning their eyes back to their current task as if it’s an ordinary occurrence. Meanwhile, the man fueled by panic staggers over to the front desk, running his hand frantically through his hair as he tries settling his nerves to garner the right words.

“I-I’m looking for someone,” he stammers, eyes bulging out of his head and brimming with tears. “She just detained. Her name—“ 

Before he can complete his inquiry, his phone goes off, only heightening the stress he’s experiencing. Barely mustering the motor skills to retrieve it from his pocket, he glances at the caller ID that immediately grabs his attention. His gaze flickers back at the officer for a moment before he’s fixated on his phone. “I’ll be right back.”

He scurries over to his car, accepts the car, and presses it to his ear. “Hello?”

“J-Jihoon.”

The quiver in your voice brings him to tears. He tries to keep his composure as their warmth streams down his cheeks. “Hey, hey. Are you okay?”

"They said I could call a lawyer.”

He chuckles softly at your flawed reasoning. "I’m a divorce lawyer, my love."

“Even if you weren’t a lawyer, you were the first person I wanted to talk to.”

His heart aches, clutching his phone as he swallows back his trepidation. “What happened?”

“Hyunkwan. H-he’s dead.”

Jihoon tightly shut his eyes, unsure if he heard currently with how disorienting this whole circumstance is. “Hyunkwan…your husband.”

“T-they found him murdered at home, dead for a couple of days according to autopsies.”

Jihoon sighs coming to realization. “The police suspect you have something to do with it.”

“Yes.” You say voice cracking on the other side. He hears the rustling of your clothes, with the undertone of your whimpers barely making it through on the call. “They think I…I’m sorry to be taking business away from you after all the work you’ve done and hours you’ve put in.”

“Never mind that now. Just remember you didn’t do this. You stick to that. Don’t let them bully you into saying anything else but that.”

“But I didn’t do this,” You insist through your sobs. “I really didn’t.”

He frowns, clutching his chest as he leans his forehead against the front passenger door. “I know. I know you didn’t. Just stick to this, okay?”

“Okay…I just got you back. Why is it I have to fight for you all over again?” You softly whine.

His hand presses flat against his car window, steadying himself. “Once I get you alone again, I’ll let you do absolutely everything to make up for lost time.”

“Hoon…”

“Wait for me, I'll get you, Angel.” 

The second the call ends, Jihoon walks back into that building with a newfound confidence and looks straight into the officer he spoke with before. “Pardon me, urgent call. I’m here to represent my client.”

In the interrogation room, Jihoon has never been more concerned than he is at that very moment. Even disheveled, you look as beautiful as you did this morning when you woke up together with your tear streaked cheeks and red swollen eyes. He wants to do nothing but take you in his arms, kissing the stress away from your body and distract you with long languid kisses until you’re breathless and he’s the only thing on your mind.

But against his wishes, Jihoon keeps it together, trying to remember anything helpful he learned in criminology to help you with your situation.

After a long 72 hours of interrogation and containment, due to lack of evidence, Jihoon has you released. Now, he watches you in his peripheral view as you sit stiff in the front passenger seat, staring off in the distance, unsure whether there was nothing or a multitude of things on your mind. 

The car's interior was thick with silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the rhythmic thrum of tires against asphalt. Jihoon's gaze flickers repeatedly towards you, his brow furrowed with concern. Your rigid posture and the vacant stare in your eyes boring into the road, painting a picture of inner turmoil that words couldn't quite capture.

He racks his brain, desperately searching for the right words to break the silence, to dissipate the awkward tension that thickened the air. But what can he say? How can he possibly understand the maelstrom of emotions you were undoubtedly experiencing?

It’s been nothing less than a harrowing ordeal of relentless onslaught of accusations, interrogations, and the suffocating confines of a cold, sterile cell. And now, despite the nightmare having come to an end, the dark memory still clings to you, its icy fingers refusing to release their grip.

Jihoon's heart aches in your presence. He longs to reach out, to offer comfort and reassurance, but he fears that any attempt at consolation would only serve to further expose his own helplessness in the face of your trauma. He’s acutely aware that his presence, while a source of safety and security, is no medicine for the bundle of nerves that festers like a million ants in your stomach.

Jihoon's grip on the steering wheel tightens as he struggles to maintain his composure, while the silence stretches on. Each passing second amplifies the palpable tension that strangles his neck, suffocating his being. The once familiar surroundings of the car now felt alien and depressing, the silence a deafening roar that drowned out all rational thought.

“We’re almost home, Angel—”

“He’s gone, Jihoon. He was here, and now he’s gone.”

Jihoon retreats to the silence that once held him hostage, accepting there are no words in the universe that could give you the solace you need right now.

“Sick bastard,” You hiss. Putting your fingers to your lips, you succumb to the habit of biting your nails. The habit that you put a lot of effort into getting rid of, apparently only done in vain. “Even in death, he finds a way to take me down with him.”

“You and Hyunkwan…”

“It was business,” you clear up before taking a beat. “Mostly.”

Mostly.

“I see,” Jihoon responds, keeping a neutral tone, while in his head, he’s running a hundred miles per hour imagining you with a man that isn’t him.

You swallow a lump in your throat, lightly clawing at his leather seats. “We were in the same boat. Two kids forced together by their families because of an agreement made so, so long ago. We got along for a little bit, the only reason why it lasted so long, and then we tried to make it work. At least for the beginning of the second year, but old habits die hard, and he couldn’t give up his playboy lifestyle. Then there was me, who never stopped loving you.”

His chest tightens, each breath a struggle as your confession reverberates through him. Every word, a searing touch against his soul, burns its way into his brain. He feels the weight of your admission pressing down on him. His heart pounds a frantic rhythm against his ribs, its wild beat echoing and taking root in every wrinkle of his brain.

“So he went back to partying, and I spent the following several years alone, surveillanced, controlled, and the person I married couldn’t care any less about me, but that’s fine because the person that really mattered was safe.”

Jihoon readjusts his grip on the wheel, gritting his teeth at the thought of your solitude. He had hoped that you’d find some peace in the unavoidable obligation, but knowing that you suffered in silence is worse than knowing you had attempted to build a romantic relationship with your husband. At least with the latter, you would have some semblance of joy.

“Safe? Angel—”

“Hoon, stay with me for the time being.” You grip an of of his with reach, your eyes glossed in your desperate tears, your cracking voice tearing piece by piece. “I don’t want to live alone in that house.”

“You don’t have to. What about the place you’ve been staying now?”

You shake your head with a deep scowl. “My parents found out about me living there and changed the key code. I’m locked out, but they’ve sent my things to my legal residence. It’s the only place I can stay.”

“How can they still be—after hearing their son-in-law has passed?”

You roll your eyes, obviously used to their aggressive and shameless tactics to get exactly what they want. Just as they always have. “They want to keep the ties to the Boos as long as they can. They can’t do that by being estranged. They’re already furious enough that I’ve been living somewhere else.”

Dilemma becomes a lingering companion, making the lawyer question and challenge every selfish thought and desire to stay by your side when it combats with his logic that dares keep you at a distance. “Wouldn’t it be strange for me to stay there?”

“I need you. I can just tell anyone who asks that my lawyer and I are working closely on this case. I’ll say anything I have to to keep you by my side, Hoon.”

Jihoon's breath hitches as he shifts the car into park, his eyes drinking in the grandeur of your house. It was far larger than anything he had ever imagined, a sprawling testament to a life he felt utterly removed from. A wave of insecurity washes over him, the stark contrast between his own modest upbringing and the opulence before him serving as a harsh reminder of the vast sea that divides your worlds.

He swallows hard, his heart pounding against his ribs as he turns to face you. Despite the trepidation that gnawed at him, his love for you is and has always been unwavering. Reaching out, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. "Then I'll stay by your side," he murmurs in your hair, pressing his lips against the side of your head as he feels you reciprocate.

Amidst the uncertainty and the fear, Jihoon makes a solemn vow to himself. No matter the challenges that might arise, he will remain steadfast. He will not falter, no matter the trials and tribulations that lay ahead. With unwavering determination, he pledges to devote every waking moment to fighting tirelessly for your case, and to ensure that you remain by his side. No matter how many mornings and nights it takes, he’ll keep at it relentlessly until you see the light at the end of the tunnel.

After the break up, before the wedding…

Jihoon had been single for his entire life, a lonely existence that spanned twenty years. That was until he met you, an impossibly enchanting presence who immediately bewitched him at a mere glance. The way you love was generous, addictive. Something that would make a man go mad. His life was irrevocably altered from that moment; he couldn't envision a future without you by his side.

The day your relationship ended was a paradox of emotions, as if his heartbreak and logic were at combat. That day had to have been the worst day of his life. It was as if your absence left a gaping hole that made him feel like only a shell of his former self. He was worse than before he had met you. Then he was antisocial, and now he didn’t want to look at another person for as long as he lived. If it were within his power, he would erase it from his mind entirely, but the pain of losing the love of his life was an indelible scar, a torment he wouldn't wish upon even his most hated enemy.

"Long time no see.”

You stand bashfully beneath the sprawling branches of the grand oak tree that dominated the center of the campus park. The same park where you both make a recurring date spot since you insisted on him getting some vitamin D on the especially sunny days, the sacred ground where Jihoon had professed his undying love and asked for your hand in marriage. The last happy memory you had together before it all went to shit.

His head lifts abruptly, drawn away from the pages of the book he'd been staring at without truly reading. The words had blurred into meaninglessness after you'd walked out of his life. His gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, time stands still, disbelief warring with a glint of hope in his eyes. You offered him a bittersweet smile, the curve of your lips swelling the organ that put him at ruin countless times before gracefully settling onto the grass beside him, the shade blanketing over your presence like the gray gloomy cloud did him.

"Hi," he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're...you're talking to me."

"That I am," you confirm, your voice gentle and warm.

His brow furrows, and the hope melts off his face, turning the corners of his lips down. "I don't know if your parents, or your...fiance," he says, emphasizing the word that has his voice thick with distaste, "would like that."

The corners of your mouth turn down in a sad smile. and you draw your knees up to your chest, resting your head against them. "No, they wouldn't, but I don't care."

"Maybe you should.” His voice laced with a chilling indifference as he turns his attention back to the dense textbook that lay open in his lap, his focus appearing unwavering.

The sting of his snide remark makes your heart feel as if it’s being crushed, mangled by a hand until it’s deduced to nothing. Nonetheless, you push the ache down, forcing a casual, eased tone. "Funny. It's only been a month, but it feels like an eternity."

He merely hums in response, feigning disinterest while his every nerve thrums at  the knowledge of your existence that makes concentration feel like combat against a formidable opponent.

"I'm done avoiding you," you declare, your voice firm.

His fingers pause their rhythmic flipping of pages, his lips twisting into a nervous line, his eyes still fixed on the pages. "Really?"

"Really.”

A flicker of something akin to intrigue passed over his features before disappearing in a split second, replaced by a stone face. "...That's nice to hear," he replies, his voice measured, guarded.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment before you break it, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. "So, what are you studying?"

"Forensic science," he bluntly answers, his voice devoid of any inflection. "The scientific methods used to investigate and examine evidence."

Your lips pucker in  feigned curiosity, looking to prolong this encounter no matter how cold he makes himself to be. "How's it going?" 

He lets out a sigh, the sound heavy with frustration. His eyes seemed to blur the images in front of him as if the words on the page were swimming before his eyes. "Like my brain developed a severe intolerance for new information.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as your gaze lingers on him, his frustration evident in the way he’s now violently flipping through the pages. You took a moment to etch his features into your memory, wanting to remember every detail of how he looks now, what will  one day be a passing image that you’d never get to see again. "Too bad you're pursuing criminal law, huh? Any chance you might become a divorce lawyer and take my case one day when it comes?"

Jihoon scoffs softly, his gaze falling to his feet as he goes silent for a moment. That thought has crossed his mind countless times since you had reluctantly agreed to your parents' arranged marriage. Though his expression remains stoic, his words reveal the truth you both had tried so hard to ignore. "In a heartbeat," he grips the book tightly, as if the act would get rid of the ache in his chest. "You know I would."

Your heart hammers in your chest, the determination in his eyes almost overwhelming as he glances at you from the corner of his eye. "Don't," you choke out, shaking your head. "I would never want to take that away from you. Your whole life is centered around being a criminal justice lawyer."

"And you," he lifts his gaze from his lap to meet your eyes with tears that threaten to spill. His hand twitches with the urge to wipe them away. "Criminal justice and you. Angel."

You know there's nothing he wouldn't do for you. And that's what terrifies you. The extent of his sacrifices knows no bounds. He's unconditionally devoted to you in a way that’s almost suffocating, but to be smothered in that love is an end you don’t mind meeting. Jihoon has always considered himself a logical man, but from the moment you met, he's become the epitome of a romantic. "I love you more than anything in the world," you remind, "but don't. Please."

He sighs, his attention returning to his book, his fingers flipping the pages. "I won't," he assures you, "if it means that much."

Except, that is what he fully plans to do.

Present day, a week after the release…

“Hoon?”

Jihoon, his glasses slightly askew, glances up from the cluttered desk, a warm smile gracing his lips as he sees you standing in the doorway. His fingers pause their rhythmic dance across the keyboard, the soft click-clack momentarily silenced as he greets you. "You're home.”

You scan over his workspace he’s made for himself in an empty office of your home, unable to ignore the neverending mountain of documents. "You're still here working on my case?" 

A soft smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he plucks off his glasses, his eyes holding yours an unwavering confidence. "Of course. My clients always get the best service."

Your brow furrows slightly. "You haven't been going into your office," you point out. "Won't that be a problem?"

"I've transferred any ongoing cases I had to other recommended lawyers in the area," he reassures, fingering through stacks on stacks of paperwork. "They'll be helping them. Don't worry about me."

“How can I? You’re losing work because of me. Plus, you’re a divorce lawyer. Is this even allowed?”

He pauses, his gaze softening at your concern painted over your features. "You and I both know I am well versed in criminal law just as much as I am in family law. I majored in criminal justice, remember?”

Your eyes narrow back at him as you cross your arms. “Yes, and you went against me and became a divorce lawyer.”

He grins a little too hard, like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. “It brought you to me, didn’t it? And as for losing work. it's a small price to pay to make sure you get the justice you deserve."

"Isn't this a lot for you to take on? You must have other responsibilities, work, errands..."

His eyes lock onto yours, unwavering and steady. He points at you domineeringly with the pen in his hand as if you’re about to be lectured for being tardy to class. "You're facing a trial for a murder you didn't commit. You shouldn't be wasting your energy worrying about me."

"Hoon—" 

"I won't let them take you away from me a third time.” His preservation only grows stronger with your concern, heart heavy as he replays the image of you put in handcuffs, actively getting taken away from him.

"Still, you can't put yourself through all of this just for me.”

"Why not?" His voice rises slightly, kindling a fiery path down his throat. "You didn't do this, and I'm not going to just stand by and twiddle my fingers. Everything we’ve rebuilt, it’ll all come crashing down. Again."

"It won't.” You shake your head with unwavering resolve before you reach his side and gently tug his arm. "I won't let it."

His expression softens, but it does not deter his persistence. "Then let me double my efforts to help you." 

“But—" He silences you with a look, his eyes pleading desperately as the air around you wraps around your throat and squeezes it shut.

He gently places the pen on the table, his hand moving to cup the side of your face. His gaze holds yours, filled with a longing that betrays the initial confidence his words carried. His lips tremble slightly, a reminder of the fear that’s taken over that past week as he inches closer towards you.

"It may be hard to believe, but," he whispers, his voice husky as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes hover over your parted mouth, his face drawing closer until your breaths mingle in the space between you, "talking to you through a glass partition and dressed in orange is not nearly as fun as it sounds. Please, Angel," he takes you in both his hands, forcing your gaze on him as your hips meet in desperate pleas, "let me help you."

“Jihoon-” His lips capture yours, clutching you against him as your hands settle over his waist, succumbing to an insatiable lip-lock, burying your mixed bag of emotions as he presses you against the edge of his desk.

He parts from you in heavy breaths before you propel over to reclaim him, the hunger overtaking your logic as you fill your mind with Jihoon and him only. Your ferocity drowns out the softness of his tenor voice as your hands fiddle over his button-down, undoing each one in a hurried pattern before his hands clasp over yours in a forced halt, pushing them down. 

Your lips part softly, the air between you heavy with insatiable desire. The intensity in his gaze deepens, a lustful darkness swirling within that reflects your own yearning. You find his presence intoxicating, a high that won’t come down, and he reminds you how easily he can have you succumb to his every whim. It's as if he's peering into your very soul, igniting a fire within you that is not only tempting but threatens to consume you both. He realizes that he needs to be the one in control to prevent that from happening. Especially considering the hunger he fears is already fueling you and threatens his clarity.

“Don’t try distracting me,” he half-jokingly says, his hands tracing the sides of your torso, betraying his conviction. “You know I can’t resist you.”

You snicker, your bottom lip being pulled through your teeth as you throw your arms around his neck, drawing his presence dangerously closer. “Yeah, you can’t.”

“Angel,” he gently warns, breath hitching in his throat as your touch trails down the exposed plane of his chest as it heaves, while the hairs on his neck stand stiff, his lust talking over his reasoning.

“Knock off all the papers off your desk like you want to, Hoon,” your lips ghost over one another, daring another kiss to get lost in. “Don’t you remember? That fantasy of yours where we lose ourselves in each other? You wanna ruin this desk with me?”

“You…” His smug smile grazes your lips as he borders you with his arms, pushing you into a locked cage of his fervent heat that sends your aroused state ablaze. A sweet moan leaves your lips as his thigh parts your legs as it takes residence against your clothed core. “Just don’t know when to quit, don't you?”

Before the moment escalates any further, the familiar sound of the doorbell rings throughout the house, eliciting a frustrated groan from the man in front of you as he clings to your frame. “We need a sign or a scarecrow or something if we keep getting interrupted like this.” He chastely kisses the giggles off your lips. “I’ll get it—but after, no more distracting me.”

Your eyes widen in clear offense before you playfully shove him away. "You kissed me!" you loudly reminded, your head double taking in the incredulity. "And why would you open the door? It's my house."

"Consider it a trauma response," he answers dryly as his fingers gently brush against the back of your head, watching the endearing pout swell your kiss-swollen lips. “I won't take long. Just follow behind me if you're worried."

You huff, crossing your arms and sounding out in a firm and resolute tone, "I was going to do that anyway."

"I knew you would,” he says with a knowing smile.

Jihoon's footsteps trickle down the steps as he follows the incessant ringing of the doorbell, echoing through the house with an urgency that intensifies his irritability. Before he can reach the door, it swings open, revealing a figure who rushes in, nearly colliding with Jihoon in their haste.

"Um, hello?" Jihoon stammers, taken aback by the intrusion.

The individual doesn’t bother acknowledging the man that welcomes him, his eyes frantically scanning the room. "Where is she?" His gaze darts from one corner to another before finally landing on you.

"Seungkwan?" 

Seungkwan's face softens as he sees you. He rushes towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his chin resting in the crook of your neck. "Oh my god," he mumbles into your skin, "You have no idea how worried I was."

Jihoon steps back, standing frozen as his fists clenched tightly at his sides, watching the scene unfold before him. Like a knife twisting in his gut, he’s unable to ignore the intimacy of your skinship. The way you lean into the newcomer's touch, how familiar it all is to you. You might as well send a sharp slap to his face.

He prides himself on his self-control, his ability to maintain a stoic facade even in the face of adversity—crucial for a lawyer. But at this moment, he feels powerless, his confidence depleting. He wants nothing more than to stride forward, to pull you away from the stranger's embrace and make it known that only he has the privilege to greet you so warmly. But he can't. He shouldn’t. Instead, he tucks away his jealousy and pride, maintaining a pretense of civility in front of the person who looks at home in your arms.

You gently release yourself from his embrace and place him at your side, his gaze oozing with concern. "It's okay, for now," you reassure him, "but you almost hurt my guest."

Seungkwan's expression shifts to realization as he turns to Jihoon. "My apologies," he extends his hand for a handshake. Jihoon accepts, noting the firmness of his grip which he returns just as boldly. The other man doesn’t waver, only conjuring a polite smile, one Jihoon is all too familiar with in his line of work. "I am her legal guardian."

You roll your eyes. “No, he’s not.”

The young man sulks and childishly pulls at your sleeve with doe eyes, “Yes, I am. After my brother's death, I might as well be.” He clings to you like a fly in a sticky trap. “I booked the earliest flight right after my business meeting and got here as soon as I could. I'm here now.”

You gently push him away again and rest your hands on his shoulders. “I'm an adult. I’m my own guardian.” You glance at the lawyer, hands tied as he witnesses the scene, and you’re suddenly overtaken by a sense of guilt. “Jihoon, this is my brother-in-law, Seungkwan. Seungkwan, this is Jihoon, my…lawyer for the time being. He's staying at the house so we can work closely on the case and get the whole picture.”

Your hesitation to define Jihoon’s presence is clear, but amidst the chaotic rally, it goes unnoticed by the newcomer. He inserts himself between you and Jihoon, acting as a barrier.

"Thank you for taking on her case with such short notice." Seungkwan takes your hand in his, stroking the back with his thumb and staring back at you with an immeasurable warmth as he interlaces your fingers. Meanwhile, Jihoon feels a surge of possessiveness as his gaze lingers on your intertwined fingers, maleficence passing over his eyes as he thinks of the limitless ways he can pry Seungkwan’s fingers off you before snapping every ligament.

"Of course," the lawyer responds calmly, maintaining a stoic composure despite his clenched jaw. "Just doing my job."

“Sweetheart…” Seungkwan's voice drips with a luscious honey as he nuzzles his head against your shoulder, his boyish face etched with a charmingly innocent grin. "Let big brother make all your worries disappear," he coos, gently guiding you towards the staircase, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back. Jihoon, observing the scene from across the room, feels a flicker of irritation twitching at the corner of his eye.

"Kwan, I'm older than you. What 'big brother' are you talking about?" You cast an apologetic glance over your shoulder at the lawyer standing alone in the corner. Seungkwan pouts playfully, his hand descending your lower back, and Jihoon gets closer to resort to violence.

“Well, for the time being, I’m big brother, so anything you need, I can do. Don’t worry your little head over anything.”

Jihoon's body moves mechanically, slowly trailing behind the chattering duo before the door to your bedroom clicks shut. The silence of the room presses down on him, bitterly reminding him of the loneliness he has briefly escaped. The familiar ache of rejection settles deep within him, a long-forgotten companion that he has grown accustomed to evading. There is nothing he can do to change the situation, not without causing more harm than good. 

With a heavy sigh, Jihoon turns his attention back to the office and returns to your case, channeling his restless energy into something productive. But even as he immerses himself, cataloging every detail, your image of you leaving returns. The vision of you disappearing from his sight, guided by another's touch, lingers in the back of his mind, and in turn, reopens the throbbing wound once sewed by you coming back in his life.

For the following month, Seungkwan doesn't leave your side, which gives Jihoon plenty of time to develop your case. However, Jihoon can't shake his unease about your brother-in-law. Seungkwan's constant affectionate gestures toward you—the loving gazes, lingering touches, and overly sweet words of affirmation—make Jihoon want to throw himself off a cliff. Or better yet the other man off one instead.

Seungkwan's presence, equivalent to an annoying pest, has made it nearly impossible for you and Jihoon to have any privacy. Not that you’ve tried anything while he’s in the house, both you and your lawyer/lover have you carefully hiding private messages, considering how close he can get to you at any given time. His unwavering presence feels insurmountable, leaving you and Jihoon with no choice but to roll with the punches.

“Sweetheart, let’s get dinner!”

You roll your eyes, barely looking up from your book. “Kwan, I know I’m not working now, but that doesn’t mean I can go out and goof around with you all the time.”

“Boo…that’s exactly what it means!”

You sigh as you gaze at the cracked door that leads to the private office on the same floor. Peering through, you catch a glimpse of Jihoon diligently shuffling through papers, his glasses perched on his nose in a way that makes you swoon.

“Let’s just order in, we can get something for Attorney Lee too. I’m worried he’s not getting any real meals in with all the time he’s putting into my case.”

Seungkwan nods gingerly, “Sure, what’ll you have?”

“One moment,” you scurry over to the door that stands in your way, pushing it open with a knock and alerting the man in the room. “Anything you’re craving? We’re getting lunch.”

The lawyer glances up at you above his frames, readjusting them to fit over his eyes. “Uh, anything. I’m not all that hungry.”

“You must want something.” You look at him expectantly, pressing your lips in a firm line as you scan his appearance, resisting the urge to tear his haphazardly worn dress shirt off him and devour him like a rabid animal. “It could be anything.”

He rests his arms on the desk, pursing his lips in thought. “If anything…I’d like to try your cooking. You’d seem like you have a colorful palette.”

You grin, narrowing your eyes at him in feigned annoyance as a hint of a smile graces his face. He turns back to his work, his teeth biting back a bigger smile.

“Well, I better get started then.”

Too distracted by the alluring dishevel of the man buried in paperwork, you don’t discern the eyes burning a hole in your back. The smile that would be a constant on Seungkwan’s face is visibly misplaced. When you return your attention to him, he quickly conjures one on the spot, acting as if nothing had changed at all.

“Kwan, how do you feel about kimchi fried rice? I’ve been meaning to make use of the kimchi taking space in the fridge.”

Seungkwan nods. “I’m down.” He stands up from the couch and strides towards you, putting his hands behind his back. “Sounds like you’re in need of a partner…a cooking partner that is.”

“That I am,” you nonchalantly agree, briefly shifting eyes back to Jihoon, “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“I look forward to it.”

You gleefully consume yourself with your culinary ventures, tasting and scavenging for all your ingredients and giddy that Jihoon requested it after being forced to hide your affinity for another. You aren’t used to the stiff wall he’s built; even starting as a client, he acted more familiar than this. But if you can show your love in any way possible, you’ll do it. 

Amidst your joy, Seungkwan busies himself by chopping the vegetables you’ve assigned him, glowering at your back turned toward him while you remain oblivious. You don’t notice how his eyes trail up your body, surveilling you like a hawk. Or him pressing his lips together in restraint when you bend over to pick up something you dropped. He only mutters under his breath, hardly audible with your soft humming that fills the room.

“Hey, Kwan, help me find the sugar. It vanished on me.”

He makes a semblance of a smile. “Sure.” 

As he pretends to scavenge for your targeted ingredient, he continues stalking your moves. He takes a sharp inhale when you brush past him, the comforting scent of your skin bringing him. He chuckles to himself, amused by your mounting frustration, savoring the soft grumbles under your breath. Finally, you’re met with triumph as you spot the elusive ingredient tucked away on a high shelf, hidden behind a bulky cabinet. “Found it!”

“Let me get that for you.”

Before you can make way for him, his body presses flush against your backside, and you can feel every detail on him you’ve made contact with. You let out a sharp gasp when he shifts against you closer. The feeling of his presence lingers long enough for you to process your emotions before his fingers grip the sugar jar and place it on the counter in front of you. “How did that get up there? You should put it within closer reach to avoid hurting yourself trying to get it.”

You hum, acknowledging his advice. As you turn to face him, you lock eyes, catching the hint of something in his eyes before he descends his gaze, cheeks undeniably red. Awkwardly, you force a cough and cast your attention to the lunch in progress. “Right. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

That moment replays in your mind, leaving a disconcerting tension that hinders your movements. You are unable to stop yourself from fixating on two qualities of that encounter: the unfamiliar glint in his eyes that makes your stomach churn and the firm sensation you felt when he stood behind you. Despite your feelings, you brush the thought aside. Recalling all the past instances, you should be accustomed to his lack of personal space by now. Perhaps you’re misinterpreting what you think you felt, making excuses for him alone in your head. This could all become a big misunderstanding, and it’d be best to ignore all together to avoid trouble.

As you carefully arrange the lovingly prepared meal on the dining table, grinning to yourself with the placement before calling out to Jihoon. You’re surprised when he turns up almost instantly. "That was quick." Your lips turn up in a teasing smirk, raising an eyebrow. Considering the office is located all the way at the end of the first-floor hallway, it shouldn't be humanly possible to get to the dining room this quickly. 

“It…smelled good,” the lawyer bashfully pats his stomach, maintaining his aloof expression. “I got curious, so I couldn't wait. I needed to use the bathroom anyway, and this one was closer than the others.”

“Well, wait no further. Dig in, boys!”

Dinner is seemingly to some, but not others. Seungkwan, emboldened by the seating arrangement, has an idea pop into his head. Laden with unspoken intent, he picks up his own spoon, insisting on feeding you. He makes a thinly veiled excuse of having "too much meat" to eat alone, and every accepted bite makes the corner of his lips turn up higher.

Jihoon, on the other hand, quietly observes. He harnesses a mask of disinterest, but he can feel it crack under the pressure of the underlying tension at the dining table. Inconspicuously, his eyes dart up to survey the air between you and Seungkwan; brief but intense, each glance leaves him with more questions left to be answered. He finds it increasingly challenging to suppress his indignation amidst the seemingly amicable gestures, deflecting his attention to the clinking of utensils and drink glasses as he tries to ignore the incessant hum of their conversation.

He deliberately doesn’t mention the moment in the kitchen—the scene that had you and your brother in law too close for comfort. He doesn’t ask how it rendered you speechless, or confess how it ignited a silent fury within him, causing his hands to ball into fists and his jaw to clench. The tension in that scene stretched on, feeling interminable, until you managed an escape, ducking your head so low that Jihoon fails to catch your reaction, unable to determine your true sentiment. 

The lawyer had the unfortunate opportunity to witness the ‘unintentional’ embrace from behind you, and out of all the new memories he’s made, that is one he’d pay to burn to ash. He hates this feeling, this jealousy. This possessiveness consumes him like a famished beast tearing into its feast. Nothing would please him more than ridding himself of the intrusion, keeping you to himself for none of the world to see. Alas, he bites back the lechery, swallowing the lump along with a spoonful of fried rice.

“Jihoon.”

His attention captured by the sound of your voice, he looks back at you expectantly. "Yes?"

Your grin immediately softens his cold demeanor and loosens the grip he hadn't realized he had on his spoon.

“Are you going to give yourself any grace and momentarily take your eyes off work? I’m grateful for everything you’re doing, but I can’t help but be concerned for your well-being.”

Your formal vernacular twists the knife already sunken in his chest, and he can’t suppress the soft sigh of acceptance that makes past his lips. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t act so familiar with me. As your lawyer, there are boundaries we should breach. Thank you for your concern, but it’s superfluous to prolong it.”

“Hey!” Seungkwan finally addresses Jihoon after seeing the color drain from your face. “She was only being nice. You don’t have to act like an ass with your pretentious vocabulary.”

“Seungkwan!” you scold, turning his angry scrutiny away from the man opposite him with a slap on the back. “Calm down. He’s right,” you glance back at Jihoon, picking through his meal with disinterest, hiding the guilt that swallows up his appetite. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help but feel guilty.”

“It’s alright.” He pushes up his frames. “Perhaps, I was harsh. I’m taking this case seriously, for your benefit. I assure you every minute counts.”

“I believe it. Still, you perform best in peak condition right?”

A hint of a smile touches his lips. “I suppose so.”

Seungkwan scoots closer to you, hugging your arm to his side, batting his eyelashes like butterflies fluttering in the wind. His hand falls in your hair, threading his fingers through tangled strands. He draws his lips close to your ear, speaking in a mellow yet effervescent tone that sends even the man opposite of him into shivers. “Let him do his job, sweetheart. It sounds like you’re in good hands. Just focus on laying low with me. I’m sure it’s what Hyunkwan would’ve wanted.”

You don’t have the fight to argue, and the argument ends as quickly as it began, leaving a bitter taste in its wake. It’s the most you and Jihoon had spoken since Seungkwan unexpectedly moved in. The overly affectionate newcomer has effectively blocked all advances either of you make, having this arrangement be a harrowing, sexually frustrating hell to say the least.

Jihoon knows intimacy is impossible under these circumstances, out of the question with the risk of being caught, but he underestimates Seungkwan and his tenacity. His meddlesome demeanor stands like a wall between you and your formerly estranged lover. Seungkwan is a constant, his interference a source of endless aggravation. Every attempt Jihoon made to navigate the situation was thwarted by Seungkwan, who inserted himself in every scenario possible.

And there’s something you are oblivious to that Jihoon isn't: the intent behind your brother-in-law’s eyes. Seungkwan possesses an intense, disturbing gaze that makes the lawyer’s blood run cold. At a mere glimpse, Jihoon could feel the hairs of his body stand on all ends, raising his already made suspicion that he isn’t to be trusted with even a pet rock. The lawyer can recreate from memory that chilling gaze that’s sharp as a blade, as if sketching a portrait of a criminal on the run. 

And if it isn’t obvious enough, Seungkwan holds an apparent animosity towards Jihoon, unwavering. Whether it's through necessary legal interactions or simply sharing a space, Seungkwan's hostility is evident. His dislike for Jihoon is palpable and persistent, an enduring tension that time doesn't seem to diminish. The sentiment, unsurprisingly, is mutual; Jihoon harbors an equal measure of antipathy towards the young heir. 

However, unlike the childish rival, the older man knows how to pick his fights. He doesn’t let the other man intimidate him more than he already does. A few glares and obnoxious scoffs isn’t enough to deter the lawyer’s confidence. Seungkwan acts like a puppy around you, a shameless, lovesick puppy trailing after his master, and that’s all he’ll ever be. Jihoon knows he’s different. Different in the looks you cast at him or the secretive touches you make throughout the day just out of the other man’s view. You actually love him. Undeniably. Rest assured, Seungkwan, at the end of the day, will be a passing thought after the investigation is resolved; at least that’s what Jihoon tells himself.

It’s like any other day when Jihoon's focus shifts from his work, hearing a cheerful voice say, "Knock, knock." Seungkwan, the man who constantly occupies his thoughts, stands confidently in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Mr. Boo,” Jihoon greets indifferently, “How can I help you?”

"Please, call me Seungkwan," Seungkwan insists with a disarming smile, "Mr. Boo is my father."

“Well, then, Seungkwan,” He barely managed to keep the documents in his hand from falling off the already towering stack of papers on the corner of his desk as he set them aside. “Is there anything you need from me? Is she asking for me?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that.” The young heir closes the door behind him and walks over to the desk with unbridled confidence. “She’s preoccupied with something much more important.”

“I see. Then, what brings you here?”

The plush leather chair behind the imposing mahogany desk creaks ominously under the weight of the man who occupies it. A cold shiver snakes its way down his spine, and the air in the room seems to thicken. The once amiable mask slips out of view before the lawyer’s very eyes, leaving their true dark colors in its wake.

Gone is the casual slouch and the easy smile. The intruder leans forward, his hands gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening with the force of his hold. His shadow falls over the furniture, looming large over the man seated behind it. The once friendly eyes now hold a steely glint, boring into Jihoon, and the lawyer tastes something he’s had before: displeasure with his mere existence, just like your mother years ago, only if she’d had a knife behind her back.

"You need a stern talking to, Mr. Lawyer." Seungkwan leaves no room for misinterpretation as he embodies disdain, spitting the last two words, laden with mockery.

Jihoon’s expression doesn’t falter, his innocuous stoicism is kept strong as he decides to entertain his guest’s obnoxious efforts. “About anything in particular?”

Seungkwan scoffs, narrowing his eyes that look as if they could bulge out of his head. “How about the fact you’re living in this house with a woman you’re not married to? A fresh widow at that.”

“Mr. Boo, I assure you, I’m just doing my job—”

“Then, stay in your lane,” he hisses. “It’s as easy as pushing you into—” Seungkwan cuts off his thoughts as he runs a hand through his hair, expelling the rage building up inside him in deep sighs. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be, Mr. Lee.”

Jihoon feigns ignorance, tilting his head to the side in mock confusion. “I don’t follow.”

“Bullshit!” Seungkwan swings his hands over a neatly stacked pile of papers, startling the once composed lawyer as the pages fan around the room and lie scattered on the ground. The cause of destruction slams his hands against the desk, worn chips of wood falling to their demise. “You don’t think I don’t see the way you look at her? How she looks at you? You’re him, aren’t you? The little ex-boyfriend she gave up to marry my brother and please her family.”

Jihoon gets up from his seat, having heard enough as a scowl threatens an appearance. “You are jumping to conclusions. I am just here to represent her in court.”

“STOP,” Seungkwan shouts from the top of his lungs, face twisted in a grimace, “telling me what I am doing. I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He backs him into a corner, the lawyer relenting his body to the hostility as he reigns in his own anger, displacing it in his fists before putting an arm between them as a barrier. The corners of Seungkwan’s lips tug up arrogantly, shoving himself against the pathetic excuse of a defense. “I fucking looked you up. You are a measly family lawyer. Now, are you going to stay here and stand in the fate of my destiny, or am I going to have to force my fucking hand?”

“...What do you mean by that, Mr. Boo?” Jihoon treads lightly, his forearm shoving back into his assailant.

“I mean,” he bends his neck forward to peer into the other’s soul, the manic in his eyes gradually intensIfying. “I am not afraid to get dirt under my fingers if you overlook your work lusting after something you can’t covet even in your dreams.”

Now the boy’s gone too far. Jihoon’s pride is suddenly on the line, and he’s quick to defend himself. “Now hold on—”

“Why don’t you,” the menace jabs his index finger into the other man’s chest with every word, “hold on and get a grip of reality, unless you want to find yourself in a ditch becoming worm food.”

The fragments of information started coalescing within the recesses of Jihoons's mind, drawing from the vast expanse of his memories of living in the shared residence. Each piece slots into place, and the picture becomes clear. His eyes flare on as the realization dawns on him.

"Y-you," he stammers, his body going stiff. "It was you. You killed him, didn’t you?"

Seungkwan's lip curls in a sneer, his grip loosening for the briefest moment, a flicker of vulnerability quickly replaced by a surge of aggression. With a forceful shove, he slams the other man, a pained groan escaping his lips as his backside collides with the wall behind him as he feels the bruises etch into his skin. "Congratulations," Seungkwan displays his master class act of sarcasm, "You want a cookie?"

“Why on earth would you tell me this?” Jihoon’s voice booms, proving his strength as he takes the offense, seeing the other’s feet stumble to find the ground beneath them.

“Because you’re not going to fucking say a thing if you want to stay alive. I know people in high places. I can snap you and your lineage in half.”

“She wouldn’t want this—”

Seungkwan palm crashes right by Jihoon’s head, missing him by a hair. “She doesn’t have to know. All you have to worry about, though,” he points at him, “is getting her free. Pin it on anyone, literally. A jealous maid, one of his mistresses, a rival client. My brother has more enemies than you can count with all four hands and feet.”

Jihoon fixes his shirt as the heir pulls away, disgusted as he dusts himself of debris that could’ve deflected on him. “It’s the matter of evidence, Mr. Boo.”

“Make some.” Seungkwan hisses before turning to the exit, satisfied with his threat, and stopping once he’s breached the door and leaving Jihoon with his bidding words. “Do your fucking job. Or I’ll just have to pin it on you.”

Jihoon scans his surroundings; the mess conjured in a fit of anger points right in the direction of the culprit hidden under his nose. A fiery rage burns inside the man as he takes his turn slamming his desk with his fist, raking his hands in his hair as his composure comes crashing down. Never in his life had he met someone of Seungkwan's caliber—rude and demeaning soon-to-be divorcees, sure—but nothing like the monster that marked his territory in that room.

His hands shake erratically as he picks up the fallen documents, crinkling in his hands as he forms fists. A shattered sigh breaks free. His heart hammers rapidly at an unmeasurable pace. Perspiration coats his entire body, seeping through the fabric of his clothes to show stains of his uncontainable rage. All Jihoon sees is red, and it will be a frozen day in hell before he relents you to that psychopath. He just has to be smart, and unfortunately that involves you out of the way. Your case—your freedom is still his top priority, but as Seungkwan so enthusiastically suggested, getting his hands dirty is the only way to do it.

The event goes unnoticed by the owner of the home, cleaning up your own mess upstairs in your bedroom as you shuffle through your things in your closet. You look over all the things you’ve left behind, reacquainting with items that only serve as reminders of everything that’s transpired the last few months.

It should be easy knowing he’s gone now, but it does not take away that he was somewhat present for your early adulthood. Whether you like it or not, Hyunkwan’s death affected you, but more than anything, it worried you about the future to come. And like clockwork, your parents call while you’re in the midst of collecting your thoughts, speaking only of the merger and how it now changes things.

Naturally, as next in line, Seungkwan would take his brother’s place in the executive position, keeping the legacy that was left behind, and it leaves you to maintain close ties. Because as the only living heir left, he holds almost power, it’s only a matter of time before he and his family realizes that your family has no place in the Boo empire. After an appropriate time has passed, and the investigation eliminates you as a suspect, it’d only be right for you to join your brother-in-law as his wife. Only your parents would suggest you plan the possibility of engagement as a future course of action.

Dread washes over you as you speak. You feared this would happen. Your parents, with their incessant need to control every aspect of your life, had taken it upon themselves to arrange your second marriage when the body of your first husband has yet to hit the ground. The fact that they have already booked a wedding venue, without even consulting you, is a testament to how little they care about your happiness.

Despite being a fully grown adult, you feel trapped in a perpetual childhood, your parents' controlling grip as tight as ever. Their actions are a constant reminder that they still see you as a child, incapable of making your own decisions. The suffocating feeling is as strong as ever, reminding you why you are hardly willing to talk to them.

Now, with Seungkwan around your house, your parents must be over the moon at the news. It works very well in their favor. However, you aren’t feeling as keen knowing what that means for your current living arrangement with Jihoon. While you typically enjoy Seungkwan's company, it’s hard to be excited with the weight of possible engagement and lack of opportunity to sate the longing of your reunited lover.

You miss Jihoon desperately, and being forced to be separate only makes you crave him more. You've resorted to unusual comms, using secret signals, and hiding your incriminatingly suggestive messages. The need for discretion and secrecy has become necessary, seeing as carving out any sliver of alone time with Jihoon has been impossible because of Seungkwan's constant presence. This boy is an innocent bystander in all this mess. If anything, you feel bad that Seungkwan got so heavily involved, considering he had just lost his only brother. He must feel so down under that happy facade.

“Are you incompetent or plain fucking stupid?”

The voice, chillingly familiar yet unnerving in its unexpected proximity as you take the route to the stairs, blaring loud enough to be coherent from just behind a tightly shut guest room door. It sends a shiver down your spine, a voice you recognize but can't immediately place.

“What’s it going to take to get some real fucking progress…Yes, I gave him a warning. Are you an idiot?”

Your breath catches in your throat while your feet freeze in place. Every muscle tenses as you strain to decipher the torrent of words erupting from the other side of the door. Their voice is so alive with an intemperate anger, each syllable dripping with bitterness. This is a side of your brother-in-law you have never encountered before, something you’d never associate with the man you thought you knew so well.

You cling to the door, careful to avoid making a sound, and listen as the angry ramblings continue. The words paint a picture of a man who apparently is still a stranger to you, a far cry from the Seungkwan who always was kind and sweet to you as someone who was family only by obligation. You can't help but wonder what you have missed to not know this side of him.

This is the man who always seems to have everything under control and gets everything he wants, now unraveling before you.

Boo Seungkwan, just what is going on inside that head?

Before the proposal…

"The butler did it." 

You playfully throw a popcorn kernel at him. "You don't know that!"

"It's always the butler," Jihoon retorts dryly, his voice deep and resonant.

This is one of your many cherished weekends spent with Jihoon. Whether it is curled up with a good book, enjoying peaceful slumber, or as is the case tonight, debating between mystery movies and true crime documentaries, your time together is always precious. Tonight, you were in the mood for a suspenseful mystery, something to keep you on the edge of your seat.

"This is all so predictable," Jihoon sighs, feigning boredom.

"Oh, stop being such a Negative Nancy and just enjoy the movie, will you?" you playfully chide, snuggling closer to him on the couch, seeking to dispel his discontent. 

You know, despite his critiques, he’s enjoying this more than he lets on because of your company. As he’s told you before, movie night is never boring with you around. You nuzzle your head into his shoulder, and the clean scent of his soap and his radiating warmth puts you at ease. You feel the warmth of his chin resting on your head; it’s comforting weight making you melt deeper in his touch. His chuckle rumbles through his chest, making his body vibrate pleasantly against yours, and you feel a content smile tug at your lips. 

"It's kinda hard to enjoy the movie when the camera keeps zooming in on a naked torso every five minutes," he snorts.

"Sexy suspects make for a sexy murder mystery." you retort, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Whatever they're being paid, it's not enough."

You both continue to exchange witty remarks as the movie progresses, dissecting the plot and playfully mocking the characters' over-the-top reactions. Jihoon's playful commentary and your shared laughter fill the room. The suspenseful twists and turns keep you both engaged, invested even, and you both feel at peace in each other’s presence.

"Huh, so it wasn't the butler." 

You shake your head, overflowing with pride. "Nope, everyone always dismisses my most innocent looking one," you reply with a smug grin. "The brother had all the motive, and he played the victim perfectly." You turn to your boyfriend, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “If you were in the midst of a murder crime scene, how would you prove your innocence? Do you think you could outsmart the detective or shift suspicion onto the others?

He scoffs, confidently answering, "I wouldn't need to.”

You raise a brow. "What do you mean?"

"Once you're in the game long enough, that's when the pressure hits," Jihoon explains, crossing his arms and huffing his chest. "They will start pointing fingers, and the 'culprit' will either reveal themselves or look guilty enough just to be guilty. Innocence doesn't matter as much as perception."

"Wow, you're more cynical than I thought," you note with a hint of intrigue. "Is it weird that I find you hotter for that now?"

Jihoon chuckles, his eyes softening as he leans in to kiss you. "You're such a weirdo," he murmurs against your lips, his voice filled with affection, soon reveling in the moans that fill his mouth.

The movie's final scene flickers on the screen, the volume a soft murmur in the background. Neither of you pays it any attention, your lips meeting each other endlessly as his arm clutches your backside, pressing your bodies together. The heat of his body and the steadily growing rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a sense of peace and contentment as the flickering light of the screen casts dancing shadows on the walls, and you bask in its warmth.

"You know," you begin to say in an unserious tone as you pull away slightly, "even if you did kill someone...I wouldn't let you get caught."

Jihoon arches a brow, his eyes twinkling with amusement, and he parts your hair away from your face. "If I kill someone, you run in the other direction. I'm bloodthirsty, remember?"

With playful indignation, you inch away and retort, “Are you saying you’d run from me if I killed someone?"

He pauses, considering your question with mock seriousness. His hands have a mind of their own as he reels you back towards him to hold you in a firm embrace, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well...you're too sexy to give up to the cops."

You laugh, lightly punching his arm. "Mr. Lawyer! Where is your sense of justice?"

He shrugs, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, "I'm selfish. The culprit can't be that bad if it's you.”

You cup his face, leaning into his touch. "You give me too much credit."

"No," he counters, drags the tip of his nose over the side of his jaw. "I just think I'd be happy to be your accomplice."

You let out a small squeal, feeling his breath tickle the column of your neck. "Oh, you love me so bad."

"Yes," he breathes, his lips finding yours in a kiss that has you explode from the inside, "I do."

The credits roll, and the movie's final notes fade into silence, but the night has just begun. In the dim light of the room, with the taste of his kiss still lingering on your lips, you move even closer to each other, melting into one another until it drowns out the next movie that automatically plays. It isn’t any mystery what other exciting events transpired that night.

Present day…

Jihoon has devised a plan for the impending evening. He just needs to get Seungkwan alone for just a moment to coax him to the point of threats, putting him into a compromising situation that could be documented and subsequently utilized as irrefutable evidence. The absurdity of the situation isn't lost on Jihoon; he’s never felt more like a cable show cliche. All the late night viewings of crime shows from childhood up until now has caught up with him, and finally he’s making use of their unorthodox, bizarre methods.

Ever since that unnerving confrontation with Seungkwan in the confines of the office, Jihoon had been grappling with a rising tide of unease. And he’d had just about enough images of this psycho trying to get cozy with you when he was present. It’s about time Seungkwan gets exposed for the person he really is and keeps your name off the docket.

Seungkwan stands before the lawyer in the secluded area of the house, hardly occupied by anything but dust and untouched furniture. The young man’s usual sunny disposition is replaced by an air of annoyance. His arms are crossed tightly across his chest, and his brow is furrowed. "Okay, I'm here," he says flatly, his voice laced with impatience, "What is it?"

Jihoon moves cautiously towards the other man, feeling his heart in his throat. His eyes stay ahtead, nervously aware of his phone tucked discreetly into his pocket, perfectly positioned to capture the scene in front of him. He clears his throat, "There's something I'm failing to understand," he begins, his tone measured but firm.

Seungkwan's response is sharp, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he lets out an arrogant scoff. "You mean like work ethic?"

His gaze locks onto the other man's face. "I just want to know…why and how?" His tone remains polite, but an undeniable edge that makes the young heir’s intimidating mask reveal an irreparable crack.

“What are you talking about, Lee?”

Seungkwan's face contorts with a crooked smile. His eyes narrow as he glares at Jihoon. The question that hangs in the air, although vague, conveys its meaning and its clear intent of the response it is to receive. Seungkwan's jaw clenched, his body language screaming his contempt. He knows exactly what Jihoon is insinuating, and the mere suggestion is enough to make his blood boil.

The lawyer simply smiles, satisfied to know he’s hit a nerve. “My curiosity is just piqued. It’s not every day I come across a murderer.”

The other man cocks his head to the side, smirking. “Takes some balls for you to say that to me.”

Jihoon shrugs. “Just color me curious.”

“Why? Want to peer into the eyes of a dead man?”

It’s like taking candy from a baby. “You know that well, don’t you? Second hand at least. The same hands you like to get dirty.”

“What are you getting—Wait a minute.” Seungkwan storms over to the other man only to see him take a full step back. 

Suddenly more alert, the younger man's eyes narrow, suspicion etched onto his face as he scrutinizes the other. With a sudden burst of movement, he lunges forward, gripping the man's forearms in a vice-like hold. His breath comes in ragged gasps, and he can practically see beads of sweat forming on his enemy’s forehead. "You're hiding something," he accuses, his voice laced with certainty.

Jihoon strains against the other man's grip, his mind racing. He knows Seungkwan's reputation for pushing boundaries, but this is a blatant disrespect for his personal space. "Mr. Boo—”

However, Seungkwan is relentless. With a deft maneuver, he reaches into Jihoon's pocket and extracts his phone. A triumphant smirk curls his lips as he sees the recording app displayed on the screen. "You must think I’m a moron?"

He throws the phone on the ground before crushing it under his heel. Jihoon stares blankly at his evidence as it gets repeatedly smashed, the deafening sounds of the other man’s stomps rendering him speechless. Seungkwan grabs his collar, eyes wide with an indecipherable fury. “Plan on joining my brother for the case? How passionate. You must really want an early retirement.”

“Is anyone here?” Your voice echoes from the hallway, and the aggressive man is bitterly forced to release the other.

“Just in this room, sweetheart. Wanted to discuss something with Mr. Lee here.”

You appear at the door, swinging it open to peer inside. “I heard a noise and thought to check. No matter how many times I walk through this house, I always find something that takes me by surprise.”

“That’s alright. We were just enthusiastically discussing current events. Nothing to concern you with, just boring man interests,” he eyes the man he just previously attacked, “Isn’t that right?”

“...Yes. All is fine, Miss.”

"Yeah, but I hear something really loud, like stomping? Smashing?" you persist, your brow furrowed with concern. The sounds are so distinct, you couldn't have just imagined it.

Seungkwan pauses, his expression thoughtful. "Hmm, strange," he muses, feigning deep contemplation. "Perhaps it is an animal—"

"Oh my god, someone's phone is destroyed!" You rush over to the scene of the commotion, where an unsalvageable device lies smashed beyond recognition. "Does this belong to either of you?"

Seungkwan's face takes on a look of feigned realization. "Ah, that," he chuckles, "Perhaps we've acted more aggressively with our quips than we realize. That, my dear, belongs to—" 

"It's mine," Jihoon interjects, his voice flat. "Someone probably must've stepped on it repeatedly when we got in the fight."

"Fight?" you repeat, your voice rising an octave.

Seungkwan waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, sweetheart, he’s joking. You are just too gullible—”

"Yeah, we fought." Jihoon shoved past his assailant forcefully, his eyes blazing with defiance as he took his place beside you. "Seungkwan has something he's hiding from you, and before you—"

He takes your hand, grasping it affectionately, leaving you momentarily stunned. Before you could utter a response, another voice cut through the tension.

"Mr. Lee. This game of pretend is going too far. We had only discussed humorously if any of us happened to be the murderer. All in good fun." Seungkwan’s voice is firm, touched with disapproval, as the light started slowly leaving his eyes.

"Kwan? What—"

"Don't believe a word he says, Angel." Jihoon's voice was low and urgent, holding your hand firmer and taking the initiative to step in front of you.

Your eyes widen at your pet name, your heart momentarily stopping to take everything in. "Jihoon—"

Seungkwan's sweet, innocent facade wavers. "Angel," he repeats, feigning ignorance. The word lingers on his lips like a bitter taste before he clenches his jaw. “Does this collaboration go deeper than described, sweetheart?”

You gently wave your hand, gesturing for him to calm down. “Seungkwan, calm down. We—I can explain, but tell me, what is it both of you are talking about? What fight?”

Seungkwan's jaw clenches. "I told you, sweetheart. It's nothing," he repeats, his voice strained.

“No, stop changing the subject! What are you hiding from me?”

Jihoon's arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he watches Seungkwan's agitation grow. "He's been lying to you, Angel," Jihoon's voice is low and cautious. "He knows exactly what happened to his brother."

“Hyunkwan? What—” 

Seungkwan’s menacing laughter echoes throughout the vast room. “You’re really pushing my buttons right now. Instead of the theatrics, I suggest you stick to your day job.”

"Seungkwan," you intervene, your voice trembling with disbelief, "you couldn't have possibly..."

"Of course not, sweetheart," he insists desperately, keeping up with his ruse, "As if I had anything to do with my own brother's death. That's preposterous! It's a farce. This lawyer you hired has clearly lost his marbles."

"Jihoon would never lie to me. What aren't you telling me?"

"...Jihoon,” He looks aimlessly in the room with a sardonic smirk. “ You’re on a first-name basis, I see."

"I trust his intuition," you assert firmly, "More than anyone else."

His expression hardens, a wounded note creeping into his voice, "How... how can you say that when... you have me?"

Jihoon had about enough. “He killed him, Angel.”

“Shut. Up.” 

"Seungkwan," you stammer, the truth lodging in your throat like a large pill. It's hard to swallow, but like you said, Jihoon would never lie to you. "You...you killed—"

Seungkwan smoothly cuts you off, "You're really going to believe this stranger over me, darling? And for an accusation so far-fetched? Don't stoop to his level of intelligence, sweetheart."

"Stop patronizing me," you retort loudly. "Did you or did you not kill your brother?"

"I didn't!" Seungkwan's voice booms, intensity burning within his eyes. You can see the sincerity in them, the desperation for you to believe him, but his composure momentarily shatters, and instead you feel a shiver run down your spine at the raw emotion in his voice. You look from Seungkwan's furious face to Jihoon's grim expression, your heart pounding loud enough for everyone to hear loud and clear. At a disadvantage, he uses the moment to take a deep breath, self-sedating. "Of course."

"Boo Seungkwan," You take a deep exhale. "Tell me the truth. Did you or did you not kill Hyunkwan?"

Seungkwan laughs, but it's hollow and devoid of humor. "You're kidding yourself if you believe any of this crap—"

"Don't make me ask again," you warn, your patience wearing thin.

“You might have to, Angel,” Jihoon interjects, muttering in your ear, “Looks like he won't quit.”

"STOP... calling her angel, you insufferable swine."

“Seungkwan!” you exclaim, heart shatteringly so.

Seungkwan's eyes narrow dangerously at the man in front of you. "All you've done is get between me and my darling here. How many times do I have to so kindly remind you?”

Jihoon scoffs in disbelief at how he can keep lying. "Did you give that same kind of mercy to Hyunkwan?"

"You rat ba—"

"Stop it, you two," you fiercely interrupt.

"Fine.” With a defiant glare at Jihoon, the accused grabs your hand and tugs you towards him, leaving Jihoon standing alone, losing his confidence seeing you follow after Seungkwan.

Seungkwan's touch is gentle yet firm, his hands gliding over your shoulders and then up to your head, fingers threading through your hair. His gaze holds a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine, but it also ignites a blind fury in Jihoon's eyes.

"I’ll tell you. All of it," Seungkwan's voice is low and steady, "And maybe then you'll understand where I’m coming from."

Jihoon takes a step forward, "Angel-"

"Enough, Jihoon." You turn to face him, your expression stern, "Seungkwan has something to say. Don't cross the line."

Jihoon's heart sinks. You have never spoken to him that way before. The sting of your words is sharp, the disappointment in your eyes even sharper. A sense of dread settles in his stomach, and he feels as if he can die in a hole.

"Kwan," you gently take his hand, "I'm listening."

"Thank you, sweetheart. You've always been so understanding." His voice is colored with a subtle desperation, a plea for absolution masked by affection.

"You're very important to me," you respond, your voice trembling slightly. "Anything you have to tell me, I'll handle it with the same care I've always shown you."

"You really are the embodiment of love..." His voice cracks, the facade of calm crumbling. "...which makes this all the more difficult to admit." He pulls you into his embrace, your warmth melting the harshness of his prior mood. His forehead rests against yours, his breath hot against your skin. "I did it," he confesses, his voice barely audible.

His eyes, glistening adoration now joined by teary guilt. "I killed him."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your lips parting in a silent gasp. "Kwan..." 

"You know I would treat you so much better than my brother ever could..." He drowns in his twisted conviction. "I love you...enough to kill."

"How could you—”

"It was the only way," he insists, his grip tightening on you. "And now nothing can stop us from being together."

Your silence, born of bewilderment, is unreadable. Yet, a flicker of triumph dances in his eyes, quickly replaced by a softer emotion as he misconstrues lack of protest with immediate acceptance. "Absolutely nothing," he murmurs.

He cups your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. His breath mingles with yours, his lips hovering tantalizingly close. His surroundings melts all around him, leaving only the intensity of his  delusion that crosses the line with obsession. Just as his lips brush against yours, a single word shatters the spell.

“Except.”

Seungkwan's soft chuckle sends a shiver down your spine. His breath caresses your skin as he tenderly whispers, "Except what, my love?" 

"Me." You meet his gaze with an icy stare, your voice devoid of emotion. "I will never love the way you love me."

"...What?"

Before he can comprehend the full extent of your rejection, the door to the room bursts open. A wave of armed officers floods the space, their weapons trained on Seungkwan. "Put your hands up!" they command, their voices echoing through the room.

Seungkwan's eyes widen in panic as he raises his hands in surrender. You take a step back, putting distance between yourself and the man who has held you captive in his twisted affection. As the officers close in on Seungkwan, you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. Liberated to be free from the clutches of a man that suffocates you with his ‘love.’

“Sweetheart—”

“Stay where you are, Boo Seungkwan. You have the right to remain silent,” the officer continues, unfazed by Seungkwan’s pleas as they run through the whole spiel necessary. The click of the handcuffs echoes in the tense silence, stealing his free reign.

“What the hell is this? Did you do this, Lee?” Seungkwan spits, his gaze burning into Jihoon.

You take control of the conversation before Jihoon can argue. “No, he has nothing to do with this. I did.”

“My love…WHY?!”

"How did you know?" Jihoon asks softly, his gaze gentle as the hardened exterior he puts up to hide his true sentiment dissolves.

"I heard him," A hint of a smile touches your lips as you meet his gaze. "When he didn’t know I was listening, I heard everything. So I set this up. For definite proof."

With swift, deliberate movements, you begin to unbutton your dress shirt. The room is plunged into a shocked silence, the only sound the rushed soft rustle of fabric as your fingers work their way down the buttons. Several eyes, including Jihoon, instinctively avert their gaze, some faces visibly more affected than others. A wave of murmurs ripples through the room, but one voice unexpectedly rises in alarm.

“Sweetheart, stop that right now!” Seungkwan commands in a cracking voice, choking through his tears.

You ignore him, your fingers stilling on the buttons as your attention is turned to the person most shocked from your abrupt actions. "Look at me, Hoon." 

Jihoon's face flushes crimson as he reluctantly relents to your request, staggering with bulging eyes from what he sees. He laughs humorlessly, not believing the extent you took, but of course you did. "You seriously-"

A mischievous grin spreads across your face as you carefully detach the thin wire discreetly taped to the fabric of your camisole, protecting your exposed skin from the cold, hard hardware. "It's not a coincidence the police know exactly when to come in," you declare triumph.

Jihoon's expression shifts from disbelief to begrudging admiration. "I should've known," he mutters, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Expected of a true crime junkie."

"But that's one of the many things you love about me, isn't it?" With a teasing grin, you hand the recording device over to a nearby officer before rushing into Jihoon's open arms and surprise attack him with a slap to his shoulder, eliciting a dramatic wince from him. "That was incredibly stupid of you," you scold, "What if he had actually hurt you?"

"Speak for yourself," Jihoon lightly retorts. Yet, he hesitates, the dejection he felt from your harsh act lingering. However, slowly and surely, he matches your relief and gently pulls you closer by the waist. "You don't know what could've gone wrong getting so close to him like that."

"But nothing did," you counter cheekily, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

The officers tighten their grip on Seungkwan's arms as he struggles in their clutches, his gaze locks onto your figure, which is turned away from him. "Sweetheart," he chokes out in desperation, "How could you?" Tears well up in his eyes, blurring his vision as the pain in his chest spreads throughout his entire body.

You pause, your footsteps faltering for a moment before you step away from Jihoon, who stands a few feet away, cautiously observing your movements. Your face remains impassive,  masking yourself with indifference, concealing the turmoil if it existed. "You have to pay for your crimes, Mr. Boo Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan's shoulders slump as the reality of the situation sinks in. "Hyunkwan was awful. You despised him just as much as I did. I just gave him what he deserved."

Your eyes recover a glint of something akin to understanding, momentarily softening the harsh twists of your features. Your eyes meet his as you concede with soft sincerity, "I do understand that you care about me, and for that, I am truly grateful."

Your eyebrows dip slightly as you continue, taking a deep breath, and your expression shifts, a shadow falling over the planes of your face. Your mercy is indiscernible, and you are unrecognizable. “But to do that to your own brother..."

"I did it for you!" Seungkwan roars, his voice echoing through the room as he struggles against the officers' restraints. "I did it for us!"

Your gaze hardens. "It got me arrested," you remind him sharply. "There is no us. You were my brother-in-law, whom I found solace in and confided in. I thought you were my friend, Seungkwan."

Seungkwan's eyes widen in disbelief. "We're more than that," he insists, his voice trembling with suppressed anger, "We are meant to be together! We were brought together by fate, don't you see it? I should've been the one set up to marry you, not my brother! I love you."

You shake your head slowly knowingly. "No..." you murmur, "You love coveting what was your brother's: his house, his company, love and attention from your parents. And you used me as a pawn. I don't ever want to see your face ever again."

Seungkwan's patience snaps. "Why are you behaving like this? We are-"

"Alright, Richie Rich," one of the officers interrupts, his voice gruff and impatient, "Time to go." They tighten their grip on Seungkwan and begin to lead him away. His protests fade into the distance as the officers escort him down the hallway, A wave of relief washes over you as Seungkwan's voice disappears. Finally to yourselves with nothing to interrupt you. You turn to Jihoon, your face breaking into a radiant smile as you throw yourself into his arms ."I missed you.”

His breath hitches in his throat, and your confession burns his skin as his arms tighten around you. "Now, I'll never give you the opportunity to feel that way again." 

There amidst the flashing lights blaring from nearby windows and adrenaline finally dying down, you shamelessly melt into each others’ touch, comforted knowing there’s no one that can’t take this away from either of you.

It isn’t long after you’re relinquished from your suspect status, and you hear about the aftermath of the case. Seungkwan’s parents, devastated by the monster they raised and remorseful for the late Hyunkwan, refuse to pay his bail. The weight of their son's crimes presses heavily upon them, their hearts aching for the son they lost and the one they failed. However, despite the turmoil the brothers have caused, you hold no animosity towards the Boos. They had been caught in the web of their youngest son's dark, twisted deceit. With a heavy heart, you choose to leave them be, allowing the couple in misery to retreat from the wreckage of their lives without further retribution.

And the Boos’ continued cooperation derived from the guilt and gratitude, along with their descending reputation, your parents no longer find it necessary to push you into another marriage. You sense a lingering bit of regret as they finally surrender your autonomy, unsure of whether it's because of the horrifying situation they've forced you into or their unwillingness to let you go. You don't dwell on it and instead revel in your time well spent with Jihoon, using every given opportunity to make up for lost time.

Your relationship reaches new heights as he moves in with you. Leaving behind the dark vibes of your previous lodging, the new place feels quaint and cozy in comparison. It’s as grand as anything your parents would have provided, and that’s perfect for you. You envision yourself building a family here, reminiscing in the new memories you make over a warm meal or under the warm glow of the television—just as you dreamt it would be with him. Everything falls right into place. Days are shorter, nights are longer, and every second of it feels as if you've fallen for him all over again. You couldn't ask for anything more. Your heart feels so full.

However, there is one last thing you need to do to truly feel at peace. Something you know will gnaw at you if you delay it any further.

“Hello, Seungkwan.”

You speak sternly into the metal receiver attached to the wall beside you, connecting you with a beloved former relative. Your deposition translates well over the call, but Seungkwan still looks at you with a sense of yearning, visibly battling the betrayal that stands in the way of the joy of your visit.

Seungkwan smiles grimly. "My love, you look well. How disappointing."

Lacking sympathy, you retort with a roll of your eyes and a wry smirk. “I just wanted to bid you a final farewell in jail. Someone has to, not like your parents will.”

His forced smile wavers, the corner of his lips twitching involuntarily with suppressed anger, and any semblance of warmth portrayed by a congenial smile. "How incredibly thoughtful of you," he says through gritted teeth.

"Generous of me, isn't it?" You reply with mock sweetness, your taunting not lost on you. "Well, I've done what I set out to do. I'll take my leave now. Brother."

"Hey!" Seungkwan's voice explodes in the tense silence, his composure shattered. His eyes blaze with indignation. "You think you can waltz in here like it's the zoo? I'm not an animal exhibit."

"Could've fooled me, considering you couldn't control your bloodlust like a filthy animal."

His face contorts with rage, gripping the phone in a vice, and he speaks over you harshly. "You're not innocent in all this, sweetheart. Your boy toy will realize that soon enough."

You scoff, your confidence unwavering. "He won't, because you're the one behind bars. You're the murderer."

His laughter is hollow, mirthless. "Don't play with me. You wanted him gone just as much as I did. You even conspired with me, even if it was in jest... You and I both know it."

You firmly cup your hand over the receiving end of the phone, responding to his threats sharply, with no room to argue. "But he never will." You cross your arms with a defiant tilt to your chin, chuckling disparagingly at his loose temperament. You find it easy to add fuel to the fire. "Orange always was your color."

Desperation seeps into Seungkwan's voice, a plea replacing the earlier malice. "You can't do this to me—"

"Good bye, Kwan. Enjoy your life sentence."

With those words, you cut off communication, slamming the metal phone receiver against its cradle, letting it echo in the small, sterile room as you turn to leave. Seungkwan's enraged screams follow you, muffled by the thick glass and quickly silenced by the guards escorting him away.

Now, there’s your peace.

[astrologydray]

……Ceres in the Houses……

Representing nurturing, food, care, and cycles of loss and renewal. Its house placement shows where and how you express caretaking energy and what makes you feel emotionally and physically nourished.

………………………………………

Ceres in the 1st 🏡: Ceres in the 1st house suggests nurturing, caregiving, and providing support to others are integral to your identity. You naturally exude a warm, caring energy, and people may see you as someone who offers comfort, protection, and nourishment—both emotionally and physically. You may have a strong connection to nature, health, or self-care, and your presence can be very healing to those around you. You likely take pride in taking care of yourself and others, and your sense of self-worth may be tied to your ability to provide for those you love. Depending on the sign, you may express this nurturing energy through practical acts of service, emotional support, or even creative or intellectual guidance. Ceres in the 1st house is ensuring that you don’t overextend yourself or neglect your own needs in favor of caring for others. You may feel responsible for everyone’s well-being, which can lead to burnout. Learning to nurture yourself as much as you nurture others, allowing your caregiving nature to be a source of strength rather than depletion.

Ceres in the 2nd 🏡: Ceres in the 2nd house ties nurturing and care to material security, self-worth, and physical comfort. You express love and support through tangible means—providing food, financial stability, gifts, or creating a comfortable and safe environment for yourself and others. Acts of service and physical affection may be your primary love languages. You may feel most nurtured when you have financial stability, access to quality resources, and a sense of security in your life. Providing for yourself and your loved ones gives you a deep sense of fulfillment, and you likely take great pride in your ability to create abundance. with Ceres in the 2nd house is attaching your self-worth too much to material possessions or financial status. You may also overgive, trying to express love through material means while neglecting emotional or spiritual nourishment. Recognizing that true security comes from within and that nurturing extends beyond material support to emotional and psychological care as well.

Ceres in the 3rd 🏡: Ceres in the 3rd house expresses nurturing through communication, learning, and intellectual connection. You care for others by offering advice, engaging in meaningful conversations, and being a source of mental and emotional support. Words of affirmation and thoughtful gestures, such as writing messages or sharing knowledge, may be your primary ways of showing love. You likely feel nurtured when you have stimulating discussions, exchange ideas, or feel heard and understood by those around you. Sibling relationships, early education, and your local environment may have played a significant role in shaping your understanding of care and nourishment. Ceres in the 3rd house people have a tendency to intellectualize emotions rather than fully feeling them. You might also spread yourself too thin, constantly giving advice or emotional support without taking time to recharge. Your nurturing extends beyond words and ideas, incorporating emotional presence and deeper personal connections.

Ceres in the 4th 🏡 : Ceres in the 4th house makes nurturing, home, and family central to your sense of security and well-being. You feel most fulfilled when you can create a warm, safe, and comforting environment for yourself and your loved ones. Your way of caring is deeply emotional, and you may take on the role of a protector or provider within your family. You likely have a strong connection to your roots, traditions, and childhood experiences, which can shape how you give and receive love. Home-cooked meals, cozy spaces, and emotional support are key ways you express care. Family bonds, whether biological or chosen, are essential to your sense of stability. Ceres in the 4th house has the potential for emotional overattachment or taking on too much responsibility for others’ well-being. You may struggle with setting boundaries, feeling like you must always be the caregiver. Nurturing yourself just as much as you nurture others, ensuring that your home life supports your own emotional needs as well.

Ceres in the 5th 🏡: Ceres in the 5th house expresses nurturing through creativity, joy, and self-expression. You feel most fulfilled when you can care for others in a way that encourages their individuality and personal growth. Your love is warm, playful, and often shown through acts of encouragement, affection, and shared creative or recreational activities. You may find joy in nurturing children, artistic projects, or even romantic partners, as you naturally enjoy bringing happiness to others. Creativity and self-expression could be essential to your well-being, and you might use art, music, or performance as a way to nourish both yourself and those around you. With Ceres in the 5th house there’s a potential to seek validation through your ability to nurture, or to overextend yourself in relationships by always trying to bring joy to others. You may also struggle with balancing fun and responsibility. The key to a fulfilling expression of this placement is embracing your own creativity and joy while allowing others the space to develop their own individuality without dependence on your care.

Ceres in the 6th 🏡: Ceres in the 6th house expresses nurturing through acts of service, health, and daily routines. You feel most fulfilled when you can care for others in practical, tangible ways—whether through providing support in their daily lives, helping with work, or encouraging healthy habits. Your way of showing love often involves cooking nutritious meals, assisting with tasks, or offering advice on wellness and self-improvement. You may be drawn to careers in caregiving, healing, or service-oriented professions. Taking care of pets, maintaining a structured lifestyle, or engaging in activities that promote well-being can also be deeply nurturing for you. Your own sense of security often comes from having a stable routine and feeling useful to those around you. Ceres in the 6th house has the tendency to overwork yourself or place too much of your self-worth on how much you do for others. You may struggle with perfectionism or neglect your own needs in favor of helping those around you. Ensuring that your caregiving doesn’t turn into self-sacrifice and that you also prioritize your own health and well-being.

Ceres in the 7th 🏡: Ceres in the 7th house expresses nurturing through relationships, partnerships, and one-on-one connections. You feel most fulfilled when you can care for others in a way that fosters harmony, balance, and mutual support. Your way of showing love involves emotional presence, fairness, and being a reliable, supportive partner in both romantic and platonic relationships. You may be drawn to partners who are nurturing themselves or who appreciate your caring and attentive nature. Commitment and partnership are deeply tied to your sense of security, and you likely feel most comfortable when you have strong, supportive relationships in your life. You may also enjoy mediating conflicts or offering emotional guidance to those you love. Ceres in the 7th house can give too much in relationships or to depend on others for validation. You may prioritize taking care of your partner’s needs while neglecting your own. The key to balance is ensuring that your relationships are reciprocal, where you receive just as much care and nourishment as you give.

Ceres in the 8th 🏡: Ceres in the 8th house expresses nurturing through deep emotional bonds, transformation, and shared intimacy. You feel most fulfilled when you can care for others on a profound, soul-level, offering them support through life’s darkest moments. Your way of nurturing is intense and deeply personal, often revolving around themes of trust, emotional healing, and shared resources. You may be drawn to relationships where you can play a protective or transformative role, helping others through crises, personal growth, or even financial support. You might also have a strong interest in psychology, healing, or spiritual regeneration. Your own sense of security often comes from deep emotional connections, and you may feel a need to merge with others in meaningful ways. There is a potential for control issues, emotional dependency, or fear of loss. You may struggle with letting go or experience power dynamics in your relationships. The key to balance is learning to nurture without attachment, allowing love to be a source of empowerment rather than control. Healing yourself emotionally is just as important as helping others heal.

Ceres in the 9th 🏡: Ceres in the 9th house expresses nurturing through knowledge, adventure, and personal growth. You feel most fulfilled when you can care for others by expanding their horizons—whether through education, travel, philosophy, or spiritual guidance. Your way of nurturing often involves encouraging others to explore new ideas, embrace different cultures, or seek out experiences that broaden their perspectives. You may be drawn to teaching, mentoring, or sharing wisdom as a way of providing emotional support. Your nurturing style is often inspirational, helping others find meaning and purpose in life. You might also feel most cared for when you have the freedom to explore, learn, and experience life without limitations. Ceres in the 9th house can overlook emotional needs in favor of intellectual or philosophical ideals. You may also struggle with restlessness, always seeking the next adventure rather than being fully present. Integrating emotional depth with your love for exploration, ensuring that both you and those you nurture feel secure while embracing growth and new experiences.

Ceres in the 10th 🏡: Ceres in the 10th house expresses nurturing through career, responsibility, and public influence. You feel most fulfilled when you can provide care and support on a larger scale, whether through your profession, leadership roles, or by setting an example for others. Your way of nurturing is often structured, goal-oriented, and tied to achievement—you may see success as a way to provide stability and security for yourself and those you care about. You might be drawn to careers in caregiving, counseling, social work, or any field that allows you to support others in a tangible way. Alternatively, you may have experienced a childhood where responsibility was placed on you early, shaping your view that love and care are connected to duty and ambition. Your sense of security comes from feeling respected and accomplished. Prioritizing work and public image over personal emotional needs. You may also take on too much responsibility for others, feeling like you must always be the provider or protector. Recognizing that nurturing isn’t just about external success—it also involves emotional connection and self-care.

Ceres in the 11th 🏡: Ceres in the 11th house expresses nurturing through friendship, community, and shared ideals. You feel most fulfilled when you can care for others in a way that supports their individuality and contributes to the collective good. Your way of nurturing is often expressed through acts of kindness, encouraging others to pursue their dreams, and being a source of emotional support within social circles or groups. You may be drawn to humanitarian efforts, activism, or group-oriented work that allows you to help others on a broader scale. Friendships and social connections play a significant role in your sense of security, and you likely thrive in environments where collaboration and mutual support are valued. You may also be someone who nurtures through innovation and progressive ideas, helping others see new possibilities for their lives. With Ceres in the 11th house there’s a potential to prioritize the collective over personal, one-on-one relationships. You may struggle with emotional intimacy, focusing more on helping groups than forming deep, personal connections. Ensuring that while you nurture the world around you, you also allow yourself to receive personal care and emotional support from close relationships.

Ceres in the 12th 🏡: Ceres in the 12th house expresses nurturing in a deeply spiritual, intuitive, and often self-sacrificing way. You feel most fulfilled when you can care for others through unconditional love, emotional healing, and acts of quiet support. Your way of nurturing is often subtle, working behind the scenes to provide comfort and care, sometimes without others even realizing it. You may be drawn to helping those who are vulnerable, such as the sick, the lost, or those in need of emotional or spiritual guidance. You might also find solace in artistic, mystical, or meditative practices that allow you to connect with something greater than yourself. Your nurturing style often involves deep empathy, and you may feel the emotions of others as if they were your own. Ceres in the 12th house have the tendency to neglect your own needs, over-sacrifice, or take on the burdens of others without boundaries. You may also struggle with feeling unseen or unappreciated for the care you give. Learning to nurture yourself just as much as you nurture others, recognizing that true compassion includes self-care and emotional boundaries.