#this man's voice does things to me I can't | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thewulf · 1 day ago

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Return to You || Aragorn

Summary: Request - he reader and aragorn are in an established relationship before he leaves with the fellowship, and shortly after he's gone she finds out that she's pregnant. obviously she can't tell aragorn since she doesn't know where he is to send a letter or otherwise a message of some kind... Read Rest Here

A/N: Wow, I really love this one. It took me a while but I think it turned out really well. Let me know what you think :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.1k +

TW: War, talks of war, pregnancy, general LOTR

The fire crackled low in the hearth casting long, flickering shadows across the small space you and Strider had called home. It wasn’t much. Just a small cottage nestled in the rolling hills not too far from the village of Bree. The warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill creeping into your bones. It wasn’t from the cold, no, but instead from the unspoken truth that lingers between you.

He’s leaving.

You knew the time was coming. You felt it in your bones. The way Middle Earth got darker through every day. And Strider was important in warding off whatever the hell was taking over your home. You knew that much by how often Gandalf had visited. You never asked how bad. He never told you the details other than you knew he’d be called to the front lines soon enough. And apparently that day was today.

Strider sat beside you. His rough, calloused fingers trailing along the back of your hand as if memorizing every ridge and line. He does that often, touching you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go. Tonight, though there’s something different in his touch. A quiet desperation, a silent plea. Neither of you had spoken in a while. There’s nothing left to say that hasn’t already been whispered in the dark, murmured against skin, carved into the sacred spaces between your heartbeats.

Gandalf’s call had finally come. The war is no longer a distant shadow on the horizon. It’s here, looming over the world, threatening to tear everything apart. And Strider, the man you love, the man whose name is laced with destiny, cannot turn away.

“I would stay if I could,” he murmured at last breaking the heavy silence. His thumb brushes against your knuckles, lingering, like he’s afraid to let go. Because he is. “You know that, don’t you?” His eyes were pleading.

You swallow the ache rising in your throat and nod. “Of course, I know.”

His breath shuddered as he shifted closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Gandalf needs me.” His voice is low, rough with regret. “The world needs me.”

Your fingers tighten around his. “I know. Trust me… I know. But what of me? What am I to do?” The words slip out before you can stop them, raw and aching. You hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to let the fear show.

Strider exhales sharply, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. There’s something in his expression that steals the air from your lungs, something tender and fierce all at once. “You must stay hidden. You are my world,” he says softly. “And I will return to you no matter what it takes.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you force yourself to smile. “You’re lucky I’m good at hiding. And that I’m patient.”

A low, breathless chuckle escapes him before he cups your face in his hands. His thumb brushing along your cheek as if to chase away the sorrow settling there. His lips find yours in a kiss that is both a promise and a plea, slow and lingering, desperate, and aching. You pour every unspoken word into it, every prayer, every ounce of love you have for him. When he finally pulled away his forehead rests against yours once more. “I will come back to you,” he vows. “I will always come back to you. No matter how long it takes.”

And in the morning as you stand at the edge of the village watching him disappear into the rising sun you clung to those words like a lifeline. Because no matter how far he goes, no matter how long you have to wait, you know one thing with absolute certainty. He will always find his way back to you.

The days stretch long and quiet in his absence. The mornings are the hardest, waking to an empty bed and reaching for the warmth of him only to find cold sheets and silence. You find yourself lingering in doorways staring out toward the horizon as if you might catch a glimpse of him in the distance riding home to you. But he is gone so far beyond your reach swallowed by the road that calls him ever forward.

At first you distract yourself with routine. Chores, errands, tending to the home you built together. You keep busy because you must. Because if you stop the ache in your chest becomes unbearable. But not long after he leaves something feels different. At first it was subtle. A wave of dizziness when you stood too quickly. A lingering nausea in the mornings that you chalk up to restless sleep. You tried brushing it off but not long after the fatigue creeps in. An exhaustion that weighs heavier than heartache alone. You press on though, pushing through until the realization becomes impossible to ignore.

The healer didn’t t need long to confirm what you already suspected. Her hands are gentle as they press against your abdomen with a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You are with child.” She said softly with a saddened smile. She knew, the whole village knew, that the baby’s father was long off fighting for the preservation of Middle Earth. The words crash over you like a wave, sweeping your breath away. For a long moment you can only stare trying to process what she’s just said. A child. Strider’s child.

Your hands tremble as they settle over your stomach as if expecting to feel something different beneath your fingertips. A life, small and fragile, growing within you. A piece of him left behind. Joy, fear, and uncertainty twist together in your chest, tangling into something impossible to untangle. You should be happy, shouldn’t you? And you are, in some quiet, awestruck way. But beneath that joy, fear lingers. A fear of what the future holds. Of what may come. Because Strider is not here. And there is no way to tell him.

You think of sending a letter, of finding a messenger, but you have no idea where he is. He could be anywhere beyond the mountains, lost in the wilds, deep in the heart of danger. You could write a thousand letters and never know if one would reach him. So, you had to wait.

The weeks pass and the weight of your secret grows heavier. Your body begins to change. The once loose fabric of your dresses stretching tighter over your stomach. You stand before the mirror some mornings pressing your hands against your belly whispering words only the child can hear. Your love. Your father will return to us. He will.

But as time drags on the world darkens. Rumors trickle in from travelers, whispers of war and death and an enemy who grows stronger by the day. Villages burned, men slaughtered, hope slipping through the cracks like sand in an hourglass. And with every passing day, your fear deepens. What if he does not return? What if he never knows? What if this child, his baby, enters the world without ever knowing the sound of his father’s voice?

You press your hands against your stomach, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. “I will wait for you,” you whisper into the quiet. Even if the waiting breaks you.

The world feels too quiet without him. Without the steady warmth of his presence. Without the way he would murmur soft words in the dark when he thought you were asleep. Without the way his fingers would brush over yours in quiet moment promising things he never said aloud.

Now, there is only the crackle of the dying fire and the steady whisper of wind against the wooden walls. You lay awake most nights staring at the ceiling one hand resting over the growing curve of your stomach. The weight of the secret you carry grows heavier with each passing day. With each reminder that you are alone.

Fear lurks in the corners of your mind. Not just for yourself, but for him. Where is he? Is he safe? Does he think of you as often as you think of him? You don’t know. And it’s the not knowing that threatens to break you.

Then, one morning, the nausea hits harder than before. You barely make it outside in time, bracing yourself against the railing as your body trembles with the force of it. When the sickness passes you lean back against the post, breathless and exhausted. The sun is barely cresting over the horizon casting a golden glow across the fields and for a moment you let yourself pretend that Strider is still here. That he will step through the doorway and press a hand to your back, murmuring reassurances in that steady, quiet voice of his.

But he is not here. And he will not be, not for a long time. You press a hand to your stomach, feeling the faintest flutter beneath your palm. A life. His life. A part of him, still here, still with you. The thought steels your resolve. You cannot continue waiting in silence hoping for answers that may never come. Strider once spoke of Rivendell, of Lord Elrond’s wisdom, of the sanctuary it provided. If anyone knew where he was it would be him. If anyone could offer guidance it would be him.

And so, before doubt can creep in you pull yourself upright and move inside settling at the worn wooden desk in the corner of the room. The parchment feels fragile beneath your fingertips as you dip the quill into ink, hesitating only for a breath before pressing the tip to the page. You do not know how to begin. But you begin anyway.

To Lord Elrond of Rivendell,

My name is Y/N, and I write to you not as a stranger, but as the one Strider left behind. Or as you know him, Aragorn.

I do not send this letter lightly, nor do I wish to burden you with matters that may seem small in the face of the darkness that looms over Middle Earth. But I have nowhere else to turn.

Aragorn spoke of you often, with the deepest respect. He once told me that if I were ever in need I might look to Rivendell for guidance. Now, I find myself in need of both guidance and news of him.

I do not know where he is. I do not know if he is safe, or if he will return. And I do not know if this letter will reach you in time. But I pray that it does because I am carrying his child.

I had no way of telling him before he left. I do not even know if I will ever have the chance. But I had to try. If there is any way to get word to him. If there is any hope that you might know where he is… please, I beg of you, let me know.

If nothing else, I ask for your wisdom. The world is changing, growing darker with each passing day and I fear for the safety of this child.

I will wait for your word.

You let the ink dry then fold the letter carefully sealing it before pressing it into the hands of a trusted traveler. “Take this to Rivendell,” you whisper. “Please.”

The waiting is unbearable. Days turn into weeks. Each one stretching longer than the last. Your body changes with the passing time. A growing reminder of the life that will arrive whether Strider returns or not. You knew of his true lineage as Aragorn. He told you a long time ago but insisted on Strider. So, you’d always called him by what he wished.

Then, at last, a rider arrives at your doorstep, clad in elven robes. He does not speak at first but only presses a letter into your trembling hands. His expression solemn. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you break the seal, fingers tightening around the parchment as your eyes scan the elegant script.

Your letter reached me, but alas, not in time.

Aragorn has already departed from Rivendell. He travels now with the Fellowship, and I cannot say when or if he will return. He walks a path of great peril. His fate, like that of all free peoples, hangs in the balance.

I grieve that you must bear this burden alone. No lady should have to face such uncertainty without the comfort of her beloved by her side. And so, I offer you this: Come to Rivendell. You and the child will find sanctuary here. You will not be alone.

If you wish it come to Rivendell with the messenger who handed you this letter.

Elrond of Rivendell

Your vision blurred as you lower the letter, emotions warring within you. Relief that your words had not gone unheard, sorrow that your Strider is still lost to you, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the kindness offered in Elrond’s reply.

You press a hand to your stomach, exhaling a slow, steady breath. Strider may be gone. He may never know of the child you carry. But you will do whatever it takes to protect this life. To ensure that your child is safe even if it means leaving everything behind.

When the messenger asks what you will do, you lift your chin, heart heavy but resolute. “I will travel to Rivendell with you.”

The journey to Rivendell is long, stretching over days or weeks that bleed together in exhaustion and quiet reflection. You leave behind the familiar comforts of home. The place where Strider last stood before you and trade them for the uncertainty of the road ahead. The elves who guide you are patient, their presence a steady reassurance, but the solitude you carry remains unshaken. The nights now had become the hardest when the world is still and there is nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company. You wonder where he is, if he is safe, if he is looking at the same stars you are.

By the time you reach Rivendell you are nearly at the end of this pregnancy. But you did have time to admire the elven lands. Rivendell is as beautiful as Strider had described. Untouched by war and time. A sanctuary wrapped in cascading waterfalls and golden trees. The very air feels different here, lighter, ancient, like a whisper of something beyond mortal comprehension. But for all its beauty it is not home. The ache in your chest does not fade nor does the silence in the space beside you. The absence of the man you love stretching wider with each passing day. The elves welcome you graciously, offering kindness without expectation, but their presence only reminds you that you are alone in a place meant for those with elven blood. You do not belong here.

At first you keep to yourself uncertain of what role you hold in this sanctuary. You spend the days walking through the stone corridors, the terraces that overlook the valley, your hands always finding their place over the growing curve of your stomach. The life inside you is the only tether you have to Strider now. The last piece of him you can hold onto when everything else is uncertain. You whisper to your baby, pressing soft words against your skin, hoping that somehow they can feel the love you already bear for them.

Elrond watches over you though you do not understand why at first. You know of his history with Strider. Of the weight he placed upon him for years, the expectations of a lineage long denied but never forgotten. There is an unspoken wariness when you first meet him. A quiet hesitation as you wonder if he sees you as a complication in Striders grand destiny. But Elrond never speaks of such things, nor does he treat you with anything less than patience and wisdom. He does not pry, does not press when he sees the lingering sorrow in your eyes. Instead, he offers quiet companionship. A presence steady enough to remind you that you do not have to bear this alone.

He is there on the mornings when the sickness leaves you pale and shaking, offering herbal remedies to ease the discomfort. He places books in your hands when the nights stretch too long knowing that distraction is sometimes the only way to keep the mind from spiraling. When you struggle beneath the weight of uncertainty he does not speak empty reassurances but instead reminds you of your own strength, of the resilience that has carried you this far.

"You are strong," he tells you one evening. His voice calm but firm. "Even when you do not feel it you are strong. And you will endure." You nod though you do not entirely believe it. Strength feels fleeting these days. A thing that wavers beneath the weight of the unknown. Some nights, you dream of Strider. Of his hands on yours, of the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth fighting for. You wake with tears on your cheeks more often than not, and though Elrond never mentions it you know he sees. He does not press but his presence lingers just long enough to remind you that you are not truly alone.

Time moves forward even as you feel frozen in place. Your body changes wholly. Your baby growing stronger with each passing day. You begin to feel the child’s movements, soft at first, then stronger. Small kicks, reminders that you are not just waiting for Strider but for the baby who will need you no matter what happens in the world beyond Rivendell. You let yourself imagine what it would be like if Strider were here. If his hand could rest over your stomach the way yours does. If he could see the life you created together. The thought brings equal parts joy and sorrow because you do not know if he will ever return to see it.

And then, on a night bathed in silver moonlight, the first sharp pain lances through you.

It begins slowly. A dull ache that you try to dismiss as exhaustion but as the hours stretch on the pain intensifies. You clutch the edge of the bed, breathing through it, but when the next wave comes, you know. It is time.

The next hours pass in a blur of whispered voices and steady hands. Of soft reassurances in Elvish and the warmth of a hand pressed against yours when the pain becomes unbearable. The room swims in and out of focus, exhaustion threatening to pull you under, but you fight against it, gripping onto the knowledge that soon, so soon, you will meet you baby.

And then after what feels like an eternity, the weight of it all breaks. A sharp cry fills the room, piercing through the exhaustion, the haze of pain and uncertainty. The sound crashes over you, and everything else fades into nothing. “A boy.” You hear in your haze.

Your son.

Elrond lifts him carefully. His expression unreadable for a moment before he steps closer, placing the small, wriggling body into your waiting arms. The moment his weight settles against you, the world stills.

He is perfect.

Your breath hitches as you take him in. Your hands shaking as you press your fingers against his impossibly soft skin. Dark hair, still damp from birth, clings to his forehead. And when his eyes flutter open, they are deep and grey, piercing in a way that makes your heart stop.

Strider.

It’s almost too much, the ache in your chest swelling until it feels unbearable. He is not here. He should be here. He should be the one holding his son. The one whispering reassurances. The one tracing the tiny fingers curled against your chest.

Tears spill over before you can stop them, dropping onto your son’s forehead as you press a trembling kiss there, inhaling the scent of him, of new life, of something so fragile yet so incredibly strong. You hold him closer, whispering words against his skin, words meant for him but also for Strider. For the man who does not yet know the love waiting for him here.

"You are loved," you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. "You are so, so loved."

Even if Strider never returns. Even if the world takes him from you before he can ever know, this child will never have to doubt the depth of the love he was born into. Because Strider is here. Not in body, not yet, but in this life, in this perfect, tiny boy who carries his strength.

And so, you hold your son close, rocking him gently as his cries soften into small breaths against your chest. You do not know what the future holds but in this moment you do not need to.

Because no matter what happens next you will keep your promise. You will wait for Strider. And when he returns, if he returns, you will place his son in his arms, and he will know. He will know that even through all the darkness something bright and beautiful was waiting for him to come home.

The days in Rivendell are quiet, your son growing stronger with each passing week. He is your anchor. The only thing tethering you to the present when your thoughts so often drift to the past. To Strider, to the uncertainty of his fate. You wake in the night sometimes clutching your child close wondering if somewhere across the world Strider is still fighting if he is still alive. You have no idea how long it had been since he left your home. A year maybe? Elrond confirms it had been nearly that amount of time.

Then, one morning, the world shifts. The halls of Rivendell buzz with murmurs. Excitement threading through voices that have remained steady and somber for so long. The news arrives that Sauron was defeated. The war is over.

You clutch your son tighter as the words sink in. Middle Earth is free. The darkness that once threatened to consume everything has been vanquished. Hope fills the valley, but you are afraid to let it settle in your heart. You do not ask the one question burning inside you, not yet, not until you hear Elrond’s voice, quiet but certain, as he delivers the final truth.

Aragorn lives. Your Strider is alive. Alive.

The breath left your lungs in a sharp, shuddering gasp, your knees nearly giving out beneath you. Relief washed over you so violently that it leaves you dizzy. The weight of months of fear, of not knowing, crashing down all at once. He is alive. He is alive. He is coming back. Coming home!

But Elrond’s next words halt your thoughts in their tracks.

“He is to be crowned King of Gondor.”

The statement rings in your ears, sending a different kind of tremor through you. The war is over. Strider is not just alive. He is victorious. He is stepping into the destiny he was always meant for, the one that has lingered over him like a shadow for as long as you have known him. He is no longer just the man who held you close and promised to return. He is to be king. King of Gondor.

Your heart clenches with a different fear taking root in your chest. What if everything has changed? What if he has changed? You had always known that this day would come. That Strider was never meant to remain in the wilds forever. But now, standing here with your son in your arms, the reality of it is suffocating.

Would he still want you? Would he still want this life that was built in his absence, a child he did not know existed? Or would his new station, his new responsibilities, demand something else entirely?

You press a trembling kiss to your son’s forehead, inhaling the scent of him, grounding yourself. You should be celebrating, rejoicing in the knowledge that the man you love is alive. And yet, all you can do is stare down at the small boy in your arms, the one who carries Striders features so clearly, and wonder. Will he still choose us?

The journey to Minas Tirith stretches endlessly before you. Every step closer filling you with both anticipation and fear. You clutch your son tightly pressing a soft kiss to his dark hair, inhaling the sweet, warm scent of him as if it will steady the rapid beating of your heart. You had spent so many nights fearing this moment would never come. That Strider would never return. Now, the truth is almost too much to bear. He is alive, he has won, and he is waiting for you. Or so you hope. But what if he is no longer your Strider? What if he is now Aragorn alone?

The towering gates of Minas Tirith rise ahead after a month of travel. The banners of Gondor snapping in the wind. The city is alive with the hum of celebration. The people reveling in their freedom, in their new king. But you are blind to it all. Your world has shrunk to the only thing that matters. The man waiting at the top of those white stone steps.

And then you see him.

Strider stands at the entrance of the citadel clothed in the robes of a king, a silver circlet resting upon his brow. But none of it matters. Not the title. Not the crown. He could be standing in rags, and he would still be him. His grey eyes find yours and everything stops.

For a moment he does not move. Does not breathe as if the sight of you has struck him so deeply he cannot comprehend it. His gaze flickers from your face to the child in your arms and then back to you, something breaking, something raw and unguarded slipping through the carefully placed armor he has worn for so long.

And then he moves. Not with the controlled grace of a king. Not with the measured composure of a man who has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. No, he runs. He runs to you. To your son. To his home.

His legs nearly buckle as he reaches you. His breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as if he has forgotten how to breathe altogether. He stops just short. His entire body trembling. His hands reaching out but not quite touching as if he is afraid that if he does you might vanish like a cruel dream.

His voice when it comes is hoarse, cracked with emotion. “You…” His breath shudders. “You’re real?”

Tears blur your vision as you nod, your arms tightening around your son. “I’m here.”

Strider, Aragorn, exhales sharply and before you can take another breath he drops to his knees before you. A strangled sound escapes him as he presses his hands to your skirts. His forehead resting against your legs in a gesture so utterly broken that it sends a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. His fingers grip the fabric of your cloak as if anchoring himself to you, his shoulders shaking under the weight of emotions too strong to contain.

“You waited for me,” he whispers, the words a prayer, a reverence, a confession. His lips press against the fabric covering your knee, then your thigh, then lower, worshiping the very ground you stand on. “I thought—I feared—” His breath is ragged as he shakes his head, pressing another kiss against your legs before tilting his head back to look up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Then, his gaze drops widens as he sees him. The baby in your arms. Not so much a newborn anymore but not a toddler yet. The small, sleeping boy nestled in your arms, so peaceful, so unaware of the storm his father is weathering before him. Striders entire body goes still. His hands slowly releasing their grip on your skirts. His breath catches, his fingers trembling as he hesitantly reaches forward, stopping just short of touching the child.

He looks up at you. His expression unraveling into something utterly undone. “Is he…” His voice fails him, cracking beneath the weight of the question.

You nod, your own voice barely a whisper. “He is yours, Strider.”

Something inside him broke. A choked, breathless sob escapes him as he lifts shaking hands. His fingers barely grazing the soft blanket wrapped around his son before he pulls back afraid that he is unworthy of touching something so pure. “I didn’t know…” His voice fractures again and he looks back up at you with desperation in his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” you whisper before shifting closer, pressing the bundle into his waiting arms. “But you do now.” The moment his son was in his arms Strider let out a sound so raw, so full of everything that he has held back for so long that it steals the air right from your lungs.

His hands, scarred and calloused from war, cradle the small boy with infinite tenderness. His thumb brushes along his son’s cheek memorizing every inch of him. The curve of his tiny nose, the soft wisps of dark hair, the way his fingers twitch in sleep.

Strider swallowed hard, tears slipping down his face as he presses his forehead against his son’s. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers. His voice trembling. “You are…” His breath shudders. “You are mine. The Prince of Gondor”

The boy stirs then, blinking up at him with eyes that mirror his own. Grey and stormy, deep as the rivers that run through the land. The first glimpse of recognition dawns in those tiny features, and Strider let out a soft, broken laugh. His grip tightening ever so slightly knowing will never let go. Your heart feels like it might truly shatter as you witness your son and his father meeting for the first time.

He looks back up at you then with the tears now spilling freely down his face. “What is his name?”

You hesitate. “I never truly named him,” you admit. Your voice thick with emotion. “I only ever called him Aragorn.”

Something unreadable flickers across his face. Then, suddenly, he laughs. A soft, breathless sound, full of wonder, full of disbelief. He looks down at his son with a teary smile tugging at his lips. “Then he has a name worthy of him.” He presses a reverent kiss to his son’s forehead before shifting his gaze back to you. And then before you can say anything else he reached for you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you into his embrace.

“I love you,” he murmurs as his lips pressed against your temple, your cheek, your lips. “I have always loved you.” His grip tightens as if he cannot bear to let go. “No war, no kingdom, nothing could ever change that.”

Tears rolled down your face as you clutch at him, pressing your forehead against his. “I was so afraid,” you whisper. “That you wouldn’t want us. That…”

Strider silences you with another kiss, deep and lingering, full of every promise he has ever made, full of everything he cannot put into words. When he pulls away his voice is fierce, unshaken. “Never,” he vows. “Never doubt that you are my heart. That he is my greatest joy.” He looks down at his son again, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over the boy’s tiny hands. “You waited for me,” he murmurs before pressing another kiss to his son’s head. “And now, I swear to you both, I will never leave again.” A quiet sob escapes you and you lean into him. Letting him hold both of you as if he can shield you from every sorrow you have ever known. You had waited. And now, finally you were home.

The White City gleams beneath the golden afternoon sun. Its towers stretching high into the heavens, banners of Gondor rippling in the wind. The throne room, once a place of war councils and endless worries, now holds something far greater. It holds peace, love, and a king who rules not just with wisdom but with a heart full of devotion.

And at the center of it all, Aragorn sits upon his throne, not just as the ruler of Gondor, but as a father, a husband, a man who has found his way back to the life he never dared to dream for himself.

His son sits in his lap with tiny fingers clutching at the silver detailing of his robes, wide grey eyes staring up at his father in open adoration. The boy is a mirror of him, with dark curls and a regal air that already hints at the leader he will one day become. Though for now he is simply his father’s son, wrapped in the safety of arms that would never let him go.

The court watches with quiet amusement as the toddler shifts in Aragorn’s hold whispering something in that sweet, curious voice of his. Without hesitation, the King of Gondor leans down, his expression softening completely as he murmurs a response, pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead before turning back to the matters of the realm.

And standing at his side, watching the scene unfold, is you. You rest a hand over the gentle swell of your stomach, your heart full with the life growing inside you. Your second child, a symbol of everything that had once felt so uncertain, now made real in the warmth of your husband’s love. Your fingers trace over the fabric of your gown feeling the faintest flutter of movement beneath your touch. A quiet reminder that soon, your family would grow even more.

Aragorn’s eyes find yours, his gaze lingering, full of a love that still leaves you breathless, even now. His lips curve into a soft, knowing smile, and without a word, he shifts, adjusting his son in his arms before extending a hand toward you. You step forward, placing your hand in his, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch, the strength in his fingers as he intertwines them with yours. He lifts your joined hands pressing a kiss to the back of yours, reverence in every movement.

“My Queen,” he murmurs. His voice thick with affection. The title spoken not as a formality, but as something sacred.

Your breath falters for a moment, and though you have been by his side for months now, the weight of it still fills you with awe. He does not say it as if it is an obligation. He does not say it as if it is a role you were forced to accept. He says it like a man who has chosen you in every lifetime, in every battle, in every moment since the first time he laid eyes on you.

The small boy in his arms reaches for you then, his chubby fingers patting against your growing belly, a bright, innocent giggle spilling from his lips as if he already knows that soon he will have a sibling to protect. Aragorn chuckles, shifting the child slightly so you can press a kiss to his soft curls. Your fingers brushing against Aragorn’s in the process. His hand tightens over yours, his thumb sweeping gently across your knuckles, grounding you in the warmth of him.

There had been so much fear once. So much uncertainty. But now, there is only this. Him, your son, your growing family, the home you have built together within the walls of a kingdom that now thrives under his reign.

“You are happy?” he asks softly. His voice a quiet caress against your skin.

You smile, leaning in until your lips brush against his ear. Your voice warm with all the love you have ever held for him. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Aragorn exhales. His forehead pressing lightly against yours, the soft weight of your son nestled between you both. “Then I have fulfilled my greatest duty,” he murmurs, a quiet promise only for you to hear.

You close your eyes, letting the moment settle around you, letting yourself breathe in the scent of him, the warmth of your son, the peace that now fills your life. You had waited. You had hoped. You had loved him even when the world tried to tear you apart. And now, standing at his side, with his hand in yours and his child in your arms, you know.

He had always, always, been coming home to you. He would always return to you.

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syrma-sensei · 2 days ago

Text

→ Godless.

Pairing: William “Billy” Butcher x Fem!reader.

Summary: In his godless world, he yearns for something divine.

Rating: Mature.

Setting: Season 4.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst, angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional agnst.

The night shift at Starlight House is supposed to be quiet. Kids are already asleep, the halls dimly lit, and the only sounds are the occasional creak of the old floorboards. You are just finishing up—shutting off lights, making sure everything is locked up—when a familiar knock echoed through the front doors. Hard. Impatient.

You already know who it is before you open it.

Billy Butcher stands there, looking every bit the man who doesn't belong in a place like this. He smells like whiskey and gunpowder, his knuckles bruised, his jaw clenched tight like he’d just come from a fight. And, as always, Terror is right beside him, wagging his tail.

You crossed your arms. “Jesus, Butcher. You could’ve just texted.”

“Ain’t got the patience for that.” His eyes flicked over you, taking in the soft Starlight House sweatshirt you wore over your tank top, the hint of warmth and comfort he probably can't stand. “Terror needed a walk. Figured I’d let ‘im see his favorite bird.”

You roll your eyes but reach down to scratch behind the dog’s ears anyway. “You mean I’m your free dog sitter.”

Butcher smirks, stepping inside without asking. “That too.”

You shake your head with a small smile.

You've known Billy for almost five months now. You met him at the Filtatron Building when you had to drop by to give Annie some paperwork for the shelter’s funding. He was standing off to the side, arms crossed, looking about five seconds away from bashing someone's head. You hadn’t thought much of him at first. Just another gruff asshole with a chip on his shoulder. But you're nothing if not curious. So, you asked Annie who the hell he was when she visited the House the other day, and she told you his miserable story.

You still get sick in the stomach when you your mind puts you in his shoes.

You sigh. “You wanna tell me why you’re really here?”

You know why he is here.

Butcher gives you a look—half amusement, half something else you couldn’t quite place. “What, a bloke can’t drop by for a friendly visit?”

You snort. “You don’t do friendly visits. Are you here to help?”

Terror woofs at you, demanding more headpats which you give him. Butcher, meanwhile, scans the quiet, dimly lit space from his spot.

“Still reckon this place is a waste of time,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes, already used to his shit. “Because helping kids is such a terrible thing?”

He does answer right away. Just shrugs, stepping closer. “World’s fucked, luv. You can’t save ‘em all.”

“Maybe not,” you shoot back. “But I can damn well try.” Like how you're trying to save Ryan. You think but you bite your tongue. You learnt to. It gets ugly when someone reminds him that his wife's son prefers Homelander over him. The boy is oblivious to his father's true nature, and Billy wasn't really kind to him the last two times he saw him. The first he told him to fuck off for killing Becca, and the second he literally was going to kill his fucking dad in front of his eyes. Which didn't settle well with the kid.

“Be that as it may…” Billy clicks his tongue, “Can we skip to the part where we fuck eachother’s brains out, luv?”

In another time, his crass words would've made you flinch. But not anymore. You’ve grown accustomed to his rough edges, even found a strange comfort in them. There’s something about the way he says it, something in his voice that makes your pulse pick up, makes your skin tingle with that mixture of irritation and desire you can never quite shake when he’s around.

So, you comply. You check on everything before you're off with him to your place.

Sex with Billy Butcher is never sweet. He fucks you with raw, desperate, almost angry need. When he manhandles you, his touch is rough and bruising and demanding like he's taking it out on you as if you're the one who killed his wife.

Why do we do this if you love her so much? You want to ask him, but you never do. Because you know that would screw it up on you.

Afterwards, Billy lays on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers to the shitstorm in his head. You can still feel his heartbeat slowing beneath your palm, his skin warm from the afterglow.

For once, he isn't in a hurry to leave. He doesn't usually stay after sex. But you won't complain.

Billy keeps his gaze on the ceiling, his mind drifting away from the intimacy of the moment though he grows to love it.

God, the fucking cunt. Did He really place you in his way to discourage him from pursuing his path of vengeance any further?

He scoffs, well He’s doing a shitty job of it. Because he doesn't, by any chance, harbour any ounce of emotions for you. Aside from your sex appeal, he has nothing to do with you.

Then why do you keep wanting to see her?

A voice akin to Becca's taunts him.

Well, I'm fucking dying anyway. He tries to justify. Might as well fuckin’ enjoy the hell road.

But a knife of guilt stabs his chest. He uses you for pleasure but he knows you're more than that. He finds serenity within his soul when he's with you. For brief, fleeting moments, the searing fire in his heart that urges him for a revenge smoulders away when you beam at him and he hates you for that.

He gazes down at you while you trace lazy circles over his chest.

Such a sweet little thing, he thinks. But sweet things break easily in this world. Like it did his brother. Like it did his wife. Like it did him.

He doesn't deserve you. He isn't worthy of an angel, a goddess like you.

Then why am I here? He asks himself.

“Do you ever think the big cunt is somewhere up there?” He mutters absentmindedly.

You chuckle, looking up at him, “I don't know…”

He snickers, “You don't believe in the invisible cunt, I take it?”

You snort, “I don't really care if He or She or They exist.”

“Then why do you have a kind heart and do what you do?”

You prop yourself up on your arm, “I do it because I believe it is the right thing to do, not because some bearded old daddy in the sky says what I should do.”

He raises a brow, “Well, here's what I think, luv—”

You silence him with a finger on his lips, “I know that the world is cruel and meaningless, but it is also…” You smile, eyes holding his, “A beautiful place…”

Mine was beautiful when I had Becca. He muses, and an inner voice adds, Is beautiful when I have you.

He shakes his head.

“Might as well you enjoy the ride, Billy.” You pat his chest gently.

Before he can push the subject, a wet, sloppy sound fills the air, followed by a familiar snuffling noise.

You both turn your heads toward the bedroom door—where Terror is sitting, watching you with his big, dumb dog grin, happily licking his own balls.

Butcher groaned. “Christ, mate, bit of fuckin’ privacy?”

Terror, completely unbothered, lets out a contented huff and plops onto the floor, still going at it.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a laugh. "You sure know how to ruin a moment, huh?"

Butcher grumbles something under his breath, shoving a pillow over his face. "Next time, we’re locking the bloody door."

Unable to withhold it, a roaring chortle bursts out of your lungs. Your lilt sound caresses Billy’s ear like a feather.

You sigh against his chest, your body warm and relaxed, but he feels anything but.

He should leave. Should throw on his clothes, mutter some half-assed excuse, and get the fuck out before this turns into something it shouldn’t.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets his fingers trail absentmindedly down your back, feeling the slow rise and fall of your breath.

“You always this cuddly after sex?” you murmur, voice teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.

Butcher snorts. “Yeah, ‘m a real softie.”

You hum, tracing lazy patterns over his chest. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Silence settles between you, heavy with unspoken things. He can feel you watching him, waiting for something he can’t give.

So he does what he does best. He deflects.

“Reckon Terror’s traumatized now,” he grumbles, jerking his chin toward the dog, who has finally abandoned his self-care and curled up on the floor.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You think this is the worst thing he’s seen? He lives with you.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You notice. Of course, you do. You always fucking notice.

“Billy…” you start, voice softer now, like you’re stepping carefully around whatever mess is inside his head. “Why do you keep coming back?”

He stiffens.

Because it’s easy? Because you’re good at what you do? Because he likes the way you feel, warm and alive beneath him?

All bullshit.

The real answer sits heavy on his tongue, bitter and unspoken.

Because when he’s with you, the fire in his gut—the one that’s been burning ever since Becca died—dims just enough for him to breathe.

And that scares the fuck out of him.

You let the silence stretch between you, waiting, hoping he’ll say something. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls you closer, his breath warm against your temple, his arms a little too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip.

Your fingers skim lightly over his side. “You never answer the hard questions, do you?”

Butcher huffs, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Don’t see the point, luv. Ain’t gonna change a damn thing.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your chin resting on his chest. “You sure about that?”

His jaw clenches. He hates when you do this—when you peel back the layers he’s spent years building, exposing the raw, ugly things underneath. But he can’t bring himself to push you away.

Instead, he sighs, his fingers trailing up your spine, slow and deliberate. “What d’you want me to say, huh? That I like this?” His voice drops, something dangerous curling at the edges. “That I like you?”

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting him to say it, not out loud, not like this.

And for a second, you see it—the truth he’s been trying so hard to bury.

But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. His expression shutters, that familiar guardedness slipping back into place.

He shakes his head, scoffing at himself. “Don’t mean a bloody thing.”

You exhale sharply, rolling onto your back beside him, staring at the ceiling. “If it doesn’t mean anything, then why are you still here?”

Because you're a good fuck and I'm much of an arsehole to take advantage of it. He wants to crudely tell you, to convince you, to convince himself that you're nothing but that.

But the words don’t come out.

Instead, Billy lies there, jaw tight, staring at the ceiling as if it holds all the answers he doesn’t have. He wants to say it—wants to be cruel, to shut this down before it turns into something he can’t control. But when he glances at you, at the way your brows pinch together, at the soft rise and fall of your breath, something in his chest pulls tight.

He swallows hard, lets out a low, bitter chuckle. “Fuck if I know.”

You huff out a laugh, but it’s humorless. “Bullshit.”

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smirk, but the weight in his chest is too heavy. He shifts onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, watching you. “You really wanna have this chat right now?”

Your eyes flick toward him, searching, challenging. “I just wanna know why you keep coming back.”

Billy looks at you for a long moment, like he’s trying to piece together an answer that won’t make him feel like a fucking idiot. He could lie. He should lie. But something about the way you’re looking at him makes it impossible.

Finally, he sighs, running a rough hand over his face. “You make me forget.” His voice is quieter now, like he hates admitting it. “For a little while, anyway.”

You hold his gaze. “Forget what?”

His throat bobs, his expression unreadable. And then, finally, he mutters, “Everything.”

The weight of that single word settles between you like a heavy fog. You should say something, maybe press him for more, but you don’t. Because you get it. Maybe more than he realizes.

So instead, you shift closer, resting a hand against his chest. His heart beats strong beneath your palm, steady but guarded, just like him.

“You don’t have to forget,” you say softly. “You just have to stop running.”

Billy scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what happens when I stop?”

You give him a small, sad smile. “Maybe you finally start living.”

He exhales sharply, his hand coming up to wrap around your wrist, holding you there against him. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. The way he looks at you, the way his fingers tighten just slightly—it says enough.

He’s not ready. Maybe he never will be. But for now, he stays.

By morning, the world outside is just as godless and fucked as ever. And yet, you both step back into it, knowing full well that Billy will find his way back to you—sooner rather than later.

⚜ Main Masterlist

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→ Read on A03

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jungkoode · 2 days ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 12

˗ˏˋ vanilla coffee ˎˊ˗

"There's a science to making perfect coffee, he says. But there's no science to explain why watching him make it—shirtless and sleep-rumpled—makes you forget every reason you shouldn't want him."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7,4k

rating: explicit (sex)

content: jungkook literally has a vanilla kink at this point i'm sorry that wasn't even planned he's just got free will, coffee lessons that are somehow hot, tiny shorts being instigators, verbal sparring as foreplay, protected sex, titty play, titty worship, penetrative vaginal sex, him fingering her

✧ author's note ✧

Listen. LISTEN. I don’t know what kind of demonic possession took over me while writing this chapter, but I had zero control over my own hands. Like, the coffee scene? The mug sharing? The delicious moment??? I AM IN HELL. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

I started this chapter with the intention of them being petty little gremlins about vanilla-scented products, and somehow it ended with Jungkook making a whole latte just to flex on Y/N. A LATTE. And don’t even get me started on the mug proximity crimes. The way Y/N is actively short-circuiting over his hands and forearms like a Victorian woman seeing ankle for the first time?? We are ALL in trouble. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

And then—oh, god—the sweatpants menace. If you know, you know.

As always, please send thoughts, screams, and existential crises to the comment box. Love you, stay hydrated, and if a man ever offers to elevate your coffee… RUN. (Or sit in his lap. Your call.) (¬‿¬)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

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Good tired is still tired.

Your bag hits the dining table with a thud that perfectly matches how your brain feels right now—heavy and slightly bruised.

7PM.

You gave him way more than forty minutes. Actually gave him two whole hours, not that you're counting.

Not that you care. You're just... observant.

But then you catch it—that familiar scent hanging in the air. Vanilla. Your mind immediately goes to that specific vanilla body wash that costs way too much but is the only thing that doesn't make your skin break out.

Oh, he fucking didn't.

Your fist connects with his door maybe a bit harder than necessary. There's a loud thud from inside, followed by what sounds like someone falling off a bed, then a muffled "shit” before footsteps approach.

The door swings open and—oh.

Oh no.

He's shirtless, because of course he is. Hair a disaster, eyes heavy with sleep, that stupid silver ring catching the light as he runs a hand down his face. There's a pillow crease on his cheek and he looks... soft. Which is absolutely not what you need right now when you're trying to be angry.

"What," he growls, voice rough with sleep, "is your problem?"

Right. Anger. Focus on that.

"My problem?" You gesture vaguely at the air between you. "My problem is you letting random hookups use my shit!"

His brow furrows, like he's trying to process your words through a fog of interrupted sleep. Then his expression does this complicated thing—confusion to understanding to something else you can't quite read.

He presses his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Phoenix, I didn't." When he looks at you again, he seems more awake. "I told her your stuff was off limits."

"Then why does it smell like—"

He brushes past you, heading toward the bathroom, and you absolutely do not notice how warm he is when he passes. Or how he still smells like rain under the vanilla.

"Are you seriously walking away while I'm—"

He stops so suddenly you almost run into him. Turns. Points at the coffee table.

"It's your candle."

You follow his finger and... oh.

There's one of your vanilla candles burning quietly on the table, nearly at its end. Which means it's been lit for...

He groans, running a hand down his face again. "You said to open the windows, and I just..." He waves vaguely at the candle. "Whatever."

"You..." The words aren't quite computing. "You lit my candle?"

"You told me to air out the apartment."

"So you used my candle to get cozy with some random—"

"For fuck's sake, Phoenix." He looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him here. "I lit it because you like these stupid vanilla things, okay? Thought it'd make the place smell nice when you got back."

Oh.

Something warm and uncomfortable squirms in your chest. Because that's... that's actually kind of...

"Well." You cross your arms, refusing to acknowledge the weird feeling. "Maybe ask next time before using my stuff."

"Maybe don't ghost me for two hours when I asked for forty minutes."

"I was studying!"

"With your phone on silent?"

"Some of us have actual academic responsibilities, Rogue."

His mouth twitches. "Some of us have other responsibilities."

"Yeah, bet ‘pussy eating’ looks great on a résumé.”

“Didn’t eat her pussy. Just fucked it.”

You grimace. “TMI.”

He shrugs. “You brought it up.”

“You were the one bragging about responsibilities like it’s a noble calling.”

“Hey, takes dedication. Skill. Stamina.” A smirk. “Not my fault you’re fixated on it.”

Fixated—

“Right. Just like I’m fixated on your four-hour recovery nap.”

“Wasn’t napping the whole time.”

“Gross.”

“You asked.”

“I literally didn’t.”

He's fighting a smile now, you can tell. Which is annoying because you're trying to be mad about your candle. Or your body wash. Or... something.

"Whatever." You turn toward your room, because this conversation needs to end before you do something stupid like thank him for thinking about the smell. "Just ask next time."

"Before lighting your pretentious vanilla candles?"

"They're not pretentious."

"They're thirty dollars each."

"How do you know how much they—" You spin back around. "Have you been looking up my candles?"

"No."

"Oh my god, you totally have."

"I was curious why they cost so much when they all smell the same!"

"They do not all smell the same, you absolute heathen."

He raises an eyebrow. "French Vanilla and Vanilla Bean are literally the same thing."

"I'm not having this conversation with someone who probably thinks Old Spice is a personality trait."

"At least I don't need a PhD to buy soap."

"No, you just need—" You stop, narrowing your eyes. "Wait. How do you know what's in my shower?"

"You know what?" He stretches, and you absolutely do not track the movement with your eyes. "All this talk about vanilla is making me crave coffee. Specifically..." He grins, slow and deliberate. "Those vanilla capsules you hide in the back of the cabinet."

"Don't you dare—"

"The ones behind the protein powder?"

"Those are mine." You follow him as he saunters toward the kitchen, still annoyingly shirtless. "I specifically said they weren't for you."

"Come on, Phoenix." He's already moving toward the kitchen, all loose limbs and bare chest like putting on a shirt is beneath him. "Let me show you how to actually make coffee. Teach you some culture. Some technique."

You swat at him as he passes. "I know how to use a coffee maker."

"Sure you do." His laugh is rough with sleep, and you hate that you notice. "That's why you murdered a perfectly good espresso shot this morning."

"I did not—"

"The beans were crying, Phoenix. I heard them."

But you're already following him to the kitchen because apparently you hate yourself.

He's wearing those stupid gray sweatpants that hang just low enough to be illegal in at least three states, and his hair is still a disaster from sleep, curling at the nape of his neck.

"First rule," he says, running his hands over the coffee maker like it's something precious, "is respecting the machine."

"It's a coffee maker, not royalty."

"See? No respect." His fingers dance over the settings with practiced ease. "That's why your coffee tastes like sad bean water."

You lean against the counter, watching as he measures grounds with ridiculous precision.

"My coffee tastes fine."

"Your coffee tastes like betrayal and broken dreams." He adjusts the grind size, movements quick and sure. "You probably think instant coffee is acceptable."

"Only when I'm feeling particularly spiteful."

His horrified gasp is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh. "You're a monster."

"Guilty."

He shakes his head, tamping down the grounds with absolutely unnecessary focus. The muscles in his forearms flex with the movement, and you definitely don't notice. Just like you don't notice how his hands look wrapping around the portafilter, or how his ring catches the kitchen light when he locks it into place.

"Watch," he says, flipping switches with the confidence of someone who definitely spent too much time watching barista tutorials on YouTube. "This is where the magic happens."

"It's coffee, not alchemy."

"Shh. You're ruining the moment."

The machine hums to life, and okay—maybe you can kind of see why he's so precious about it. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the espresso streams out, dark and perfect.

"See how it's not running too fast?" He's fully in teacher mode now, gesturing at the flow. "That's what you want. Nice and steady. Not that waterfall disaster you created this morning."

"Are you done being pretentious yet?"

"Never." He grabs your vanilla capsules—the ones you specifically told him not to touch—and starts steaming milk. "But I'll make it worth your while."

"By stealing my coffee?"

"By elevating your coffee." The milk pitcher moves in his hand like it's an extension of his arm. "You'll never want that chain store stuff again."

"Bold of you to assume I want anything you make."

His smile is all trouble. "Liar."

And okay, maybe he has a point. Because the drink he slides across the counter a few minutes later looks... kind of perfect. The foam is glossy and smooth, and the vanilla smell hits just right.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You take a sip and—fuck.

Fuck.

"It's..."

No. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

But he's already grinning, the bastard. "Say it."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Phoenix." He leans forward, elbows on the counter. "Admit it. I made your vanilla whatever-the-fuck better than you ever could."

"I will literally die first."

"That good, huh?"

You flip him off, taking another sip instead of answering. But then he's there, right there, and when did he get so close? His fingers brush yours as he takes the mug, gentle but deliberate, and your throat goes dry.

He holds your gaze, something dark and playful dancing in his eyes. Doesn't ask permission with words—just tilts his head slightly, the question clear in the quirk of his mouth. And you should say something. Should stop him. Should—

The mug touches his lips. Your lips were just there. Three seconds ago, your mouth was exactly where his is now, and that shouldn't make your stomach clench but it does.

His eyes are too much. Too dark, too intense, too fucking knowing as he takes a slow sip. Have they always been this brown? This smoky? Like whiskey in low light, like trouble wrapped in honey.

The kind of eyes that should come with a warning label: Danger. Side effects may include stupid decisions and ruined underwear.

His tongue darts out, catching a stray drop on his lower lip. Slow. Deliberate. The silver ring on his hand catches the light as he lowers the mug, and his voice drops to something husky.

"Delicious."

Nope. Absolutely not.

You snatch the mug back, ignoring how your fingers tingle where they brush his. "Make your own, you coffee nerd."

Retreat. Strategic retreat to the couch is definitely the smart play here. Because your brain is currently short-circuiting, trying to process how one word—one stupid, fucking word—in that voice can make your thighs press together.

His laugh follows you, low and knowing. The sound wraps around you like smoke, like the way he smelled that thunderstorm night, like—

Griffin chooses that exact moment to slink into the living room, green eyes judging you both as he hops onto the windowsill. He stretches, impossibly long, before curling into a perfect orange circle, pointedly turning his back to you both.

At least someone in this apartment has standards.

Focus. You're focusing.

But then you hear him moving behind you. The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft appreciative hums as he works the coffee maker. The whisper of fabric as his sweatpants shift with his movements. Each sound feels magnified, like your brain has decided to process everything in HD surround sound.

Don't look back. Don't do it. Don't—

Fuck.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. Because his back is a work of art, all broad shoulders and defined muscle, and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair that even from behind he's attractive enough to make your mouth water. The way his shoulder blades move as he works the machine, the dip of his spine disappearing into those low-hanging sweats, the unruly hairs curling at his nape...

Snap your head forward. Drink your coffee. Stop being a horny disaster for five consecutive minutes.

But you can still hear him. Still feel his presence behind you like a looming cloud. Still taste the ghost of his lips where they touched the same spot yours did on the mug.

This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just tired and touch-starved and maybe a little worked up from your stupid assignments—

"Want another taste, Phoenix?"

His voice is closer now, right behind you, and you absolutely do not shiver. "Didn't anyone teach you to drink your own coffee?"

"Didn't anyone teach you that stealing tastes better?"

You refuse to turn around. Refuse to acknowledge how his words squeeze your chest. "You're impossible."

"You like impossible."

And that's... that's not something you're equipped to handle right now. Not with him standing there all sleep-warm and shirtless, voice rough like gravel, smelling like rain and coffee and sin.

"I like peace and quiet," you lie, taking another sip of your rapidly cooling drink.

His laugh is soft, dangerous. "Liar."

The couch dips as he drops down next to you, thigh pressed against yours like he owns the space. Like personal boundaries are just suggestions. He has a mug in hand now, and his coffee smells kind of amazing and you hate him for it.

You shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh—warm, heavy, there. His fingers span the width of it easily, and your brain helpfully supplies memories of those same fingers in other contexts.

It doesn’t escape your notice, how his eyes linger on where your shorts have ridden up your thighs from your hours in the library.

"No," you manage, swatting his thigh with yours.

"No what?" His voice is still rough from sleep, and it's doing things to you. Unfair things.

"No manspreading next to me." You try to sound annoyed instead of affected. "Keep your sweaty balls to yourself."

He squeezes your thigh, just once. Just enough to make you want to throw the mug at him. Or yourself. "My balls aren't sweaty."

"Bet they are.”

"Want to check?"

"You're actually the worst." But you don't move his hand. Why aren't you moving his hand?

"That's not what you said last time."

And fuck him for bringing up last time. Fuck him for smelling like rain and coffee and sleep-warm skin. Fuck him for the way his thumb is drawing absent circles on your thigh, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"Lapse in judgment."

His laugh rumbles through you, too close, too much. "Which time?"

"Pick one."

"I'd rather pick you up."

You turn to tell him exactly where he can shove that line, but it's a mistake. Because he's right there, all heavy-lidded eyes and sleep-soft mouth, and your brain fizzles. His hair is still a mess, curling at his temples, and you want to grab it. Want to find out if it's as soft as it looks. Want to—

"You're staring, Phoenix."

"Untrue."

His fingers flex on your thigh. "Big word for someone who can't stop looking at my mouth."

"I'm not—" But you are. You absolutely are. "Shut up."

"Make me."

Always those two damn words. Always saying ‘make me’, like he knows how it riles you up. Like he likes how it riles you up. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and you can feel his pulse through his fingers on your thigh. Or maybe that's your pulse. Everything feels too hot, too close, too—

"Your coffee's getting cold," you manage, voice embarrassingly breathy.

His smile is slow, knowing. "Yeah?”

His eyes drop to your shorts—the ones you've been wearing all day, the ones that rode up your thighs during your study session. And okay, maybe they're a little too short. Maybe you felt Jimin's concerned glance when you stretched in the library. But it's not your fault the AC in your car is temperamental at best.

"These can't be comfortable after sitting in the library all day," he murmurs, fingers playing with the hem. “Could help you out of them."

"Thought you were tired from your afternoon activities."

"Second wind." His thumb traces the seam where it cuts into your thigh. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring how your body wants to lean into his touch. "I am here."

"No," and his voice drops lower, rougher. "Here." He pats his lap, and the casual confidence of it irritating. Hot. Irritatingly hot. "Unless you're scared."

"Of what? Your ego?"

"Of how bad you want it." His eyes flick to your chest, where your shirt dips just low enough to be interesting. "Been thinking about these shorts all day. Since you drove me to class."

"Didn't realize my driving skills were such a turn on."

"Your driving skills are terrible." His hand slides higher, testing. "But watching you grip the steering wheel..."

You swallow. "That's kind of pathetic."

"Yeah?" His fingers find the spot where your shorts meet skin. "Then why are you breathing so hard?"

"Because you're annoying me."

He laughs, low and dangerous. "Hop on, Phoenix. Let me annoy you properly."

"That's your big move? 'Hop on'?"

“As long as it gets you on top of me...” He smiles now, actually smiles. “I’d say it’s working.”

And fuck him for being right. Fuck him for the way his eyes are all pupil now, for how his skin is still warm, for how he smells like everything you want to taste.

"You're awful," you breathe, but you're already shifting closer.

"Show me how awful."

His fingers hook through your belt loop and suddenly you're being yanked forward with zero warning. The squeak that leaves your mouth is embarrassing.

"Rude," you swat at him, but he catches your wrist easily. His hand is so warm around your cold skin.

"C'mere," he breathes, and before you can process it, you're straddling him.

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling you closer until you fall forward, catching yourself with hands on either side of his head.

He hums, the sound vibrating through you where you're pressed against him. And—yeah. Well. That's definitely not his phone in his sweats.

"Ride me?" The way he says it is almost lazy, but his eyes are dark, hungry. That half-lidded look that means tarnation.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Phoenix." His fingers flex on your ass, making you rock against him. "Don't be mean."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how good he feels under you. "Mean?"

"Been hard since I saw you in these fucking shorts this morning." He bites his lip, looking up at you through his lashes. "Just thinking about your thighs spread over my lap like this..."

"That sounds like a you problem."

His laugh is breathless, a little wild. "I’ll make it an us problem."

"Thought you were tired from earlier."

"Different kind of tired." His hands guide you into a slow grind against him. "This is more... inspiration."

"You're actually insane."

"Yeah?" He rocks up, making you gasp. "Feeling pretty sane right now. Feeling like I really want you to—fuck—"

You'd rolled your hips, just to shut him up. Just to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But now he's looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert, and his hands are everywhere, and—

"That's it," he breathes, voice gone raspy. "Just like that, come on..."

He guides your hips into another roll, watching you with that hungry, hazy look. His thumbs dig into your hipbones, controlling the pressure, the pace.

"Been thinking about this," he breathes, voice rough. "How you'd look bouncing on my cock. How your tits would—fuck—" You grind down harder, feeling him twitch against you. "Haven't even gotten to see them properly yet."

"Poor you," but your voice shakes when his hands slide up under your shirt, spanning your ribs.

"Poor me," he agrees, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "All I got was that quick fuck against the window. Then you cumming on my tongue." His eyes are dark, pupils blown. "But this? Getting to watch you ride me? See these bounce while you—"

"You talk too much." You're trying for annoyed but it comes out breathy.

"Make me shut up then." His hips snap up. "Come on, Phoenix. Show me how well you can take it, yeah?"

"That's your big plan? Get me all worked up in the living room?"

“Getting worked up anywhere you’ll let me.” His fingers find your nipples through your bra, rolling them until you arch. “Been waiting to get you like this. Spread out on top of me, swallowing me deep in this greedy pussy…”

You let out a breathy laugh, grinding down just to spite him. “Yeah?” Your voice is pure teasing, but the heat is real. “She didn’t wring you out completely?”

His grip tightens on your waist, nails pressing in just enough to make you feel it. “Seems like she didn’t.”

You hum, dragging your hips forward again, slow and deliberate. “Mm. That’s a shame.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, rough and taunting, but his hands—his fucking hands—are already shoving your shirt up, fingers tracing up your spine before yanking your bra down just enough to expose you. His thumb drags over one nipple, his breath warm against your throat. “You wanna fix that?”

You pretend to consider, rolling your hips again, dragging your pussy right over the thick ridge of him. Fuck. He’s not even inside you, and it’s already so good.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want to overwork you.”

His laugh is sharp, incredulous. “Nix.” His voice is wrecked—the kind of hoarse, hungry sound that goes straight to your cunt. “You feel what you’re doing to me?” He thrusts up, slow but deep, and you suck in a breath. “Think I’m fucking tired?”

And yeah, okay. He’s still hard as fucking steel beneath you. Still needy. Still looking at you like he’s seconds from losing what little patience he has left.

“It’s these fucking shorts,” he mutters, grabbing a handful of your ass like he wants to leave bruises. “Oh my god, this fucking ass.”

You hold back a laugh, rolling your hips again, enjoying the way his breath stutters. “That easy, huh?”

His hands tighten on you. “You know what you do to me.” His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you quiver. “S’why you wore these, right?”

You don’t answer, just reach between you to shove down his sweatpants, dragging them low enough to free his cock. And—fuck. He’s so hard it’s almost obscene, thick and flushed and already leaking.

“Jesus,” you mutter, running a teasing finger up his shaft, watching his stomach tense. “Didn’t even get a full reset, did you?”

His jaw flexes. “No.” A muscle in his cheek jumps as he watches you wrap your hand around him. “The fuck do you expect when you walk around in these little fucking—” His breath hitches when you thumb over the head, smearing the wetness there. “Shit—shorts. The second I saw you, I knew—”

“You knew what?” You press the question into his skin, lips just beneath his jaw, hand still working him slow.

His grip on your ass tightens, grounding, punishing. “Knew I was gonna end up inside you tonight.”

And fuck. That sends a fresh wave of heat through you, has your thighs squeezing around him. Because yeah, okay, maybe you had the same thought the second you walked in and saw him standing there in nothing but those damn sweatpants.

But there’s still one thing gnawing at you. One thing that makes your brain fight for a fraction of control through the heat.

“Did you use condoms?”

His head snaps up, brow furrowing like you just asked if water is wet. “Of course I did. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

You exhale, relief flooding through you faster than the heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Okay, fuck. Okay.” You swallow. “Where are they?”

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—instead of answering, he grabs your tits. Both hands, rough and impatient, unclasping you bra like it personally offended him.

“Jesus—wait—” You barely manage to lift your arms before he’s yanking it over your head, flinging it somewhere behind him.

“You on the pill?” he murmurs, barely pausing his focus on your tits.

“No.” You don’t even hesitate.

And to his credit, he doesn’t either. “Okay. Condoms it is.”

Respectful. A menace, but respectful.

You barely have time to process that before his fingers are pressing into the small of your back, guiding you forward, making you press flush against him as he leans toward the coffee table.

And you—because apparently you’re both equally insane—just let him.

His other hand reaches forward, jerking open the small drawer in the coffee table, fishing out a foil packet with practiced ease.

“You keep condoms in the living room?”

Jungkook doesn’t even blink. “Yeah. Just in case.”

“In case?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t you fuck in your room like normal people?”

“Yeah?” He grabs the foil packet, tossing it onto the couch beside him before his hands are right back on your waist, thumbs sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “But, y’know… just in case you wanted it.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Me?”

“You, Phoenix.” He squeezes your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he has to touch you while he says it. “I usually fuck in my room. But you and me—we already did it against the window, so I figured…” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Might as well be prepared.”

“I—” You blink, processing, trying to form actual thoughts. “That’s crazy.”

He shrugs, so fucking nonchalant it’s unfair. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it.” His mouth curls, eyes flicking from your mouth to your bare chest and back again. “Imagine I had to stop and go all the way to my room right now.” He pauses, letting the implication settle. “Wouldn’t that just kill the mood?”

And okay. You do snort at that.

Because this is ridiculous.

Because this is actually thoughtful.

Because he’s still hard as a rock under you, talking about condom logistics while casually groping your ass, like he’s planning for a fire drill and not fucking you senseless on the couch.

“No, like. You’re a complete nut case,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Quick access,” he corrects, and then—fuck.

His mouth is on your tits again.

No hesitation, no teasing buildup, just his tongue dragging over one nipple, warm and slick before closing his lips around it.

Your breath catches, fingers twitching where they brace on his shoulders. “Jesus—”

He hums against your skin, like this is just an extension of the conversation. Like he can talk about fucking you and have his tongue on your tits in the same breath.

And then, because he’s Jungkook and apparently completely fucking obsessed with your chest, he moves to the other one, sucking deep and slow, like he’s savoring it.

“Can’t help it,” he mutters against you, voice rough. “Tits too fucking perfect.”

Which—okay. You shouldn’t preen at that, but his mouth is so fucking warm, and his hands are so fucking big—

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and his breath stutters.

And then he’s leaning back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, pupils blown. “You gonna let me fuck you cowgirl now, or you wanna keep pretending we’re still talking?”

You poke at his dick playfully, watching with satisfaction as it twitches immediately.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking up to yours, but he doesn’t say a word. Just watches—completely absorbed—as you pluck the condom from the side and roll it down over him, slow and deliberate.

His jaw flexes, lips parting slightly, and when you glance up, you catch it—his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice all low and wrecked.

You smirk, dragging your fingers back up his shaft just because you can, because you like making him twitch, like how he watches you like he’s seconds from losing his mind.

His hands are already on your thighs when you lift up, finally removing those tiny ass shorts—but when your fingers hook into your panties, he stops you.

“Keep them.”

You blink, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” His hands skim up, palms rough against your bare skin. “They’re red and lacy and fucking beautiful—” His voice breaks off into a sharp exhale as he shifts under you, cock nudging against the damp lace between your legs. “Just shove them to the side and let me fuck you like this.”

Heat licks down your spine, and fuck, maybe it is kind of hot—his voice raw, gaze locked where you’re already so wet for him.

“Yeah?” You drag the fabric aside, slow and teasing, letting him see what he’s about to have. “You want me to ride you like this?”

“Nix.” His voice is all smoke and gravel. “Fucking sit on it.”

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders.

And then, in one swift motion, you sink down onto him.

“Fuck—”

Jungkook shudders, breath breaking apart as he bottoms out inside you, hands clamping down on your hips so hard it’s murderous. His fingers dig deep into your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to slam you down harder, deeper, but he doesn’t—he just grips, holds, feels.

And fucking watches.

Because this—this—is his favorite.

The way you stretch around him, the way he can see it, can watch himself disappear inside you from this angle. The lace of your panties bunched to the side, the way your slick coats his cock, the slow, obscene drag as he throbs inside you.

His jaw clenches, his head falling back, but his eyes stay locked on where your bodies meet. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You suck in a breath, thighs trembling slightly, trying to adjust to the stretch, the pressure, the way he fills you completely. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle shift beneath your palms as he groans deep in his throat.

“You feel that, Nix?” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You bite your lip, trying not to squirm at the way that sounds coming from him, the way his cock pulses inside you like he can feel every little squeeze.

His grip on your hips flexes. “Come on, let me hear you.”

You swallow hard, already feeling too fucking warm. “I—”

“I what?” His hands slide down, palms rough and greedy as they find your ass, grabbing handfuls, spreading you just to push inside you deeper. “Fuck, Phoenix, you feel so fucking good.”

Your thighs twitch, heat licking up your spine, and okay—okay, maybe that makes something inside you tighten. The way he wants you to feel it. The way he sounds like he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you. Sitting so fucking pretty on my cock like this.”

Your breath stutters.

“Fuck—” His fingers flex again, grip punishing, possessive. “Knew you’d look good like this. In this position. Been dreaming ‘bout it.”

You exhale shakily, pressing your palms harder against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your hands.

“Yeah?” The word slips out before you can stop it, quiet, breathless, barely more than an exhale.

And then, even as much as you convince yourself you hate dirty talk—his dirty talk—how you tell yourself it’s cringe… You find yourself engaging. You find yourself slipping.

“You wanted me in this position, Ro? Riding you?”

And Jungkook? He fucking relishes on it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, dark eyes flicking up to yours, mouth curling slow, dirty. “Getting bold on me, Phee?”

Heat rushes up your throat, your pulse pounding, but you don’t look away. You can’t—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with how deep he is inside you.

“God,” he groans, hands gripping your ass again, spreading you wider just to watch himself sink into you even more. “You should see how you look right now.”

His voice is wrecked—half-growl, half-moan—and you have to fight the way your thighs want to squeeze around him, hold him there.

But he notices.

And grins.

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like hearing it, don’t you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on his chest. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He tilts his head, thumbs digging into your skin, grounding, teasing. “Think I finally got you to like it.”

And fuck—fuck—you can’t even argue, because his cock twitches inside you and your whole body reacts, a shiver running up your spine.

His smirk widens. “See?”

You exhale sharply. “Rogue.”

“Phoenix.” His hands tighten again, his voice a slow, taunting drawl. “C’mon, yeah? Ride me.”

Your thighs flex as you lift yourself up, the slow drag of him leaving you just enough to make you whimper, then you sink back down, faster this time, harder.

Jungkook’s jaw goes slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s barely holding himself together. “Christ—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You move again, rising and dropping, setting a pace that has his breath coming out in ragged exhales, his nails biting into your skin. Every inch of him stretches you open, fills you up, makes your stomach coil tighter and tighter.

And then—

His right hand moves.

Fingers slipping lower, rough against your skin, then lower, lower—

Until he’s spreading you.

His fingers part your folds, stretching you open wider just so he can watch himself disappear inside you.

“For fuck’s sake Ro—”

“Shit,” he exhales, low and wrecked, eyes locked on where his cock is sliding in and out of you, the obscene wetness coating both of you. “Look at that. Fucking dripping for me, Phoenix. Can’t help it.”

Your thighs shake, breath shuddering, and you want to tell him to shut the fuck up—but you can’t, because you may not see it, but you feel it. The way your body takes him, how slick and messy it is, how deep he’s buried every time you drop back down.

It’s filthy. He’s filthy.

“You’re so nasty,” you gasp, nails digging into his chest for balance.

He laughs, dark and smug. “And you fucking love it.”

Before you can snap back, he finally—finally—looks up at you.

And his breath stutters.

Because, of course, in this position, your tits are bouncing.

His pupils blow wide, throat working through a hard swallow, and then—his hands fly up immediately.

Grabbing. Palming. Squeezing.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking apart, gaze flicking between your tits and your face like he doesn’t know where to look first. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging in, and then—his head falls back. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, voice wrecked, low and so needy you almost mewl, because you’ve never heard him like that. “Gonna cum so fucking bad—”

Your rhythm stutters. “Don’t you dare finish before me.”

“Fucking—” He grunts, muscles tensing beneath you as his hands clamp down harder, like he’s fighting it, trying to hold on, but— “Oh my fucking god, Phoenix—”

You can feel him struggling—his thighs trembling beneath you, abs flexing tight, his cock twitching inside you, buried so deep.

“How the fffffuck—” his breath shudders, “do you expect me—Jesus Christ—to hold b-back when your tits—god—”

His hands are everywhere—palming, grabbing, fucking worshiping your chest like he’s possessed—and then his mouth is there again, latching onto your right tit, tongue flicking over your nipple, sucking deep and wet.

“Shit,” you whimper, back arching.

“Fuck—fuck—”

He suddenly leans back, dragging you down hard onto his cock as he thrusts up to meet you, hips snapping with short, frantic rolls.

Your breath shatters, thighs burning, your whole body jolting with every desperate slam of his hips.

And his eyes.

Jesus.

His eyes are locked on you, wide and hungry, flicking between your parted lips and your chest.

And then—

“Grab ‘em,” he pants, voice rough, ruined. “Fuck—grab those titties for me, Phee.”

Your stomach flips.

“Grab’em while you ride me—” His breath catches, his abs flexing. “Fucking—God, I need to see it—”

Heat floods your spine, your pulse pounding as you do what he says—palms sliding up, gripping the soft weight of your tits, squeezing just enough to lift, to move, to give him exactly what he wants.

And his reaction—

“Jesus fucking—” His head falls back hard against the couch before snapping back up, completely fucking wrecked. “Oh my god—look at them—look at you—fuck, fuck—”

His fingers dig into your hips, forcing you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you as he thrusts up, trying to get deeper, trying to burn this into his brain.

“Oh god, oh god, Phoenix— I swear to fucking God—” His hands slide down, gripping your ass. “Fucking dripping— so messy for me—”

His voice breaks on a groan, hips slamming up, chasing it, his body seizing up as he loses it.

“Shit—shit—I’m—oh my god—fuck—I’m cumming—”

And then—he snaps.

His grip on your waist locks, his whole body tensing beneath you, and his head tips back, mouth falling open as he moans—a deep, raw sound from the bottom of his fucking chest.

He creams inside the condom, hips jerking up in short, shallow thrusts, pulsing thick and hot as he spills into it.

His hands shake as they guide your hips down, grinding you onto him, milking every last drop, needing to feel every second of it.

And you—

You’re about to sigh, about to roll your eyes, because seriously? He just came? You haven’t even—

But before the frustration can even fully settle, he moves.

One second, he’s slumped against the couch, breathless, spent.

The next—he’s flipping you onto your back.

Your gasp barely leaves your lips before his hands are on your thighs, gripping, spreading you open like it’s his fucking right, pushing your knees toward your chest.

And then—no hesitation.

No questions asked, no smug teasing, no half-assed effort—just his fingers shoving your panties back to the side, replacing his cock with two thick fingers, burying them inside you like he already fucking knows you can taste it.

Your breath shatters. “Jesus—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, focused, dark eyes locked on your pussy as his fingers curl, stretching you open, pressing deep. “Not leaving you hanging.”

And fuck—fuck—his thumb.

Right there, dragging over your clit, pressing just right with slow, deliberate circles.

Your thighs twitch, your hands clenching in the couch cushions as your body jolts from the sudden shock of pleasure. “Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groans, gaze flicking up to watch your face, your wrecked fucking expression as he fingers you open. “Gimme that pretty little shake—know you’re close.”

You barely process your own whimper before he’s pressing in harder, thrusting his fingers faster, his thumb working you like he owns your orgasm.

“You think I’d leave you like that?” His voice is low, hushed, wrecked, pressing filthy into the space between you. “Think I’d fucking cum and not make you lose your mind, too?”

“Ro—”

“Nah, Phoenix.” His fingers drive into you, slick and obscene, thumb relentless. “You’re gonna cum all over my hand—” he leans in, breath warm against your throat, “and I’m gonna watch every fucking second of it.”

His fingers pump into you, wet and filthy, every slick thrust echoing between you. And god, the sounds are just so fucking obscene it makes you want to die a little.

“Come on, give it to me, Phee,” Jungkook rasps.

You can barely breathe. His thumb keeps dragging over your clit in these slow, devastating circles, the pressure just right, and your whole body is trembling, your thighs twitching where he holds them open.

“Listen to that,” he groans, gaze flicking down, mesmerized. “So fucking wet for me. Making a mess all over my hand.”

And then his mouth is on you again.

He latches onto your tit, sucking deep, tongue flicking over your nipple before pulling off just to groan against your skin.

“God, your vanilla shit Phoenix. Makes you taste so good. Could suck on these all fucking day—”

“Jungkook—”

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

Your back arches, hands flying to grip his arms because—fuck—fuck. The pressure is too much, his fingers so deep, his mouth so hot, and you’re right there—right fucking there—

“That’s it,” he groans, hand drenched, your walls pulsing around his fingers. “Come on, give it to me.”

And then—

It hits.

Pleasure rips through you, fast and all-consuming.

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—just groans, watching you fall apart.

“Mm, yeah that’s it,” he mutters, fixated on the way you shake, the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, soaking his palm. “So fucking good, huh?”

His name slips out in a wrecked, shattered moan, and he loves it, enjoying every sound, drinking in every twitch and tremble.

He finally slows his movements as you shudder through the aftershocks, his fingers still deep, thumb pressing lazy circles to wring out every last second of it.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice a little breathless, and when you manage to blink down at him, he’s staring at his own hand—glistening, messy, coated in you.

His throat works.

And then—his eyes flick back to yours.

And he fucking grins.

Jungkook collapses on top of you.

Full weight. No warning. Just dead fucking weight pressing you into the couch, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Oh my—get off!” You yelp, struggling beneath him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Nnngghh,” he groans into your neck, voice muffled, completely ignoring you. “Shut the fuck up and let me rest for five minutes.”

You blink up at the ceiling, absolutely fucking done. “Weren’t you sleeping, like, thirty minutes ago?”

“Your point?” His breath is warm against your skin, his body solid and heavy, still way too fucking hot from everything that just happened.

“My point,” you grumble, wiggling under him, “is that you’ve done literally nothing today except nut and nap, so why are you tired?”

“Because,” he mutters, arms tightening around your waist, “I’m a growing boy.”

You snort, smacking his bare back. “You’re a menace.”

He just hums, pressing his face into your neck like he’s about to fall asleep right there, and for a second, you let it happen—just breathing, the two of you still wrecked, bodies cooling down, silence stretching.

But then—

“Oh, shit—”

Jungkook jumps, suddenly wide awake, jolting upright so fast he nearly knocks you off the couch.

You blink up at him, still catching your breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Wait—” He leans over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes huge and excited. “Do you have any toys?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“Toys,” he repeats, fully invested now. “Sex toys, Nix. I didn’t even think about it, but—fuck—I could’ve made you finish with one.”

You blink again, brain scrambling to catch up. “No?”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

“Why would I—” You sit up slightly, pushing at his chest. “Do I look like I came here with a full-ass sex kit?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, genuinely baffled, “don’t you girls have dildos and shit?”

“Oh my fucking—” You shove his shoulder. “Do you really think when I was packing my shit to move in, I was like, ‘mmm, yeah, definitely need to bring my dildo’?”

His eyes narrow. “So you had one?”

“No—”

“So you’ve never had one?”

“No, Ro, my parents would’ve killed me.”

He pauses, frowning like he’s actually considering that for a second. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation—

“Okay, then we’re going toy shopping.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, no, fuck that.” He waves a hand, like this is a done deal, like you don’t even get a say. “You’re getting something. I refuse to believe you’ve gone your whole life without at least a vibrator. That’s a crime.”

“A crime?”

“Yes.” His face is serious, like this is a personal offense to him. “You deserve to cum even when I’m not here.”

“I don’t need you to cum.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Oh my fucking—” You drop your head back against the couch, groaning. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m being a good friend.” He grins, smug as hell. “And an amazing fuck buddy.”

“We are not friends.”

He blinks. “What?”

“We’re not friends.” You cross your arms, looking him dead in the eye. “Fuck buddies. No friends.”

Jungkook gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you just deeply wounded him. “That hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

“Aren’t we, like, friends with benefits or something?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies. No friends. Just the benefits.”

“That’s the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Coming from Mr. Stupid himself? Woah.”

“Pft. Right.” He stretches, cracking his neck, still grinning like an idiot. “Then we’re going this weekend.”

“To what?”

“Buy you a vibrator.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bet.”

You swat at him, grin still on his face and all.

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ghostlyerlkonig · 22 hours ago

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i'm doing @batmanisagatewaydrug 's 2025 book bingo and 9 books in feels like a decent 'let's check in on this' time, with thoughts and feelings.

The Magicians by Lev Grossman (2009) - Feels like it walked right out of 2009. I did not love any of the characters in this book, they are almost all major dickwads but I was enraptured by seeing what happened to them. 4.5/5.

The Magician King by Lev Grossman (2011) - I like the main cast now and care about them, granted half of the book was more interesting than the other due to prior book build up. 5/5.

The Magician's Land by Lev Grossman (2014) - Good conclusion to the trilogy. I still like and root for all the characters (except one). The ending felt A Little rushed but not in a bad way. 4/5.

The Bright Sword by Lev Grossman (2024) - I fuck with this book so hard. For a historical fiction that does not stray tooooo far from it while also making Arthurian magics real, it never once attempts to 'explain' certain factors that do not need explaining. Best handling of a trans character I've read from a cis author in a HF. I'm biased to Arthurian based works but man this was so good. I finished it a month ago and I'm still thinking about it. 5/5.

Bring Me The Head Of Susan Lomond: A High School Story by Connor B. (2025) - Great queer comic from an artist I like a lot. I read most of it out loud with voiced because I could hear them so clearly. 5/5.

I'm Afraid You've Got Dragons by Peter S. Beagle (2024) - Beagle has the most wonderful way of writing the silliest shit and making it fun and beautiful. Not a complicated read by any means but I enjoyed a return to his voice, especially since he's in his 80s and has been put through the fucking ringer over the last 20~ years. 4/5.

Between Two Fires by Christopher Buehlman (2012) - Made me think more than I wanted it to. Somehow the surprise queer character was treated better than I expected (and a little worse). I can't believe it had me rooting for a pope for a solid 5 pages. Made me pull my European History text book from high school out of my closet so I could figure out how many miles one guy traveled and how bad the Bubonic Plague was in the towns he would have passed. Leaves a lot to your own imagination to freak you out with your own visual interpretation of the Christian mythos' angels and demons. And perhaps the giant catfish in Chernobyl. 4.5/5.

Are You My Mother? A Comic Drama by Alison Bechdel (2012) - Psychology heavy. I've avoided reading it for a while due to how Fun Home makes me feel. Bechdel's illustrations are great as always. One review I read described it as "what happened to the ground after it is broken" and yeah. Rereading Fun Home before I started it didn't help the emotions beside parsing them better. 5/5.

Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist by Liz Pelly (2025) - Wild book. Feels like an exposé more than a business book. Spotify is so fucked up. I knew this. Now I know it with more detail. Not the most outsider approachable if you aren't aware of the history of how predatory the music business is, but the MOST important things are well explained and terms are easily google-able. It dropped some details in regard to specifically Gen Z artists as victims of this new mainstream system, but that's my only loud gripe. I've been rethinking the relationship with music I developed while living in a 13x13ft room for all of 2020-21 and how I've experienced a "returned to form" from that constant need of background to enjoying records and albums as they exist for listening and paying attention to over the last year, this book solidified that active return to me as a good choice. I love music and what it is without capitalism breathing down its neck. 4.75/5.

Other books read (that i'm not putting on the bingo): Lord of the Rings Trilogy, The Art of War of the Rohirrim, Fun Home, Tree and Leaf, and Bisclavret

Next up:

Dudes Rock: A Celebration of Queer Masculinity in Speculative Fiction edited by Romanus and Candra

My Father's Dragon by Ruth Stiles Gannett

Bury Your Gays by Chuck Tingle

All Down Darkness Wide: A Memoir by Seán Hewitt

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

Reclaiming the Heartland: Lesbian and Gay Voices from the Midwest by Karen L. Osborne & William J. Spurlin

Ma and Me A Memoir by Putsata Reang

#reading 2025 #<- so i can track this #the doodled covers flip up so i remember what they marked off #and the title is on the back since some covers were more...... abstract #looking at you The Magician's Land

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eleanor-bradstreet · 18 hours ago

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Okay I'm back from a whirlwind zip through London and Florence, heart full of love and eyes full of Benophie so let’s make a breakdown of my errant unhinged thoughts on the season 4 sneak peek!

Benophie: They are somehow both my parents and my children 🥹

Goobie hurts either his ears or his delicious slender fingies and then tries to play it off hoping no one saw

Beneloise are going to continue to be the best, obviously

Violet. VIOLET 🥵 Mama is ready to SLAY. Marcus better be disguised as a cat at this party because that man should be on all fours ready to lap up whatever treats she gives him.

Also: don't even get me started on Eloise of Arc there in the background and how the show dressed her in the coolest possible iteration of this costume. Holy shit, season 4, slow down. I’m starting to think this is a quality tv show…

LOOK at the masquerade! LOOKADDITT!! This is not the cacophony of metallic technicolor vomit season 3 taught me to expect. This is not chintzy flowers and sequins. This is a reversion to season 1’s muted palette. This is dark fantasy. This is the masquerade in The Labyrinth. It’s spooky, it’s moody, and it’s better than I had ever hoped for from Jess Brownell. She said herself Bowie covers may make it onto the soundtrack. I’ll start to pray now.

Uh, Jess Brownell...is that you?

The unicorn-head lady is absolutely sending me 🤣🤣

My sweet, beloved, beautiful John all returned from Scotland and having fun 😭😭😭 why do you do this to me

So clearly costuming decided both to grant mercy to Penelope and bypass her Leprechaun-ification (presumably problematic given Nic is Irish) and give Pirate Colin his Behemoth-Hatted Pirate Wife, Penelope the Blonde. I think Pen has just become Nicola at this point. It's...a lewk and I'm here for it. But who exactly wants to speak to Mrs. Bridgerton now that she's a known mole for the Queen is beyond me.

There she is, the people's princess, absolutely radiant 🥹🩶

Benedict being a smart ass: "Please enter my mother's domicile to begin your tenure of servitude while I begrudgingly permit you to have free will, all the while intending to grabass you in the halls and woo you into being mine forever."

Cinderella era, here we gooooooo

God, they already look like bitches. I'm going to love to hate them.

*screaming, crying, throwing up* as he holds her like she's made of glass; like she's a dream that will evaporate if he looks away, as he touches her for the first time and teaches her to dance 🫠 The way I have DREAMED of this for YEARS 💙

MY COTTAGE MY COTTAGE MY COTTAGE MY COTTAGE WET MY COTTAGE

EX-FUCKING SCUSE ME, WHO INVITED CLIVE OWEN ONTO THE SET? I legitimately had to pause to realize this was him because I saw both Clive Owen and EDMUND first and now I'm remembering how a critic ages ago described the similarity to Clive and also how good the casting is that he looks just like his father and I fucking CAN'T and he's not the only thing that's soaking wet and heaving 😰 giving her those fuck me eyes right from the get

Apparently because his disguise is so shit, his masquerade tekkers is to whip out his gravely Batman voice. Okay, Bruce Bridgerton, calm down. You won't tell your mother? I recall this was also your concern three seasons ago. Always sneaking behind Violet's back, aye? Just kidding, baritone daddy. Let's keep our dirty gazebo secrets together uwu

They did it. They fucking did it. They gave him the phaeton.

THEN WHY DON'T YOU GO AHEAD AND RIP MY OVARIES OUT WITH YOUR BARE HANDS SHONDA? GO RIGHT AHEAD AND SHOW ME CANON PAPA BEARDTHONY AND WATCH ME DIE RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY COMPUTER SCREEN. THANKS.

So, in summary...

Season 4 already looks waaaaaay better than I had dared to hope for. The palette. The vibes. The obvious book accuracy. I have...no notes, other than to squeal in barely-contained excitement for *checks watch* about 18 months. Here's hoping it ultimately does satisfy. I'm at least grateful for the very juicy crumbs we're getting in the meantime 💙

#el updates #seriously so fking thrilled by this #benophie #bridgerton #bridgerton season 4 #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton #sophie baek

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

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Oooh the tension is picking up!! 👀👏

It already started so fluffy! Damn I'd love to profit from Dean's cooking skills 😍

That note was so sweet, too! (And how the hell did you make this? Because it actually looks like Dean's handwriting?? Did you write this? How. I've been pondering this for five minutes now 😂)

Honestly, I hope Dean tells Sam what happened with her, and Sam will knock some goddamn sense into him. Although, my hopes are low for him because the kid couldn't even pre-book a flight 🤣

Dean groaned. “Yeah, but I kinda only got him some shaving foam and a razor for Christmas.”

Loved this callback! 😂🫶

You hesitated, trying to sound casual. “We agreed to go if the other did… but she also asked if you wanted to come.” There was a pause.“Really?” Dean hummed. “Do you want me to go?” Your heart thudded in your chest. “I mean, I know they’re not really your thing. It’s a black-tie event, super formal,” you said quickly, then mentally facepalmed. Were you trying to talk him out of it? “Sounds pretty terrible,” he agreed, and you panicked. “There’s an open bar, though.” Silence. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. “Hmm. Now that does change things,” he mused. “I can come if you want me to?”

The PAIN I felt during this whole convo!!! 😫

His eyes snapped open. “You kiddin’ me? I think I just found my new favourite dessert.”

Going from screaming to crying to aww in a matter of minutes here 😭💕

“Do I detect some jealousy in that tone of yours?” His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of it curling down your spine.

Dean!!! You know better at this point! If you recognize the jealousy, you should be able to make the connection!! Oh, man, killing me here...

Which meant leaving him wide open for the kill.

ABBIE, NOOOOOO!!!!!!! Don't you dare, girl 😆

But them seeing each other in their evening wear was so dreamy! I'm such a sucker for that trope. Love a good "fancy reveal" 🥰

That teaser for next week makes me nervous, though! What are you up to, huh? I do still hold onto my theory that Dean will end up heartbroken. I postulate that teaser scene is a fakeout, and Dean actually wants to get rid of that woman and then will catch reader with someone else, and it all goes downhill from there... 🤓

Oh God! I so can't wait till next Friday! (And for some weird reason, I want you to hurt Dean. What's wrong with me? Srsly 😂)

Amazing chapter, friend! 🩵

The Arrangement - Chapter Four

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Things are growing tense between the you and Dean, buried feelings seemed to be bursting at the seems. How long until they finally burst? Is the real question.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings/Tags: Angst, the usual pinning idiots, fluff.

AN: Okay this chapter became way too long so I had to split it 😅 call it the first half to chapter 5, where we will continue on. As always I hope you enjoy! ☺️

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here

After your steamy shower escapades, you’d both decided to part ways for the night. As much as you wanted to bask in the aftermath, sleeping together—actually sleeping—felt like crossing an invisible line you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

Luckily, you had an easy excuse. You had work in the morning, and Dean had an even earlier start for his long drive out to Stanford. And after a day filled with very thorough extracurricular activities, the moment your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light.

By the time you woke up, Dean was already gone. A small part of you felt miffed that you hadn’t gotten to see him off—not just because of whatever this thing was between you, but because, at the end of the day, he was still your best friend. And you missed him when he wasn’t around.

That little pang of disappointment eased when you spotted the note on the coffee machine, still warm from where he must have made a fresh pot before leaving.

You weren’t prepared for the wave of emotions that crashed into you at the sight of his familiar scrawl. Why did he have to be so…Dean?

Letting out a long sigh, you lightly slapped your own cheek. Snap out of it. It’s nothing new.

Dean had always been like this. A natural caretaker. Your friend. That was all.

You shoved those unwelcome feelings down, drowning them in bites of warm, buttery pancakes and strong coffee. The food did wonders for distracting your heart.

By noon, you were about ready to throw in the towel. Your caseload was piling higher by the minute, the endless spreadsheets and budget reports turning into a blur of numbers.

As the company’s-chartered accountant, you were used to the pressure—but Roman’s impulsive decision to buy into the Biggerson’s fast food chain had sent your workload into overdrive. You were now up to your eyeballs in audits and projections, making sure the company wasn’t about to haemorrhage money on a half-baked business venture.

A familiar teasing voice broke through your frazzled thoughts.

“Damn, I don’t know whether you need a drink or a cigarette.”

Spinning your chair around, you found yourself face-to-face with your favourite redhead, her signature smirk firmly in place.

“Can I have both?” you deadpanned, rubbing a hand over your already mussed-up hair. “Seriously, why couldn’t he wait until after the holidays for this manic decision? And why the hell Biggerson’s?”

Charlie plopped down onto your desk, crossing her legs as she shrugged. “Yeah, no clue. Although… Frank—”

You arched a brow. “Conspiracy-theory Frank?”

“The very one.”

Of course.

Charlie leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s convinced the company heads are actually cannibals, and this whole buyout is part of some elaborate scheme to fatten up Americans before they, and I quote, ‘chow down.’”

You burst out laughing, the stress momentarily melting away. “Wow. That’s a new one.”

“Right?” Charlie grinned before giving your arm a pat. “C’mon, let’s get some lunch. And then you can tell me why Gary looks like he’s been sucking on a lemon all morning.”

A few blocks away, you and Charlie found yourselves at Rufus’ Deli, home to some of Kansas’ finest sandwiches. Rufus himself was a legend—gruff, no-nonsense, and about as approachable as a guard dog, but no one could deny the man’s skills. His sandwiches were that good, drawing lines down the block every day.

Luckily, you and Charlie had managed to worm your way into his good graces over time. Whether it was your shared appreciation for his craftsmanship or the fact that you never tried to chat his ear off like other customers, he had developed a soft spot for you both. And that meant one very important perk—you got to skip the line.

So, when the lunch rush was in full swing and Rufus spotted you, a warm smile replacing his usual gruffness, jerking his head toward the counter. “What’ll it be today, ladies?”

You gave him your order with a grateful smile, and within minutes, you and Charlie were seated at your usual spot, tearing into your sandwiches.

“So,” Charlie mumbled around a bite of her chicken club, “wanna fill me in on the Gary sitch?”

You sighed, setting your sandwich down and swallowing before launching into the whole story. You kept the details light—omitting the drinking with Jo and the deeper parts of your frustration—but you didn’t hold back on the bare minimum effort Gary had put into your so-called relationship.

Charlie listened intently, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to full-on irritation. When you finished, she scoffed. “Damn. What a prick.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms before her lips curled into a mischievous smirk. “You know… you just gave me the incentive I needed to fill that douchebag’s computer with enough viruses to make it cry.”

You nearly choked on your drink, barely managing to cover your mouth as you laughed.

Charlie worked in the tech department and she was the company’s most valuable asset. The only one who came close to her level of expertise was Frank, and even he admitted she was the best. You’d met her in your second month on the job when she’d swooped in to fix a software issue you’d been struggling with. Not only had she solved it in minutes, but she’d also taken the time to teach you a few tricks that you still used to this day.

The two of you had hit it off immediately. She was a giant nerd at heart—quirky, sarcastic, and fiercely loyal. You’d bonded over your shared love of Harry Potter, both agreeing that Hermione was the real reason Harry even survived half his adventures.

“You know…” you smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “I wouldn’t hate to see that.”

Charlie grinned, wiggling her fingers as if casting a spell. “Then consider it done.”

The two of you burst into laughter, the weight of your morning stress lifting—at least for now.

After lunch, you and Charlie made your way back to the office, the brisk winter air nipping at your cheeks and turning the tip of your nose red. The cold was sharp, but in a way, it was refreshing—like it was clearing out the mental fog that had settled in after your morning of spreadsheets and stress.

As you neared the building, Charlie shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “You coming to the company Christmas party tomorrow night?”

You blinked, nearly having forgotten about the annual bash Roman Enterprises threw right before everyone was released for their so-called ‘Christmas break.’

“Shit, I completely forgot about that,” you admitted, your breath visible in the air. Your mind had been preoccupied with... well, other things.

“Well, I’m only going if you are. I can only tolerate these people when I’m getting paid for it.”

You laughed at that, shaking your head. “I mean, I guess it’d be the decent thing to show our faces, right?” You shrugged, considering it. “And I do have to admit—Dick throws a damn good party.”

“Right? And there’s always a chocolate fountain,” Charlie said, eyes lighting up.

You hummed in agreement. “Fuck it. Let’s go. I can grab a new dress on my way home later.”

Charlie grinned, clearly pleased. “Oh! You should invite Dean. It’s been a while since I saw that knucklehead.”

That made you hesitate.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to invite Dean, but an office Christmas party wasn’t exactly a casual setting. And inviting him made it feel a little too much like... a date.

But then again, Charlie would be there. It wasn’t like it would just be the two of you. Three friends hanging out. Totally normal.

“Sure,” you said after a beat, forcing nonchalance into your voice. “I’ll ask him. Though he’s not a suit-and-tie kinda guy.” You chuckled, already picturing his disgruntled expression. Getting Dean to wear anything remotely formal had always been a battle.

Charlie smirked. “Tell him there’s an open bar. I’m sure he’ll be persuaded.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head as you pulled open the office door. “Yeah... you might be onto something there.”

By the time you left the office, the sky had deepened into rich blues and purples, the last traces of daylight fading behind the city skyline. You made your way down to 9th Street, stopping in a few stores to find something to wear for the company Christmas party. Dick Roman always hosted black-tie events, and currently, your wardrobe leaned more toward casual attire, jeans, hoodies, sweatpants—not exactly gala material.

Luckily, it didn’t take long to find the dress. A deep red gown with delicate lace accents, an open back that dipped daringly low, and just enough side-boob to make going braless the only option. It was definitely more revealing than what you’d normally go for, but for some reason the thought of Dean seeing you in it, gave you enough incentive to buy it.

Once you got home, you decided it was finally time you got stuck into the gift wrapping. You slipped into your loungewear and set up in the living room, surrounded by wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows.

Wrapping gifts had always been something you enjoyed—it wasn’t a chore but a ritual. You loved making each present look as perfect as possible, picturing the happiness on your loved ones' faces when they unwrapped them.

Dean’s gift was the last one left of the night, and it was by far the most meaningful.

You had managed to track down an original pressing of Led Zeppelin II—the very album he’d lost as a kid in the house fire. It had been bad, nearly costing Mary her life, the electrical damage so severe that renovations had taken years. They had lost so much—family photos, keepsakes, and among them, the vinyl his dad had given him on his 10th birthday.

You could still remember the hours you spent in his room, the two of you lying on his bed, singing along to Ramble On, always a little off-key but never caring. Finding another copy had been next to impossible, but last month, Charlie had tracked one down in a tiny record store just outside of town. You had almost kissed her for it.

Now, as you carefully folded the wrapping paper around the record and tied a bow on top, you smiled to yourself. You hoped he liked it.

Just as you finished up, your phone buzzed. Dean. You ignored the flutter in your chest at the sight of his name and flipped open the screen.

“’Sup?”

“Why did I agree to this again?” Came Dean’s gruff voice.

“Because you’re a massive pushover?” you deadpanned.

“Do you know I’m currently parked out on a dirt road? No motels. Havin’ to rough it tonight.”

You bit your lip, picturing him scowling at his surroundings.

“I still don’t feel sorry for you.” You chuckled, and he let out a dramatic sigh.

“’Course you wouldn’t.”

You smiled into the receiver, adjusting the phone against your ear as you stacked the last wrapped gift onto the pile.

“You do realise Sam has a license and could’ve driven himself home, right?”

Dean groaned. “Yeah, but I kinda only got him some shaving foam and a razor for Christmas.”

Your mouth dropped. “WHAT?! That’s all you got him?” You screeched into the receiver. “No wonder you took, like, five minutes to shop. I thought they were your toiletries, not presents!”

“Yeah, well, now he’s got a road trip with his big bro to add to it.”

“You’re a nightmare,” you scoffed, shaking your head with an amused twitch of your lips despite yourself.

The line fell silent for a beat, the comfortable kind, before you remembered your conversation with Charlie.

“I, uh, had lunch with Charlie today,” you said.

“Yeah? How is the nerd?” he teased, though there was clear fondness in his tone.

“She’s good. She’s also plotting to destroy Gary’s computer with viruses.”

Dean let out a bark of laughter. “Brilliant.”

“She also reminded me about the company Christmas party tomorrow night.”

“Oh yeah? You goin’?”

You hesitated, trying to sound casual. “We agreed to go if the other did… but she also asked if you wanted to come.”

There was a pause. “Really?” Dean hummed. “Do you want me to go?”

Your heart thudded in your chest.

“I mean, I know they’re not really your thing. It’s a black-tie event, super formal,” you said quickly, then mentally facepalmed. Were you trying to talk him out of it?

“Sounds pretty terrible,” he agreed, and you panicked.

“There’s an open bar, though.”

Silence. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Hmm. Now that does change things,” he mused. “I can come if you want me to?”

Your face flushed at the unintentional pun—although, knowing Dean, it was probably very intentional.

“More the merrier, right?” You shrugged it off, with a lame chuckle, wanting to smack yourself in the head.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, that’s true.”

Another comfortable pause settled between you.

“I’ll, uh, let you get some rest,” you said, softer this time. “Don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel.”

“Yeah, probably best.” He sighed, and you could almost picture him, all scrunched up in the backseat.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“’Night, sweetheart.”

The next day, you busied yourself tidying up around the apartment. You didn’t want Dean thinking you were completely incapable of living alone, so you straightened up, wiped down the counters, and even tested out a few cake recipes for Christmas.

After a few failed attempts, you finally landed on a winner—a pecan upside-down cake. It was soft, sweet, and had just the right crunch from the pecans. For a first try, it wasn’t bad. And that was exactly what Dean walked into a few hours later, when he finally arrived.

“Whoa. What the hell smells so good?”

You turned at the sound of his voice, smiling, and for a second, Dean forgot how to breathe. It had only been a little over twenty-four hours since he’d last seen you, and somehow, he’d missed you way more than he was willing to admit.

“Hey. I was just trying out some recipes for Christmas. Think I found a winner.” You cut a slice of cake and slid it onto a plate before handing it to him.

He eyed it suspiciously, glancing between you and the dessert. “You made this?”

You scoffed, your hands settling on your hips in a defensive stance. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

Dean smirked at your reaction. He lived to rile you up. Still, he picked up the slice and took a big bite. The second the flavours hit his tongue, his eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a deep, satisfied moan.

“Shit, that’s good.”

You swallowed hard.

“Really?” you asked, voice a little breathier than you intended.

His eyes snapped open. “You kiddin’ me? I think I just found my new favourite dessert.”

Your face warmed. That was high praise coming from him. Dessert was practically Dean’s second language—specifically, the pie dialect—so for him to say that about your cake. That was a damn honour.

“Well, that’s that then. Dessert is sorted.” You dog-eared the page in the recipe book you’d picked up while dress shopping, mentally noting to make this again for Christmas.

Dean took a seat at the island as he finished his slice of cake, the two of you making idle chit chat about his trip, and how much LA traffic sucked, when you got onto the topic of Sam and his new lady friend.

“So, Is he punching?” You asked rather bluntly, a teasing smirk on your lips as you gathered everything coated in cake batter and dumped it into the sink.

“Oh, massively. She’s way out of my brother’s league.” Dean laughed, the sound rich and amused, and you raised a brow.

“Sounds like you’re just as smitten,” you mused, a little sharper than you’d intended. What the hell is wrong with you?

You turned your back to him to cover your idiocy, arms buried in warm, soapy water as you busied yourself scrubbing utensils clean.

It was just an innocent comment. It wasn’t like you cared if Dean thought some girl was attractive. You weren’t overthinking, not at all. Not about how easy it would be for him to fall for someone else, someone uncomplicated, someone not you.

Jesus, girl!

You were broken from your spiralling thoughts when you felt him behind you. His presence was unmistakable heat radiating off of him in waves, his scent a lingering mix of soap, leather, and the faded remnants of his cologne. It made your head swim.

A dish clinked gently as he slipped his plate into the water beside you.

“Do I detect some jealousy in that tone of yours?” His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of it curling down your spine.

“Pfft, you’re joking, right?” You scoffed, but the slight crack in your voice gave you away.

Dean heard it too. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was smirking. The self-satisfaction practically rolled off him.

You placed the last item on the drying rack and turned, only to find him closer than expected. Your breath hitched.

“No. I’m deadly serious.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears as his eyes locked onto yours, heavy-lidded and unreadable. The space between you shrank, an invisible force pulling you toward him. Like gravity, like inevitability.

Dean leaned in; his breath warm as it fanned across your lips. His hands braced against the counter on either side of you, caging you in. The heat between you was palpable, something crackling in the air, something that made your knees weak and your thoughts scatter.

Then—

His ringtone shattered the moment.

You jolted slightly, the haze lifting as quickly as it had settled. Dean sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he pulled his phone from his pocket. One glance at the screen and his expression soured.

“What?” he answered gruffly.

You took that as your cue to leave, slipping away down the hall and into your bedroom, pressing the door shut behind you.

You needed a breather. Badly.

What the hell was that?

He can’t be home for more than five minutes before you want to jump his bones.

And, seriously, “Sounds like you’re smitten?” What were you thinking?

You groaned, rubbing your hands over your face before shaking yourself out of your stupor. A shower. A cold one, preferably. Then you could focus on getting ready for tonight—because the last thing you needed was to be a flustered mess at a party where you were supposed to look put together.

The irony.

By the time you stepped out of the shower, steam curling into the air, Dean had left again. Apparently, Sam had forgotten one of Jess’s bags, the one containing all of her clothes for the next couple of days, in Dean’s trunk, so he had to drive back to his parents’ house to drop It off.

That allowed you to take your time getting ready, without being rushed for ‘hogging’ the bathroom.

You pampered yourself—lotions, perfumes, careful grooming (not at all for a certain green-eyed man). You took your time with your hair and makeup, allowing the slow, methodical routine to settle your nerves.

You’d just finished curling your hair when Dean returned.

Still in your robe, you stepped out of your room to grab a drink, only to nearly collide with him in the hallway.

“Oof.”

Dean caught you, steadying you before you could fully crash into him. Your hands landed briefly against his chest, warm and firm beneath your palms.

He chuckled, the sound low and easy, but then his gaze flickered over you, taking in your appearance.

A slow smirk spread across his lips. “You know, when you said black tie, I didn’t realise you meant the robe kind.”

You glanced down at yourself—silk black robe, tied securely at the waist—and realised what he meant.

Unimpressed, you looked back up at him. “Wow. You’re freakin’ hilarious.”

Dean barked out a full-bodied laugh, clearly pleased with himself as you brushed past him toward the fridge, shaking your head. You twisted off the cap of a beer and took a sip.

“Any more jokes like that out of you tonight, and you can stay home,” you warned, levelling him with a serious stare.

Dean only grinned wider but raised a hand in surrender. “Don’t worry, I’ll be well-behaved.”

But the dark glint in his eye told a different story.

He left you there and headed for the shower, while you worked to calm the nerves still rattling in your chest.

Tonight was going to be… complicated.

Questions would be asked.

Is Dean your date? Are you two together?

And you’d have to say no.

Which meant leaving him wide open for the kill.

The women in HR were like sharks in bloodied water—desperate, predatory, and not the least bit subtle. They’d be all over him tonight. And you weren’t sure if you were equipped to handle seeing it. Because those were exactly the kind of women Dean would bed. And you were basically serving him up on a silver platter.

Lord, give me strength.

By the time the clock neared 7 p.m., you were dressed and ready.

You stood in front of the mirror, taking in your reflection. You had to admit—you looked good. Hot, even.

The dress hugged every curves perfectly, the wide-open back revealing the delicate slope of your spine before stopping just above the curve of your ass. A bold red lip completed the look, matching the rich fabric of your gown. Your hair was swept up in a loose bun, soft curls framing your face.

Satisfied, you stepped out into the living room—only to stop short at the sight of Dean.

He was already dressed, waiting, phone in hand.

And he looked—

God.

A black suit, fitted just right, a crisp white dress shirt beneath. The same suit he’d worn for his parents’ anniversary dinner last year. It had looked good on him then. It looked even better now.

The broad set of his shoulders, the slim taper of his waist—it was unfair how well he filled it out. His hair was neatly gelled, but not too much. Just enough to keep that natural, tousled look in place. And he smelled… incredible.

He must’ve sensed your presence, because he looked up from his phone, and had to do a double take.

Holy. Mother of God.

Dean couldn’t breathe. It was as if you’d knocked the wind right out of his lungs just by existing in that dress.

You were stunning.

And that word didn’t even come close to doing you justice.

His gaze dragged over you, drinking in every detail. The way the dress clung to you, the deep red fabric a striking contrast against your skin. The soft glow of the light catching on the shade of your eyes, making them look brighter somehow. The way your lips—painted that same rich shade of red—parted slightly as you waited for him to say something.

Jesus.

He wanted to say something smooth, something that would make you smile, make you roll your eyes at him the way you always did when he teased you. But his mouth had gone dry, and his brain wasn’t quite catching up.

Dean cleared his throat, forcing his voice to work.

“You…” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, his lips twitching up at the corners. “Damn.”

Your brows lifted in amusement. “That bad, huh?”

Dean huffed out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not even close.” His eyes met yours, more serious now. “You look incredible.”

Your breath hitched. He meant it—there was no teasing lilt in his voice, no smug grin. Just honesty, plain and simple.

You swallowed, feeling warmth rise in your cheeks. “Thanks,” you murmured. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”

Dean smirked, but it softened almost immediately. His gaze lingered, his expression shifting into something unreadable.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The air between you felt different—thicker, heavier. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you, in the way his fingers twitched at his side like he was stopping himself from reaching out.

For a brief second, you let yourself sink into it. Let yourself feel the weight of his attention, the warmth in his eyes.

But then, just as quickly, you snapped yourself out of it.

“Alright,” you said, exhaling sharply and breaking eye contact. “We should get going before we’re late.”

Dean blinked, like he was shaking off a daze. “Right.” He cleared his throat and followed you to the door, as you grabbed your coat.

Dean opened the door for you, placing a hand at the small of your back as he guided you out. The heat of his touch lingering long after.

AN: I just want to bang their heads together! but at the same time, where would be the fun in that!? 😂 I hope you noticed I gave y'all a little break from all the spice in this chapter, but fear not, these too can never stay separated long 👀

(Also, if anyone reading this works in HR, it was just an idea I went with, I don't mean to offend or think HR is like that 😅)

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell @nancymcl @happyfxckinghorrors @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @fangirlingfromdownunder @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned

Next Time...

Your fingers tightened around your glass as you watched her laugh at something he said—too exaggerated, in your opinion. He wasn’t that funny. And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, her manicured hand squeezed his bicep. That was the last straw. Charlie had abandoned you to use the restroom, leaving you with no distractions other than to sit and watch Dean practically fall in love with another woman right in front of you. Okay, maybe you were being dramatic. But he looked interested, smitten even, and it made your stomach churn. Deciding you’d tortured yourself enough, you pushed to your feet and manoeuvred through the crowd toward the bar. More alcohol seemed like the only logical solution. Except, before you got there, you walked straight into someone solid.

#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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inkjam-moon · 18 hours ago

Text

Red Sky - Part One

Summary: After the death of your uncle, you make friends with his estranged roommate, a handsome young man, around your age that disappears for days at a time. When you find out something you're not supposed to, you learn exactly why the locals aren't particularly welcoming towards him. You want to help Jeongguk, but will he trust you enough to let you in?

Pairing: Siren!Jeongguk x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

Word Count: 18k (I have nothing to say...)

TW: Sexually explicit content, mentions of suicide/death, physical altercation, drowning mentions, near death experience, drinking, verbal altercation, panic attack

A/N: tumblr literally won't let me post this in one part it's so long so part 2 will be up immediately!

"Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning..."

It’s overcast and misty where the boat finally stops. The late winter sun has just started to sink below the horizon, not that you can tell with all the clouds, but they are a slightly darker shade of grey. You wake yourself, stretching after the long trip from Busan, and grab your things, thanking the captain as you step onto the creaking wood of the old dock. The pungent smells of salt and low tide immediately assault your nose, your raincoat doing little to keep the relentless mist off your face, but you tug it closer nonetheless. You pull the paper out of your pocket and double check the hastily scribbled address that’s starting to smear. Honestly, you don’t even know if you’re in the right place.

You look to your left and see nothing but the ocean, as far as the horizon. You can’t help but stare out at the crashing white foam of the waves, wondering how you ended up here on this miserable island. Well, you know how you ended up here, but you begin to think about what life choices you could’ve made to bring you to this point.

When you say island, you don’t mean a tropical paradise with palm trees and coconuts everywhere. You mean the North Pacific; a small fishing village off the coast of Korea that means little to the world. Honestly, if it sank into the sea one day, you don’t think anyone would mind too terribly.

You scan the surroundings to your right and see a row of dismal buildings. You tuck into the closest one that you can enter, jumping when the door slams shut behind you, causing everyone in the place to look up at you.

You seem to be in some sort of a bar, a small number of people scattered at tables, having probably just got back from being out at sea; a hot bowl of some sort of stew, and a beer in front of each of them. You walk up to the counter where a man stands on the opposite side, cleaning a glass.

“Excuse me?”

The man, older, rather large, and a bit scary looking, turns to you. “Yeah?”

“Uh-um, sorry to bother you, I was wondering if you knew this address?” You hold the paper out to him.

He takes it from your hand and squints at it for a moment before looking up at you in surprise. “Hogeun’s place, huh?” He questions, his voice thick with the island’s harsh satoori.

“Yes, I’m here to collect his things.” You explain. “I’m his niece.”

"Y/N?"

"Um, yes?" Does this man know you?

"Wow, I can't believe it’s you. You're all grown up now.” He laughs. “Last time I saw you was maybe 20 years ago."

"We’ve met?"

He nods. "You don't remember?"

"No." You shake your head.

"You were pretty young, maybe four or five? But I guess when your mom stopped coming around you did too. I'm Donghyun." He reaches his hand across the counter and you shake it. "I was friends with your uncle, so if you need anything let me know, yeah?"

You nod. "Thank you. Um, his house is...?"

"Right, sorry." He hands you back the piece of paper. "Follow the road east to the cliffs. When you get to the fork go right and follow that to the lighthouse. His place is the only one down there.”

“Thank you.” You nod politely as you take your leave, thanking him once more as you head out the door.

As you step outside, pulling your coat tighter around you, you look around to see there’s only one road in this town, so you set off to follow in the opposite direction of the setting sun, but just as you step off the curb, a voice startles you, making you jump as you nearly miss your step.

“Hey there missy!” An old man you hadn’t noticed before is sitting in a chair next to the door of the bar. He seems to revel in the fact that he scared you. “Not often do we get travelers here. What brings you to Gageodo?”

“I’m here to settle my uncle’s estate.”

“You Hogeun’s niece, eh?” He raises an eyebrow. You only nod, not sure how much information you want to give to him. “Old Hogeun kept some strange company. Some a them is monsters out there in the sea.” He points out toward the ocean. “You best read up on how to deal with ‘em.”

“Um, right.” You nod again before trying to turn away, but the old man stops you with a yell.

“You best heed my words! They can be dangerous!”

“Are you saying there’s… mermaids? In the ocean here?” You scoff.

“I didn’t say it…” He looks around to make sure no one else is listening before whispering. “But I ain’t denying it either.”

“Right. I have to go.” You turn and head toward the road, ignoring the man as he continues calling to you, hurrying yourself along until you’re out of earshot.

It’s about twenty minutes before you reach the eastern cliffs, finally seeing your uncle’s home emerge from the shadows of the heavy forest that covers the island. You recognize it from the picture he sent you. With the ocean to the front, and the forest to the back, the house sits modestly between them with the old rundown lighthouse in the distance. A grand view for a one story uh... house? Can you even call it a house? It looks more like a shack. You sigh and dig the spare key out of your pocket, walking up to the door and unlocking it, letting yourself in.

You fumble for a light switch, but can’t seem to find one so you turn on the flashlight on your phone to aid you. When you find the switch, you flick it on and the whole place seems to whirr to life.

You have to admit, it’s bigger on the inside, sparse, but somehow cozy. There’s hardly any furniture; a table, and two old wooden chairs, a small, very worn couch in front of a large television, which is probably the newest thing in here, but that’s it for this room. You take your time exploring the rest of the house; two bedrooms, one bathroom, a decent kitchen, and a creepy basement.

In a normal house, you’d expect to see pictures hanging, things on the walls, little adornments that make a house a home, but this… this is just a house. It isn’t until you nearly trip over a dresser drawer that you find a picture inside. It’s in a simple dark green frame with a stand on the back of it, and when you look on top of the dresser, you can see the square where it once stood, the only spot not covered in dust, but what gets you is that it’s not a picture of his late wife, or friends, it’s a picture of your mom, his sister, leaning over your much younger uncle as he holds an even younger tiny baby you. She must’ve sent it to him before the fight they had. It warms your heart that he kept the picture after all these years.

You were very close to your uncle. Back when you were little, he got into a fight with your mother, his older sister by about twenty years, that alienated him from the rest of the family and cut off any contact you had with him. When you got older, you took matters into your own hands and contacted him. The two of you became close as you kept him updated on the rest of your family. You’d always get a card on your birthday from him with some money in it; the older you were the more money you’d receive, he even sent you a spare key to his house, asking you to come visit; unfortunately, you never had the chance. That’s why you were the one that got called out here when he passed away; your number was the only one they could find.

You place the picture frame back up on the dresser where it belongs, wondering why he put it away. Maybe he was afraid your mother would be the one to empty his place? You shrug, and walk into the spare bedroom, lifting your suitcase on the bed to unpack it, knowing you’ll be here at least a week to sort through his things.

You head to the kitchen, deciding to start sorting tomorrow as you open the fridge to see what kind of food there might be. You’re disappointed as you only see a few wilting vegetables, some eggs, an assortment of sauces and pastes, and a few other scattered foods in take-out containers that have probably been in here longer than you want to think about. There’s also an entire case of beer, and half a container of orange juice. You’ll have to go get some groceries tomorrow.

Your stomach rumbles as you crack open a beer, taking a swig as you search the pantries for anything edible. Instant oatmeal. Well, it’s better than nothing. You grab a packet and toss it into a bowl, adding hot water from the kettle and waiting for it to set. When it’s ready, you grab it and your beer and head over to the couch, turning on the tv to find something to waste the time.

It isn’t long after you eat that you find yourself dozing on the couch, the trip here from home having taken its toll on you. You turn the tv off, placing your dishes in the sink before locking the front door and then heading into the guest room. You put on your pajamas and climb under the sheets, the bed squeaking as you get comfortable, and then quickly drifting off into sleep.

You’re startled awake by a loud banging noise, trying to wake yourself up enough to get your bearings before you realize it’s coming from the living room. Did someone break in? You check your phone to see it’s about three in the morning. What on earth? You slip a sweatshirt over your pajamas and grab the baseball bat from the corner of the room you stashed earlier before very quietly opening the door to the room to investigate. You don’t see anything, but you still hear the banging. You walk further into the living room to hear someone knocking rapidly on the front door. You’ve only met two people, who could be bothering you at this ungodly hour? The banging continues until you hear a voice above it.

“Hyung! Hyung let me in, please!”

You stand in front of the door, slightly terrified. Should you answer it?

“Hogeun hyung, please!”

At the mention of your uncle’s name, you lean the bat against the wall, step forward and unlock the door, opening it to see something you never thought you’d see. In front of you stands a soaking wet young man with dark hair that just barely covers his wide eyes. He looks like a stunned deer as he takes you in just as you do him, searching for something, his breathing ragged as if he ran here.

“Can I help you?” You ask.

“Are you…? Are you Y/N?”

You look at him surprised as your name leaves his lips. You’re starting to get tired of people knowing you before you know them. “Um, yes?”

“W-where’s Hogeun?”

You look at him, confused. Does he not know? “He’s not here. He’s-”

“Oh, can I come in?”

“I-”

“Please?” He pleads, his voice desperate. You step to the side and allow him to enter; he does so quickly and shuts the door behind him, locking it and relaxing a bit.

“How did you-”

“Hyung told me you might be coming to visit soon. Where is he? Is he sleeping?”

“Who are you?”

“Oh! Sorry. My name is Jeongguk.” He bows politely. “I’m a friend of your uncles.”

“A friend?” You ask in disbelief. Your uncle never mentioned Jeongguk which immediately makes you suspicious… But on the other hand, your uncle told Jeongguk about you.

“I know this sounds ironic since he’s your actual uncle, but he’s like an uncle to me. Or like a brother. He helped me out of a pretty bad situation once and I’ve been helping him ever since.”

That reminds you. “Right, um speaking of bad situations, were you running from something?” You ask, remembering his frantic entrance.

“Running? Um…” He hesitates obviously not wanting to discuss the matter.

“Yeah, you seemed to be in a hurry to get in here. Like you were in trouble.”

“Let’s just say the people in this town don’t like me very much, okay? Now, where’s Hogeun?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

You sigh, walking over to the sofa and taking a seat on it. Jeongguk follows close behind, taking a seat next to you, obviously comfortable in this home, by the way he tucks his feet under himself. “I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but he…” You pause, taking a deep breath. “Hogeun is dead.” You whisper. It still hurts to admit it.

“W-what?” You look up to see Jeongguk’s doe eyes go even wider in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“They-” You take a deep breath, holding back your tears before continuing. “They found his body at the bottom of the cliffs a few days ago; the police said he must’ve jumped. They called me to come get his stuff sorted out, that’s why I’m here.”

The room goes silent. You look at Jeongguk to see his face twisted in what seems to be rage before he speaks, so low you almost can’t hear him. “Hyung didn’t jump.”

“Jeongguk-”

“He didn’t!” Jeongguk suddenly yells. “He-” Jeongguk stops and looks at you, seeming to contemplate something before continuing. “I know hyung. He didn’t jump.”

“I’m sorry, Jeongguk but there isn’t really any other explanation…” You sigh. “How come you didn’t know? It happened almost a week ago now. Where have you been?”

“I-” Jeongguk stops, closing his mouth and looking at the floor. He’s silent for a few moments before he suddenly gets up and walks toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he rummages around on the table and in drawers, looking for something, ignoring you. You get up and walk over to him. “Look, I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but I don’t really know who you are or why you’re here and it’s very late, so I’m going to have to ask you to-”

“Here.” He suddenly shoves an envelope in your face.

“What is this?” You take the envelope from his outstretched hand.

“Read it. I’m going to sleep.”

“What?” You turn as he walks away from you toward your uncle’s room. “You can’t just- this isn’t your house!” But it’s too late, Jeongguk has already disappeared into the room and shut the door behind him. Before you can huff off after him, you feel the envelope in your hand and sigh, lifting it to see what it says.

In case of Emergency: For Y/N

That’s your uncle’s handwriting. You take one last look over at the closed door before tearing open the envelope to find one of your uncle’s letters inside, addressed to you.

Y/N, I wish I was writing to you under better circumstances, but unfortunately if you’re reading this, it’s likely something has happened to me and I’m sorry that you have to be the one to pick up after my mess. You’ve already met Jeongguk, I hope; he’s a good kid. I hope you two become friends and show him the same kindness you showed me. He’ll watch over the house so you don’t have to go through the hassle of selling it. Take anything you need; the account numbers for my bank are written below. Everything in them is for you as a thank you for letting me back into your life. Hopefully it’ll help. I hope you get things sorted out quickly, ask Jeongguk for help if you need any. He’s a little strange, but he’ll be good to you. Give the family my love and apologies, especially your mother. Hogeun

Well, at least that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about. You turn and walk over to the door Jeongguk disappeared behind and knock lightly, when there’s no response, you open the door just a crack and peek inside to see Jeongguk fast asleep on the bed. You sigh and close the door again, there’s no use waking him. You head back into your room and shut the door, crawling back under the covers and closing your eyes to drift off.

You wake up to a loud clap of thunder, startled as you shoot up in bed. Man, are you always going to wake up to loud noises when you’re here? You stretch, checking your phone to see it’s a little after ten in the morning. You sit up, shivering. It got cold here last night. You’ll have to look at the thermostat after you eat something.

You grab your sweatshirt and slip it back on, remembering the intruder you had last night as you stand and make your way out to the kitchen. You manage to find some rice, grab the eggs, and a few vegetables that still look edible. You shrug and slice them up before throwing everything in a pan with some soy sauce, and sesame oil, making a very sad looking fried rice. Well, it’s better than nothing. As you dump about a quarter of it into a bowl, you hear a door open behind you and Jeongguk comes stumbling out, still half asleep.

“Is that food?” He asks, running up to your side.

“It’s not much, just some fried rice.”

"Can I have some?" He asks hopefully.

"Sure, there’s plenty. Take what you want."

Jeongguk grabs a bowl and dumps the rest of the rice into it before grabbing a spoon and walking over to the table, sitting down as he immediately begins stuffing his face.

"This is amazing." He groans.

You can’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm. "Thanks, it would've been better with fresh veggies, but-"

His eyes widen as he looks at you. "You can make it taste better?"

"Well, yeah. I'll just have to get some things at the grocery store."

"What else can you make?" He asks, scooting closer.

"Uh, pretty much anything as long as I have a recipe. What do you like?"

"Everything! I love food! I used to love when Hogeun cooked!"

"Oh? What did he cook for you?"

"Mostly seafood stuff. He'd tell me what he'd want and I'd pick it up fresh for him. Crab, tuna, shrimp, mackerel, whatever he needed."

"Is there a fish market nearby? Do they have a lot of variety? I thought they sold everything to the mainland?"

"Oh, um..." Jeongguk hesitates. "I have a friend... One that fishes and stuff."

"Oh, if I give you a list can you get some stuff for me?"

"I can get anything from the sea that you need."

"Okay. Um, thank you. How- uh, how old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Oh, okay, I’m twenty-eight.”

Jeongguk simply nods as he goes back to eating like he's starved. When he's finished, he puts his bowl down and looks back at you. "Okay, I'm ready." He states.

"For what?" You ask as you continue to eat.

"To go to the store."

You chuckle again. “After I eat. And I’m going to shower first.”

"How long will that take?" Jeongguk tilts his head in what seems to be confusion.

“Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”

“Hm.” Jeongguk seems to pout at this.

“I’ll try to be quick.” You take another bite of your breakfast. "So, where are you from? If you don’t mind me asking."

"I'm from... Uh... The island."

"This Island?"

"N-no, the big one, to the south."

"Jeju?"

"That's the one." He nods satisfactorily.

"Right..." You shake your head.

After you eat, you excuse yourself to jump in the shower, wanting to wash the bus and boat feeling off of you. You wash yourself quickly, not entirely sure if you trust the lock on the bathroom door. When you’re finished and clothed, you grab your hair dryer and plug it in, starting to dry your hair when you see Jeongguk poke his head around the corner, observing you closely through the open door.

“Can I help you?” You ask over the whirr of the dryer. He mumbles something, but you don’t catch it, turning the dryer off to hear him better. “Hm?”

“What… What is that? It’s loud.”

“My hair dryer?” You wiggle it at him and he nods. “It’s for drying your hair faster when it’s wet. Your mom didn’t have one?”

He shakes his head. “I never met my mom.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, tossing your sympathy away with his shoulders. “She died when I was born. It’s not a big deal.”

You don’t know how to respond to that so you turn back to the mirror. “I should be done in a few minutes, okay?”

Jeongguk nods, heading back to sit on the couch and wait as you finish drying your hair. When you’re done, you throw on your rain jacket and boots and grab the keys to your uncle’s old rusted, red truck. You and Jeongguk climb in head back toward town to buy some food.

Jeongguk also does not know where the grocery store is, so you drive around for a bit until you find it. It’s about as big as you expected, which is to say not at all, but it’s the only one on the island. You pull into a parking space and lead Jeongguk inside, watching his eyes go wide in amazement at all the food.

You putter around the store, grabbing this and that every so often to add to the baskets you and Jeongguk are carrying, trying to think of meals Jeongguk might enjoy. You occasionally ask him his opinion, but he just says yes to everything, following you around like a lost puppy. Surprisingly enough, as you're rounding the corner where the meats sit, you nearly run right into Donghyun.

"Y/N!" He smiles brightly at you.

"Ah, hello!" You smile back. "Fancy meeting you here."

He shrugs, "Picking up groceries for the bar on my day off."

"Oh, are you closed on Sundays?"

He nods, eyeing the nearly filled basket in your arms. "I guess you don't have much food at the house?"

"Ah, no not really. Plus Jeongguk eats like he's starved."

"Jeongguk? Do you have a dog or something?"

"No, he's my uncle's friend.” You explain. “Do you not know him?"

"No, I can't say I've ever heard the name before. His friend you say?"

"Yeah. He’s right-” You turn around to see Jeongguk is no longer behind you. “He was just here… Well, he's about my age, tall, brown hair, big eyes."

Donghyun's eyes go wide as though he knows who you're describing, but he doesn't say anything further, he simply shrugs again and shakes his head. "Oh, I saw Hajoon stopped you yesterday?"

"Hajoon?"

"Crazy old man, sits outside of the bar."

"Oh, right yeah. He was talking about mermaids or something." You laugh. "Can you imagine?"

"Yeah that's what I figured. He’s a nice guy, but I think all those years on the ocean turned his brain to seawater. So just... Don't pay attention to the things he says."

"Alright. I mean, I figured with the mermaids and all."

Donghyun smiles and nods. "Hey, why don’t you come by my house tomorrow? My wife and I would be happy to have some company to cook for.”

“Really? That’s so kind of you.”

“Absolutely. Our house is the one right behind the bar. Come by around seven, and bring your friend if you can find him!"

"Thank you, I'll see you then." And with that he walks off.

As soon as Donghyun disappears down the next aisle, Jeongguk’s voice startles you from behind. “Who was that?”

“Where did you go?”

“Hm? I was just around the corner. I found this.” Jeongguk holds up a box of sweet cakes. “Hyung always had these.”

“Alright.” You grab the box from him and stick it in his basket. “Come on, I think we have enough.”

After your shopping, you head back home, walking in the door to find you forgot to change the thermostat. You put everything down in the kitchen and then walk over to check it.

“Holy shit, why is this only set to 60 in March?” You ask out loud, quickly turning the temperature up to 70. “Haven’t you been cold?” You ask Jeongguk as you put your groceries away.

“Cold? Not really.” He shrugs.

You shake your head and whip up some quick sandwiches for lunch before you begin organizing your uncle's belongings. Keep, donate, and trash are the three labelled boxes that sit adjacent to you on the floor. Keep- photographs, letters, money left in sock drawers; Donate- old clothes, out of date electronics, anything Jeongguk doesn’t want to keep; Trash - ashtray, empty cigarette cartons, beer bottles, shoes with holes in them.

It feels strange to you, compartmentalizing someone's life like this. Especially someone you knew. Someone you loved. You think about your own important things, what would someone keep of yours? Some clothes, maybe jewelry, probably your camera once they found it where it’s stuffed in the back of your closet, shelved with your dreams.

You sigh as you throw the last shirt in the closet into the donation box, finished with the guest room. You look at the time and realize you've been doing this for seven hours. No wonder you're hungry, it's nearly nine o'clock. You pick yourself up and make your way to the kitchen, cooking a simple stew for dinner to help stave off the cold outside.

You earn several grunts of happiness from Jeongguk as he continues to tell you how amazing everything tastes. When you’re finished eating, you do the dishes quickly before joining Jeongguk on the couch, grabbing the remote control and turning on the tv. "What do you want to watch?"

"Watch?" He questions again.

"Yeah, you know, watch. On tv? Like a show, or a movie?"

"I don't know. I never had one." He points at the tv.

"Okay." You pull up Netflix , and start scrolling. "Stop me if you see something interesting." You scroll, not really focusing on the screen, but more on Jeongguk's reaction to it. It looks like he's really never seen a tv before; his eyes are blown wide in awe as he stares at it.

"That one!" He suddenly shouts, causing you to refocus on the screen.

"Boys over Flowers? Really?"

He nods. "I wanna watch that one."

"Okay, if you really want to." You click on the show and the first episode starts up.

You watch Jeongguk as he stares at the screen, enraptured by the scenes in front of him, and you take the time to study him. His hair is long, down to his shoulders, and a dark chocolate brown, almost black. His eyes are a lighter shade of brown, but sometimes you swear they shimmer like golden topaz when he gets excited. He’s on the taller side, his tan body toned and muscular beneath the clothes he borrows from your uncle’s closet. His nose is a little big, but it suits him, especially when he smiles, his eyes crinkling up and his lips pulling back to reveal his cute smile, reminding you of a rabbit.

There’s something about him… Something almost inhumanly beautiful as your eyes follow the lines of his body. Once he looks over and catches you staring, causing you to blush and pull your focus back to the tv. After the first three episodes, you decide to go to bed, the day's events finally catching up to you.

"Jeongguk, I'm going to bed." You state. He only nods, watching the final scene of the episode intently until the credits begin to roll. As you get up, the 'are you still watching' screen appears and Jeongguk panics.

"What happened?" He whines.

"Nothing, it just wants to make sure you're still watching." You hand him the remote. "Just press the 'okay' button and it'll keep going."

Jeongguk presses the button and is relieved when the show starts to play again. Knowing he's content, you take your leave and head off to bed, shutting the door behind you.

As you settle in, you have to admit that Jeongguk is slightly amusing, but he's a bit strange. Especially with all the things he doesn’t seem to know about. Is living on this island really that different than living on the mainland? Something about him feels off to you, but you can't seem to put your finger on it. Hogeun trusted him, so he can't be bad, right?

When you wake up the next morning, you have to check your phone for the time because it's so dark out it might still be night. 10:33 am. You get up and stretch, walking over to the window and peeking through the blinds to see it's pouring down rain again. Or is it, ‘still’? You see a bright flash of lightning in the distance. What a miserable place. You miss the sun. You sigh as you slip some pants on and walk out into the hall to see your uncle's bedroom door is open. Jeongguk must already be awake. You head towards the main room to see the tv is still on and is currently displaying the "More you might enjoy" screen from after you finish watching something in its entirety.

"Jeongguk, did you watch that whole show last night?" You call out, but there's no response. "Jeongguk?" You call again as you search the kitchen and bathroom, but Jeongguk is nowhere to be found. "That's weird…" You comment to yourself as you walk into the kitchen. Well, maybe if you make some breakfast, the smell of food will summon him. You cook up some eggs for a delicious egg sammy, but surprisingly, Jeongguk doesn’t crawl out of wherever he’s disappeared to, and you eat by yourself.

As the day goes on, you continue sorting through your uncle’s things, wondering if maybe the stress of all of this made you hallucinate Jeongguk for some company. Was he really a dream? You shake your head, taping up the last box and carrying it out to the truck. You figure Donghyun might know where you can donate the clothes, so you’re bringing them with you to dinner tonight. At half past six you ready yourself for dinner, brushing your hair, and pulling on a warm flannel over your grey shirt and jeans, adjusting the necklace your uncle gave you in the mirror before hiding it under the collar of your shirt, slipping on your rain gear and heading out to the truck.

You drive through the rain, up the road and into town, pulling in behind the bar to find Donghyun’s house. It’s not quite attached to the bar, but it might as well be. You park on the street and walk up to the door, knocking lightly. Donghyun answers the door with a wide smile.

“Y/N! So glad you could make it.” He moves to the side and lets you in, taking your coat and hanging it up as you slip off your boots. He leads you into the small kitchen where a woman stands over the stove, cooking something. “This is my wife, Saki.”

“It’s nice to meet you!” She offers you a warm smile and you hear a lilt in her words.

“You too! Thank you for having me over.”

“Oh of course!” She puts down the spoon she was holding, wiping her hands on her apron. “Any excuse to cook for someone other than him.” Saki teases. “Why don’t you two sit, dinner will be ready in just a second!”

You thank her again before following Donghyun to the adjacent dining room, surprised to find a kotatsu as the main piece of furniture. You sit down on the pillow across from your host, pulling the blanket over your lap and feeling the warmth of the heater greet your chilled legs.

“I hope you don’t mind the table, Saki’s from Japan originally. She insists she can’t live without it.”

That explains the accent. “Not at all! It’s delightful, I might have to invest in one for my apartment.”

“It’s good for those rainy days.” He agrees. “Which is almost every day here.”

“Time for dinner!” Saki exclaims as she walks into the room carrying two trays. She sets them both on the table and you see three large bowls of curry and rice, along with several side dishes, and cups of steaming hot tea.

“Wow, it smells amazing.” You state as she places a bowl in front of you, the smell dancing through the air as you pick up your spoon.

“Dig in!”

The three of you eat, sharing stories and laughs in the low lighting of the room. Donghyun tells you stories about your uncle; they both got jobs on the same fishing boat when they were eighteen and became close friends, your uncle eventually buying his own boat, and Donghyun taking over the bar for his father’s friend. They remained friends up until his passing, and the memory seems to hurt him as he tells you about how Hogeun used to join them for dinner just like you are now. Saki’s curry was his favorite.

“He always spoke so highly of you. He couldn’t wait for you to come visit.”

A pang of sorrow rings through your chest. “I wish I could’ve come sooner…”

Donghyun smiles bittersweetly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “He knows you were busy.”

You’re thankful for the comforting gesture, nodding in acknowledgment. After the meal is finished, Donghyun brings out old photo albums and shows you the years of your uncle’s life that you missed, showing you what he was like without the stress of your family’s ideals weighing on him. He looked so happy.

So why did he end his life? The question nags in the back of your mind, but you don’t want to bring it up right now.

“So could your friend not make it tonight?” Saki questions. “Dongie said you might be bringing one.”

You shake your head. “Unfortunately not.”

“Too busy?”

“I’m not really sure.” You shrug. “I couldn’t find him.”

“You don’t know where he is?” Donghyun asks.

“This probably sounds terrible, but I don't really know that much about him.” Donghyun and Saki exchange a concerned glance. “Hogeun told me about him in a letter. Said he could be trusted. I guess they were pretty close. He said Hogeun was like a brother to him. Hogeun even left the house to him so I don’t have to sell it.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Jeongguk.”

Saki thinks on this for a moment. “What’s his family name?”

“I… I don’t know. I never asked.”

Donghyun shakes his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard that name, not even in passing at the bar.”

“He’s harmless, honestly. I swear all he does is eat.” You explain. Another glance exchanged. It’s pointless to try and make them understand.

After a few more conversations, you bid goodbye, thanking them again for the meal before slipping your coat back on and heading out to the truck. You wave as you pull away, driving up the dark road back toward the lighthouse. When you pull into your uncle’s driveway, the house is dark. Jeongguk must not be back. As you unlock the front door, you can’t help but think once more, did he ever really exist? Or Was he something your mind made up due to the stress.

You close and lock the door behind you, walking into the kitchen and placing your leftovers in the fridge along with some assorted banchan they gifted you. You slide off your flannel tossing it on the back of the couch before settling down onto the cushions, running your hands through your hair as you take it down and then turning on the tv. You take off your necklace and twirl the medallion in your fingers.

A few hours later, there’s a bang against the front door that scares the shit out of you, causing you to jump out of the sleep you had fallen into. Just when you start to think you imagined it, you hear light knocking, getting up and walking over to investigate. You can’t see anything through the peephole, so you open the door a crack, peeking out to find Jeongguk standing there in the dark.

“Jeongguk? What the hell?” You open the door and he pushes past you, waltzing into the house, seemingly unbothered, though he is absolutely drenched from head to toe. “Are you alright?”

“Hm?” He barely turns toward you as he walks to the kitchen, tracking water across the floor. “I’m starving, do we have anything to eat?”

“Where have- Eugh, Jeongguk…” Your sentence is interrupted as you move to cover your nose, catching a whiff of him, the strong scents of salt and sea wafting off of his body in waves. “You smell like low tide.”

You watch him lift his arm up to sniff himself before shrugging. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is.” You disagree, walking over to him and grabbing his arm. “You’re dripping all over the floor! And is this…?” You grab something off of the back of his shirt. “Seaweed?” You hold the green plant up between the two of you to show him. “What the hell have you been doing?”

“N-nothing, I was just-”

“Come on.” You start dragging him toward the bathroom.

“What? Hey-”

You open the bathroom and pull him inside with you. “You’re not eating until you shower.”

“A shower?”

“Yeah you know, when you wash yourself with soap and water?”

He groans. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. Jeongguk, you stink.” You explain, turning the shower on for him. “Please.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He states, grabbing his shirt and pulling the wet fabric off over his head, allowing you full visual access to his toned torso. You blush, only allowing yourself a quick glimpse before turning your head to look away.

“I-I’ll have something ready for you to eat when you’re done.” You mumble, immediately leaving the bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

Pausing for a moment against the door to slow your heart rate, the image flashes in your mind again; was that a tattoo you saw? You shake your head in an attempt to clear it. Why couldn’t your uncle have befriended some weird old man instead of a hot guy your age? And why was he so goddamn weird?

You sigh to yourself as you walk to the kitchen, flicking on the lights and taking your leftover curry out of the fridge, putting it in a bowl and then sticking it in the microwave to warm up. You grab a towel and use it to mop up the puddles of water Jeongguk leaked all over the floor. When you finish that, you realize Jeongguk will need a change of clothes so you walk into your uncle’s room, or you suppose it’s Jeongguk’s room now… You walk into the room, and grab Jeongguk some sweatpants, boxers, and a shirt. You can hear the microwave start to beep back in the kitchen, so you walk back out to shut it off, but as you pass by the bathroom, you hear the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

It’s low, but melodious, immediately catching your attention. You don’t know what it is, it almost sounds like the distant crashing waves, the lull of the open sea, a sweet word on the wind, filling your heart with so much emotion you feel like it might burst, and yet, you feel nothing at all, only a deep want, a voracious need in your chest that has you turning toward the bathroom and opening the door before you can stop yourself.

Your vision goes blurry as you open the door, the sweet sound hitting your ears at a higher volume, echoing off the round acoustics of the bathroom walls and bouncing right back into your brain. As you walk toward the source, the shower curtain pulls back and the final barrier between you and the voice is removed, your reach for it when suddenly the sound stops. Your eyes focus to find Jeongguk standing before you, a terrified expression on his face as he takes in your drugged-like state.

“Y/N?”

“J-Jeongguk? What-” You suddenly notice Jeongguk is still standing in the tub, naked as he’ll ever be and you turn away. “Oh god! I’m sorry I was, uh-” What were you doing? You look around for clues and see the pile of clean clothes you dropped to the floor. “Ah!” You bend over and pick them up. “I was just bringing you some dry clothes.” You place the clothes on the sink counter. “You can use my towel to dry off, I’ll wash it tomorrow.” You mumble before quickly leaving and shutting the door behind you.

What the hell was that? You don’t remember anything, it’s like you blacked out as soon as you came out of Jeongguk’s room. Weird. Maybe it’s just because you’re tired? Despite the odd feeling creeping up the back of your neck, you walk back into the kitchen, pulling Jeongguk’s food out of the microwave and setting it on the table for him just as he walks out of the bathroom.

You’re still a bit too flushed to face him, looking down at your lap as you sit down at the table, watching out of the corner of your eye as he takes a seat next to you. He seems oblivious to your embarrassment as he immediately digs into the food, shoveling mouthfuls past his lips, making you wonder if he breathes when he eats. When he finally starts to slow down, nearing the end of his meal, you lift your head, still unable to meet his gaze as you mumble an apology.

“I-I’m sorry for, you know, walking in on you. Like that.”

“It’s alright.” He says between bites.

“I don’t even know why I did that. Honestly, I don’t remember doing it.”

“You don't?” He quirks an eyebrow, eyeing you under the hair that falls across his face.

“It’s the weirdest thing, right? I must be really tired or something.”

“Hm. Maybe…” He stretches and yawns, his spoon clinking against the bowl as he stretches his arms above his head. “Thanks for the food.” He smiles, taking his dishes to the sink and washing them quickly.

“So, where did you go, if you don’t mind me asking.”

He shrugs, “Just had a couple things I had to do.”

“In the rain? Without a jacket? Or shoes?” You question, having noticed his footprints in the water he left on the floor.

“Shoes are uncomfortable.”

“Right…” you watch him as he places his dishes in the rack to dry before turning and walking towards his room. “Jeongguk-” You call out to stop him.

“Hm?” He stops, spinning back around to face you, his doe eyes wide in question.

“N-nothing, never mind. I’ll talk to you in the morning I guess. If you’ll be here?”

“Sure.” He simply nods before walking away into his room and shutting the door.

You sit at the table, temporarily stunned at the interaction you just had. God he’s strange. You get up, grabbing your necklace where it fell on the floor, shutting off the tv, and flicking the lights off on your way to your own room. You place the necklace on your nightstand, slip into some pajamas, and crawl into bed.

Just a few more days. You think to yourself. And then you can go back to your normal life. Or… at least what’s left of it.

Jeongguk quickly shuts the door behind him, glad to finally be alone as he takes a deep breath. Damn. He’s going to have to be more careful. He didn’t think he was being loud enough for you to hear him over the sound of the shower, that could’ve been a disaster if he hadn’t opened the curtain and seen you. Jeongguk drags his hand over his face, trying to wipe away the worry as he strips out of his clothes and flops down into bed with an exasperated sigh.

Jeongguk appreciates you. He’s grateful that you let him into your home, or, well, his home he guesses. You don’t ask too many questions. And you’re nice. You’re so much nicer than he ever thought you would be for some reason. Most people, especially in this town, aren’t particularly welcoming when it comes to him. He wishes Hogeun was here. It would make things so much easier…

He wishes he could tell you something.

He wishes he could tell you everything.

He wants to tell you everything, but Hogeun specifically told him to keep you out of it. He already hid all of their research in his room, hoping you won’t find it. Jeongguk pulls the letter addressed to him out of the bedside table, the one he found with yours, reading over it again.

Figure out what happened to me. Hide the research. And most importantly, make sure Y/N gets out of here as soon as possible. I would only blame myself if she got caught up in this mess that I made…

Hogeun didn’t want you anywhere near the Ineo, so being near Jeongguk while you sorted things out was as close as you were going to get. Jeongguk has put up a firm wall, and tonight was too close for comfort. Jeongguk has to continue like this, sneaking away in the early hours to do what he needs to do. To find the answers. Jeongguk is determined to find a way to lift this curse.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s cold again. It’s early, you check your phone, unable to sleep because of the cold; it’s only just turning to eight o’clock. It takes everything in you to get out from underneath the warmth of the blankets; wanting to stay cocooned in them for the rest of the day, but you have things to sort. You shiver as your bare feet hit the cold wood of the floor, quickly reaching for warmer clothes; socks, a sweater and sweatpants, and slipping them onto your body.

You open your door and walk out to the living room to check the thermostat again. 60 degrees. What the hell? You turn the temperature back up to 70, feeling the heat immediately pouring out of the vent beneath your feet. Much better. But how did it get turned down? There isn't an automatic adjustment feature on it, it’s too old. Did Jeongguk…?

You huff, walking over to his room and knocking while you open the door to see Jeongguk sprawled across the mattress in nothing but shorts, blissfully unaware of the temperature. You walk over to him and are about to wake him when you see the tattoo etched into his skin, swirls of dark blue ink surrounding hands as they sink into the depths of color. You swear you’ve seen this before, but you can’t place where. Oh well, back to the task at hand.

“Hey!” You smack Jeongguk in his bare chest, startling him awake. His eyes dart around the room until they land on you standing over him.

“Y-Y/N?”

“Did you mess with the thermostat?”

“The what?” He sits up.

“The thing that changes the temperature. Did you turn it back down?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” He nods, unbothered. “I’m used to cold weather.”

“Aren’t you from Jeju?” He tilts his head as though he doesn’t understand why that matters. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Okay, normal people get cold at this temperature, so I’m going to turn it up. Can you leave it alone until I’m gone please?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

You’re about to say more, but decide against it. He doesn’t talk much anyway. “Thank you.” You state as you turn and walk out, closing his door behind you. You barely make it three steps before the door opens again and Jeongguk follows behind you, he reminds you of a lost puppy sometimes.

“Are you… going to make food?” He asks, pulling a shirt on.

You chuckle, should’ve known that was coming. “I can, what would you like?”

He thinks for a moment before his eyes light up. “Hyung used to make these things,” He forms a circle with his hands. “Like little cakes? They were sweet.”

Sweet cakes? “Like, rice cakes?”

“No. Um… fluffy?”

“Hotteok?”

“Hotteok!” He points at you as he says it, clearly excited.

“Okay,” You giggle, turning to fish ingredients out of the cabinets. “I can make Hotteok, but you’ll have to wait for the dough to rise.”

Jeongguk nods, taking a seat on the couch and watching closely as you mix up the dough, putting it in a bowl and covering it before joining him. You set a timer for an hour and turn on the tv. You put on something mindless, dozing off as you watch until the timer goes off and jolts you awake. You get up and check the dough, kneading it before covering it for another 20 minutes or so. When that times up, you get the skillet ready, turning the heat on, and Jeongguk watches you carefully.

You look at him over your shoulder. How is he going to take care of himself after you leave? “Do you… want to help?”

His eyes go wide. “Can I?”

“Sure.” You wave him over. “It’s easy once you have the dough.”

You turn the dough out onto a floured cutting board and instruct Jeongguk how to separate it into balls while you mix cinnamon and sugar for the filling. You show him how to add the filling to the dough balls and then have him watch as you fry one up, waiting until it turns a golden brown before flipping it, squishing it down with the spatula, and then covering the pan with a lid so the sugar melts into a syrup. When it’s done, you scoop the pastry up out of the pan and place it on a plate.

“Voila.” You hold the plate out to him. “Hotteok.”

Jeongguk takes the plate, smiling. “Amazing.”

“It’s hot, be careful.” You scold when he picks it up immediately, burning the tips of his fingers.

“Hot. Right.” He nods, blowing on it carefully.

He waits for you to cook a few more before you both sit down at the table together and eat. You can’t help but watch him, fascinated by the way everything seems new to him. He carefully eats the hot pastries, focused on nothing but the food in front of him the entire time. If anything, at least he’s amusing to spend time with. You smile as you observe him and his odd mannerisms.

“So what are you going to do today?” He asks as he licks the remains off his fingers, you barely hear him, entranced by the flick of his pink tongue. No. You scold yourself. You can’t start thinking about him like that.

“Um, I’m going to try and bring some things up from the basement to go through.” You state, leaning back in your chair. “I didn’t realize how much was down there until yesterday. It’s going to take me a while to get through it all.”

“Can I help?”

“You want to spend all day going through boxes of junk with me?”

He shrugs. “I don’t really have much else to do.”

“Sure. I could use your muscles.” You nod. It’ll be easier to have Jeongguk lug everything up the stairs for you since you don’t want to do anything in that creepy basement.

As you do the dishes, Jeongguk carries up box after box for you, covering most of the floor in the kitchen. You tell him that should be enough for now, and the two of you get to work sifting through the miscellaneous items your uncle collected over the years. One box has old movies on VHS and a video camera that doesn’t work anymore. Another is full of old fishing ledgers that he never got rid of. Jeongguk opens a third box and pulls out a series of old CD’s and vinyl albums.

“What are these?”

“Hm?” You look up from the notebook you’re skimming through. “Oh those are just CD’s. You know. Music?”

“Music?” He takes one out and turns it over in his hands. “Who is Sonyeo Sidae?”

“Did you really just ask me that?” You scoff. He looks up at you with wide eyes. “You’ve never heard of Girl’s Generation? The nation’s girl group?” He shakes his head. “God have you been living under a rock?” You mumble, grabbing your phone and crawling over to Jeongguk, sitting down at his side and pulling up youtube. “Here,” You hand the phone to him. “This is their debut song. It’s one of their most iconic.”

The intro to Into the New World plays, and you immediately feel nostalgic, reminded of all the times you listened to this very song with your uncle when you were younger. His favorite was Gee. You watch Jeongguk, his head nodding along to the beat of the song as it plays, enraptured by the scene on the screen.

Several hours later, you and Jeongguk are dancing around the living room, having just taught him the moves to I Got a Boy, the two of you scream-singing along as the song blasts from the tv.

“Ayo stop! Lemme put it down another way!”

The two of you dance like crazy until at some point during the last chorus you both crash into each other and fall to the floor in a heap, laughing until you can’t breathe. As the song fades out, the two of you catch your breath, both of you sweating from the unprompted exercise.

“I didn’t know dancing could be so much fun.” Jeongguk smiles as he sits up, his breath heavy.

“Would you believe me if I told you Hogeun knows every step to that song by heart?”

“Hyung? No.”

“Oh yeah, he is… well, was the biggest SNSD fan.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…” You nod softly, pulling your knees into your chest.

Jeongguk studies you for a moment, taking in your suddenly silent state. “You miss him.” It’s not a question, but a statement. An observation.

You sigh. “I do miss him.” Jeongguk opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, you stand up, stretching. “Wow, four o clock already?” You look at the mess on the floor, realizing that you didn’t get much done as your stomach rumbles. “Hey, why don’t we have seafood tonight?” Jeongguk’s head perks up at this. “Would you be able to get stuff from your friend this late?”

“Of course.” Jeongguk stands with you. “What do you need?”

“Hmm, mussels and shrimp if he has them. Maybe some clams? Oh, and squid! I have everything for the stock, I just need to run to the store and get some noodles and veggies.”

“Okay, I’ll bring everything back here.”

“How much?”

“Hm?” He turns back to you.

“You know, money? How much will it cost?”

Jeongguk shakes his head, smirking. “Don’t worry about it.” And with that he walks out into the rain, barefoot. You watch him walk down the path toward the lighthouse and disappear into the mist.

About an hour later, you come back from the store with a bag full of ingredients as you hurry to the kitchen and start on the stock. Just as the stock is finishing, Jeongguk comes back through the front door, a bag of his own in hand, once again, soaking wet from head to toe.

“What the-”

“Here!” He walks over and hands you the bag, shaking his hair as he does and sprinkling you with salty droplets.

“Jeongguk!” You squeak, wiping some of the drops off your face. You open the bag and look inside to see everything you asked for. It’s all extremely fresh, so fresh that some of it is still moving. “Did you just dive into the ocean and pluck these out?” You ask incredulously.

“What? N-no, my friend had them.”

You eye him suspiciously, giggling. “I was joking, but you sound defensive.”

He looks anywhere but at you. “I’m going to go shower!” He runs off before you can ask him any more questions.

“Clean up the floor when you’re done!” You call after him as the bathroom door closes.

You quickly clean and prepare your seafood, chop up the veggies and stir fry the pork while your noodles cook. You add the pork and veggies together and pour in some broth before adding your seafood and noodles and covering the pot, letting everything marinate together for a few minutes until your mussels all open up.

Jeongguk strides out of the bathroom just as you pull the lid off, filling the house with the warm scent of salty broth and seafood. He quickly mops up the floor as you divvy out two large servings into bowls, placing them on the table and waiting for Jeongguk to join you before you both dig in.

It's delicious; the freshness of the seafood only adds to the delectability of the broth. The table is silent aside from the sounds of slurping broth and noodles, occasionally a groan or grunt of contentment slipping into the mix. When you’re done, you lean back in your chair, lifting your arms and resting your hands on your forehead to help you get a full breath.

“That was so good.” Jeongguk states, putting his bowl back down from slurping up the extra liquid, the shells from the mussels clanking together against the porcelain as it hits the table.

You smile, letting your hands drop back down into your lap. “I'm glad you enjoyed it.” You look back over at the living room and the mess you left before checking the time with a sigh. Only seven? God it feels like midnight. It’s hard to keep track of the time when the sky’s always dark. You suppose you should sort a few more things before bed.

Jeongguk insists on keeping the entirety of Hogeun’s album collection, stashing them all away in his room. You pick through a few more boxes of clothes, as well as old books; text books that don’t even look like they were cracked, almanac’s where the pages are worn thin, and a few cookbooks with recipes missing; separating everything into sell, donate, and toss piles. When you finish it’s about ten pm, and decide to shower before heading to bed, wanting to wipe some of the feeling of dust off of yourself.

You grab a change of clothes from your room before heading into the bathroom and locking the door. You start up the shower, letting it get warm before you strip down and hop in, letting the water wash over you. As you wash your hair, you can’t help but let your mind wander to Jeongguk, thinking about him licking his fingers clean this morning.

You sigh in frustration; you know it’s been a while since you’ve had sex, but thinking about him like this… Your mind flashes to the glimpse of his nude form that you saw in this very shower. God he looked so good with the water trailing over his muscles. Stop it. You’re not going to be here long enough for it to be worth starting any sort of situationship, and a one night stand feels like it wouldn’t be… enough. You need to focus on finishing what you came here to do, and then get back home to… To fix the mess you made when you left.

When you’re done, you turn off the water, stepping out to grab your towel and dry yourself off. You dress and then /dry your hair. After that, you come back out to the living room to see Jeongguk sprawled out on the couch watching tv. You smile at the way he reacts to the scene on screen; some sort of horror drama.

Damn. He really is handsome.

You turn into your room and shut the door behind you, heaving out another heavy breath before flopping down onto your bed and checking your phone to find a text. It’s from Donghyun.

Donghyun (11:03pm): Hey, how’s the sorting going? Listen, we’re having a memorial tomorrow night at the bar for Hogeun if you want to come. There will be food and drinks and friends!

A memorial? That’s so nice of them. You deserve a drink or two.

You (11:07pm): What time? Donghyun (11:07pm): 8pm! You (11:08pm): I’ll be there!

And with that you close your phone and set it on the nightstand before the energy you spent today catches up to you, and you fall asleep.

The next morning you wake up to the sound of birds chirping. That’s weird. You don’t think you’ve heard a single bird since you arrived here five days ago… Your eyes flutter awake to see a bright beam of light streaming in through the slits in the blinds. You’re so used to the gloomy weather, the sight of light confuses you as you sit up and reach a hand out, turning it around in the beam where it lands on the bed. Sunlight. You jump out of bed and race to the window, immediately opening the blinds to see that sure enough, the clouds have dispersed enough to let the sun poke through above the trees as it starts its journey across the sky.

You practically sprint to the front door, sliding into your slippers and throwing the door open to feel a warm breeze immediately caress your face as you step onto the front porch. You inhale deeply, the warm mix of early spring and late winter air filling your lungs.

“Noona…?”

You turn around to see Jeongguk walking groggily out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Jeongguk, the sun’s out!” You don’t know why you whisper it like a secret the island isn’t supposed to know; feeling like if you say it too loud, the sun might disappear and then the rain will come back, but as you look outside again, it rises steadily from the horizon, showing more and more of itself every minute, a few rays landing on your face where you stand, warming your skin.

“Wow…” Jeongguk breathes, walking up behind you and observing the sky as it lightens. “Hey, why don’t I show you around the island a little bit todau?”

Hope springs in your chest, but you stuff it back down. “You- You don’t have to do anything else?”

He shakes his head. “Not on a day like this.”

You smile. “Breakfast first?”

You make breakfast and you both eat before getting dressed. You pack a quick lunch for the both of you which Jeongguk offers to carry, not knowing how long you’ll be out. He slings the backpack over his shoulder and you both put on your sneakers before Jeongguk leads you out of the house and up the road.

Jeongguk shows you around the island, everything feeling vaguely familiar from long ago when you spent time here as a child. You walk around town on the south side of the island before making your way up the eastern coast, following along the pathway as you chase the sun, over rocky outcroppings and through dense forests, talking casually the whole way about nothing.

You stop to take pictures, showing Jeongguk how your phone works and having him take some for you, as well as selfies of the two of you together and taking pictures of him alone as well. For someone who’s never used a camera, he’s surprisingly photogenic. No matter how many you take, Jeongguk doesn’t seem to have a bad angle. In more than one, he stares wistfully out at the ocean, and you wonder what he’s thinking about.

You and Jeongguk cut across the island to the west side, settling down to eat your lunch on one of the rocky outcroppings in the sea that Jeongguk convinces you to jump to, laughing every time a large wave comes and mists you both as you munch on your sandwiches.

After you’re finished, you both wander along the coast back toward the house, enjoying the scenery as you arrive back at the dilapidated lighthouse. You stroll up to the side of the old white building, looking up at the glass paneling at the top, wondering what this must’ve looked like in its prime.

“I guess ships don’t come to this side of the island anymore.” You think out loud.

“Not really. Most of them try to avoid it.”

“Why?” You ask, continuing to walk forward until you’re on the cliffs in front of the building, taking a seat in the grass.

Jeongguk shrugs as he walks over and takes a seat next to you. “Rumors.”

“Rumors?” You repeat. “What kind of rumors?”

“Mermaids mostly.” Jeongguk chuckles.

“Mermaids? Mermaids put an entire lighthouse out of service?”

“You know how superstitious sailors are.” Jeongguk explains. “One or two ‘sightings’ and suddenly this side of the island was basically deserted.”

“Mermaids…” You scoff. “Well, I guess if they can cause a rift in my family, they can stop boats.”

Jeongguk scoots closer to you. “Hyung never told me why you stopped visiting him.”

“It was my mother.” You sigh. “When I was little, she used to bring me here all the time to visit her parents; this is where my family is from originally.” You begin. “Since Hogeun was so much younger, he still lived here with them. The two of them never really got along, they were constantly fighting with each other.

“One day when we were visiting, Hogeun took me out to sightsee, and my mother, not trusting him, tagged along. We were walking along the low cliffs, when my mother suddenly fell into the water. My uncle followed to make sure she was okay, and ended up saving her. When she came to, she was convinced that Hogeun had pushed her in. She claimed she heard someone tell him to do it and she never forgave him.”

“What… What does that have to do with mermaids?”

“Well, mother doesn’t remember anything from after she fell, but Hogeun… When he jumped in to save her, he claims he saw… something. It looked like a human, but their teeth were razor sharp, and their skin was painted with swirls of blue. They had grabbed hold of mother, and he had to fight them off of her. I don’t know if you ever noticed the scar on his face.”

“The one on his eye?”

You nod. “That was from them, they cut him with something during the fight. Hogeun became obsessed with finding it again, convinced the island was home to these mermaid-like creatures, but no one wanted to hear it. My mother’s parents moved to Busan a few years later to be closer to my parents and me, but Hogeun stayed behind here, saying he wasn’t finished. My mother never took me here again, still convinced that Hogeun had tried to kill her that day.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Jeongguk repeats a phrase he’s already said to you. “You miss him.” Another observation, but this time, it’s an invitation to talk about it.

“I reached out to him a few years ago without my mother knowing and we became like family again.” You mumble, looking down at your lap. “I… I regret not coming here sooner to see him… And now it’s too late.”

“He talked about you a lot.” Jeongguk states.

“Really?” You look to see Jeongguk’s focus on you.

He nods. “Every time he got a letter or message from you, he got so excited. He was really proud of you.”

“Thanks, Jeongguk.”

“Did you ever figure out what you wanted to do?”

“What do you mean?”

Jeongguk looks out at the ocean again before looking back at you. “Well, he always said you didn’t seem happy. He said you needed to figure out what you wanted to do. Did you?”

You shake your head, pulling at the grass under you. “No, I… I Didn't. And sometimes I think it’s too late for me to change my mind.”

“It’s not too late.”

You chuckle as you lay back against the grass. “Jeongguk, no offense, but I don’t think you know enough about the world outside of this island to decide that.”

“Maybe not.” Jeongguk lays down next to you as you both watch the sinking sun begin to paint the sky with bright streaks of oranges and pinks. “But I know he was right, you’re not happy.”

You smile bittersweetly. “I don’t have to be. As long as I’m doing what I’m supposed to do.”

“Why do that, when you could do what you want to do instead? You could do that picture stuff he talked about. He said you loved doing that.”

“Photography?”

“Yeah!” Jeongguk smiles. “He said you were good at it.”

Hogeun was the only one you ever told about photography; how it was what you really wanted to do, but you never had the nerve to tell your parents, so you shoved your want down, and settled for something realistic that they would approve of; taking over your father’s business. “I could’ve been. But it was just a silly dream… It doesn’t matter anymore.” You sigh.

“Why not?”

“I’m almost done with school for business, I’m learning how to operate the shop, I did what I had to do and I have what I need, nothing… Nothing more.”

“But is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want…”

The two of you lay there in silence for a long minute, nothing but the sound of the wind through the grass, and the crashing waves far below. You can feel Jeongguk’s gaze flick towards you on occasion, but you can’t bring yourself to meet it. As the sun finally dips below the horizon, you sit up, taking one last look out at the ocean before standing and walking up the path back toward the house. You hear Jeongguk’s footsteps behind you, and you slow down, allowing him to fall into step beside you. As you reach the front door, you pull out your phone to check the time; seven thirty. The memorial starts soon. As Jeongguk walks into the house ahead of you, you stop in the entryway to grab your keys.

“Jeongguk,” You catch his attention and he stops in his tracks and turns to you. “They’re having a memorial for Hogeun tonight at the bar if you want to come.”

“A memorial?”

“Yeah, it’ll probably just be a few people; mostly drinking and telling old stories about him.”

“And you want me to come?” He checks.

“Of course. I feel like you were the closest to him.” You remind him. “You should be there. To help honor his memory.”

“Okay.” He nods, walking back over to stand in front of you. “I’d be happy to.”

Thirty two minutes later, you park the truck in front of the bar and the two of you hop out. It’s dark as you and Jeongguk walk up to the front door, a chill settling in the air now that the sun has disappeared. You tug your jacket closer as you open the door, stepping foot into the bar.

“Y/N!” It’s Saki. “You made it.” She walks over and gives you a tight hug.

“Hi Saki.” You return the embrace and as you step back she notices Jeongguk next to you, her eyes going wide as her demeanor suddenly changes, she seems almost nervous.

“A-and who’s this?” She questions, looking him over.

“This is Jeongguk, the friend I told you about.”

Jeongguk nods shyly in greeting. “Hello.”

“Nice to finally meet you.” Saki smiles politely. “I’m glad you could come.” And with that she walks away behind the counter where Donghyun stands talking to someone. You watch as she tugs his arm, grabbing his attention to whisper something in his ear and then nod in your direction. Donghyun looks up and meets your gaze, offering a small smile as he walks over.

“Y/N! You’re here!” He places a hand on your shoulder as he gives Jeongguk a once over. “And this is Jeongguk?” You nod and Donghyun sticks out his hand. “I’m glad you’re here to help us honor Hogeun.”

“Of course.” Jeongguk shakes his hand. “Anything for Hogeun hyung.”

“Great, well, there’s food on the table, and if you want a drink just come ask, they’re on me tonight.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” You smile warmly at him.

“Feel free to walk around, we hung up some pictures of your uncle. We’ll do a toast in a bit.” Donghyun nods again before walking away back behind the bar.

You turn to Jeongguk. “Hungry?”

You walk over to the food table and pile some warm food onto your plate before finding an empty table where you have Jeongguk sit as you grab drinks. Hogeun pours you both ‘something strong’ as he calls it, and you take the drinks back to the table, handing one to Jeongguk, his plate already halfway empty. He takes a drink and lets out a harsh cough as he sets the glass back down.

“What is that?” He asks, his face twisted in disgust.

“Alcohol.” You explain. “You’ve never had it before?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “Hyung used to share his beer, but they didn’t taste like this.”

“This is a stronger kind. It’s more concentrated.” You take your own swig, your face matching his at the taste.

“What's the point of drinking something you don’t like the taste of?”

“It helps.”

“Helps with what?”

“It helps with this.” You gesture to the sad faces around you. “It dulls your senses. Makes it so it doesn’t hurt as bad.”

Jeongguk looks around the room before drinking the rest of the glass in one go. You stare at him in surprise, watching as he goes back to eating. After you finish what’s on your plate, Jeongguk goes back for seconds, and you take your time strolling around the room, looking at the different photos of your uncle that have been temporarily hung along the walls.

Mostly the pictures are of him with a blank expression as he holds various sizes of the catch of the day. There’s one of him mid-wrangling a very large fish, shock and surprise on his features as the fish attempts to wiggle out of his grasp. You chuckle, closing your eyes you can almost imagine yourself standing on the deck of the boat, drenched by sea spray as you watch the scene unfold; Hogeun yelling in surprise as you cackle at him, trying to take the picture before the fish escapes.

When you open your eyes, you feel a presence next to you and turn to see Jeongguk laughing at the image in front of you, a sad fondness on his face as he’s reminded of the brother he lost. You circle around to the last photo, the big one they chose as the centerpiece on the small altar they built, a few envelopes on the table in front of it with words of condolences written on the front. The picture is of Hogeun when he was younger, in his prime, and in his lap sits a small child.

It’s you.

You’ve never seen this picture before, but the sight of it has a tear slipping down your cheek. Mostly because he’s smiling. Your uncle wasn’t known to smile in pictures, like shown in the rest of the photos around the room, but in this one, he’s beaming at the camera and you realize you know why.

This was taken when he still had a family that loved him…

“Is that you?” Jeongguk walks up behind you, pointing at the picture. He looks at you and sees you crying. “Noona? What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.” You turn away from him and wipe away your tears before standing upright again. “He just looks so happy.”

Jeongguk nods as if he didn’t realize it before. “He does.”

Just then Donghyun walks up to the two of you with two more drinks. “Another round?”

You nod, taking the drink from him and taking a long sip from it. “Where um, where did you get this picture?”

“I took it!” Donghyun explains, handing Jeongguk his drink and watching as the younger boy downs it in one go. “Hogeun brought you down to the dock one day, he said you wanted to see what he did. I was still working on a boat with him back then. I found it in one of our albums.”

“It’s perfect.” You state.

“Are you ready to toast?” Donghyun asks.

You shake your head. “You go ahead and do it.”

“Are you sure?”

You only nod, turning to watch as Donghyun grabs the attention of the room. He thanks everyone for coming before starting in on his speech. He talks about how he met Hogeun, and how they became friends working on the same boat. He tells several stories about Hogeun, getting several laughs from the other sailors in the room. When he’s finished, he raises his glass and toasts to the memory of his beloved friend.

“To Hogeun!”

“To Hogeun!” The crowd repeats, and then you all take a drink.

As you turn back to look at the picture again, out of the corner of your eye you see someone enter the bar. His eyes immediately scan the room, searching for something until they finally land on it: Jeongguk. He starts walking over to you and something inside you is screaming to run away. Instead, you stand your ground and nudge Donghyun who turns to see what you need as you nod your head at the stranger.

Donghyun’s eyes go wide before he moves to stand in front of you, blocking the stranger's path to Jeongguk. As he gets closer you see that he’s tall, his hair has greyed with age, and his beard has the same salt and pepper look. His eyes are different, one dark brown, and one cloudy grey with an unknown blindness.

“Hwan, what are you doing here? Bar’s closed tonight for a private party.”

“Private party?” Hwan looks around at the tables. “Over half the town’s here.”

“And you still didn’t get the hint that maybe you’re not invited?” Saki spits as she walks over to stand beside her husband.

Hwan scoffs. “I heard the prince of the Ineo himself was here. I simply wanted to come pay my respects. Ask him to stop crashing my ships.” He pushes Donghyun and Saki out of the way and stalks up to where you stand in front of Jeongguk.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re being extremely disrespectful disturbing the memorial service of my-”

“Protecting them just like your uncle, huh?” Hwan glowers down at you, his blind eye shining in the low light, before elbowing you aside, effectively shoving you to the ground.

“Y/N!” Jeongguk immediately bends down to check on you, but he’s pulled back up by the back of his shirt as Hwan yanks him upright, standing toe to toe with the younger boy, a perpetual frown plastered to his face. You see anger flash across Jeongguk’s features as Saki and Donghyun help you to your feet.

“Hwan-” Donghyun tries to interrupt, but Hwan ignores him.

“It’s nice to see you up close. Now I know who to look for in my nets.” Hwan hisses.

“What do you want?” Jeongguk stares down at the shorter man, suddenly seeming much more intimidating than you’ve ever thought with his tall, muscular stature.

“To remind your kind that you’re not supposed to be here.”

His kind? He called Jeongguk an Ineo. Does he think Jeongguk is a mermaid? What the hell is this crazy guy talking about? Jeongguk only rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Hwan inches closer to Jeongguk’s face, cracking his knuckles. If it comes to a fight, you're sure Jeongguk could handle himself, but you don’t want it to get that far.

“Stop!” You yell, grabbing Jeongguk’s arm and tugging him away from Hwan. “We’re leaving.”

“Y/N, don’t-” Saki tries to protest, but you shake your head.

“It’s alright.” You turn to Hwan. “Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but you need to back the hell off. Jeongguk is a good person. You’ve got salt in your brain. Ineo don’t exist.” And with that, you drag Jeongguk with you as you walk toward the door.

“Be careful young miss. I may have salt in my brain, but you’re sleeping with the enemy!”

“Bye Donghyun, Saki, thank you for tonight!” You call as you open the door.

“What do you think happened to your uncle?” Hwan yells after you. You can still hear him as the door shuts behind Jeongguk. “It’s only a matter of time before he kills you too-”

You huff as you drag Jeongguk over to the truck, both of you climbing in. “What the fuck was that guy’s problem?” You mumble as you start the truck up, quickly pulling out of the spot and driving up the road back towards the house. “He was crazy, right?” You flash a glance at Jeongguk who laughs.

“Very crazy.”

“God, just because you’re not from this god-forsaken island.” You curse. “Obviously you have to be evil, right?” You didn’t realize how upset that encounter made you, but now that you’re outside it, you realize your heart is racing, and your hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly as you drive.

Jeongguk seems to notice this as he puts a hand on your arm. “Are you alright, noona? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. “No, he just knocked me off balance. I’m alright…”

Jeongguk squeezes your arm in understanding, and the small gesture comforts you. You pull into the drive, parking before you both get out and walk into the house. You both slip off your shoes, but as you go to move further inside, Jeongguk slides in front of you, cupping your chin out of nowhere.

“W-what are-”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again, concern evident in his big brown eyes as he gazes down at you.

You get caught in his stare for only a moment before you shake him off. “I’m fine. I promise.” You assure him before walking into the kitchen and grabbing a beer out of the fridge, cracking it open before taking a long swig. Jeongguk watches as you kick the fridge closed with your foot before walking towards your room. “Goodnight Jeongguk.” You nod at him before shutting the door, leaning against it for good measure as you take a deep breath. You chug the rest of your beer before changing into some pajamas and flopping onto the mattress, face first, with a long sigh.

You lay there for several hours, unable to sleep as your thoughts churn like the sea itself. Mermaids. Mermaids? There’s no way they exist, but at the same time, it can’t be a coincidence how many times you’ve been warned about them since you arrived. The crazy old man outside the bar when you arrived, the north side of the island being shut down, your own uncle having seen one, and now this Hwan character…

You toss and turn as your brain attempts to put the pieces of an incomprehensible puzzle together without a guide. You check the time on your phone, groaning when you see it’s already 4:03 in the morning and you aren’t the least bit tired. You huff as you get up, tugging on a sweatshirt as you quietly walk back out to the living room, looking around for something to do. You decide you might as well sort through some more things while you have the time. The faster you’re done, the faster you can get off this island.

You flick on the basement light, heading down into the murky room to grab a box before quickly bringing it back up the stairs. It only takes you about twenty minutes to get through this box, and when you’re done you head down to grab another. This one is full of old picture albums, and you take your time paging through it, but it’s mostly just pictures of fish from when he still worked on boats.

When you reach the bottom of the second box, you head back down the stairs to grab a third full of books, but as you pick this one up, an old worn book falls off the top of the pile and onto the ground. You put the box back down and pick the book up, dusting it off when you notice the single word stamped on the spine. Ineo. Your heartbeat thumps at the sight and you turn the book over in your hands. The front cover is dull, bleached from the sun, but you can still see the faint outline of words: Legends of the Ineo. You roll your eyes as you flip through the pages. Of course your uncle would have something like this lying around. How could anyone ever-

You nearly miss it, but the splay of blue ink across the page catches your eye, causing you to flip back, wanting to make sure you didn’t just see what you thought you saw. But sure enough, as you flatten the page with your palm, there it sits.

A drawing identical to the tattoo adorning Jeongguk’s ribs.

You hurry upstairs, needing better light to read the faded words on the page. You sit on the couch and grab your phone flashlight, shining it on the book as you read:

The Drowning Mark – A dark, swirling tattoo resembling water pulling downward, hands dragging the wearer into the depths. It slowly spreads over time, symbolizing the fate of the Ineo, the blue becoming more pronounced the more lives they take; until eventually they lose their soul completely, along with their human nature. Their skin then turns a deep cerulean, matching the color of the waters they inhabit.

Your breathing suddenly feels heavy. There’s no possible way that Jeongguk could be… He couldn’t…

Right?

It has to be a coincidence.

A million thoughts rush through your mind at light speed, not giving you a chance to focus on any one thing. You shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you slip back to the start of the book, wanting to learn as much as you can.

As the hours tick on and you make your way through the book, your incomprehensible puzzle starts to become, unfortunately, comprehensible. He eats and sleeps so much because using their human form takes more energy. He’s ethereally beautiful like they’re all said to be. He doesn’t know a lot about how the human world works. His general disdain for shoes. They way that he’s never cold. Piece by piece things slot into place and the thought you didn’t want starts to form in the back of your mind.

Is Jeongguk… an Ineo?

You run your hands through your hair as you flip back to the page with the tattoo and stare down at it. It taunts you, the blue swirls seeming to come off the page and twirl in the air directly in front of you, and yet just out of your reach. You’re going crazy, right? It’s just because you haven’t slept. You need air.

The book falls to the floor as you get up off the couch, rushing to slip on some shoes and fumbling as you unlock the door, quickly rushing out of the house so fast that you don’t even close the door behind you. It’s not enough. As the sun rises behind the low clouds, mist hanging in the air, you race to the edge of the cliffs, gasping for breath as you stand at the edge. Your eyes flick over the scenery, from the overcast skies, to the roiling waves far below you as you attempt to breathe.

Could everything you’ve ever known be a lie? Could creatures like Ineo really be out there? You stare down at the rocks, the very same place where they found your uncle’s body. Could this have been the reason? Did he know? Did he feel this too? This feeling of betrayal, like nothing is actually real. You gasp, trying to force air to your lungs as you fall to your knees, everything feeling like it’s just too much.

“Noona!”

It comes from the direction of the house, but you can’t bear to turn and look, still trying to ground yourself. You can hear him running through the dirt and grass until he skids to a halt beside you, crouching down next to you.

“Noona? You left the door open, I was worried.”

It doesn’t hit you until he touches you. Until this creature you thought was your friend rests his hand on your shoulder, his breath ghosting your face as he tries to get you to look at him. You throw him off with surprising force, causing him to fall back on his behind as you scramble a few inches away from him.

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss, lifting your foot with an obvious threat to kick his gorgeous face.

“N-noona?” His eyes are wide with concern as he takes in your semi-rabid state. “What’s going on?”

“You lied to me!” You cry, tears suddenly streaming down your face as you grab a handful of dirt and chuck it in his direction. “Did you do it? Did you really kill him?”

Jeongguk’s hands are out in front of him like he’s corralling a feral animal as he gets back up on his knees. “What are you talking about? Come on, it’s not safe out here.”

Looking into Jeongguk’s eyes, for some reason, you are no longer afraid of what he is, you’re no longer afraid of him, only angry, furious with him. “I want you to tell me the truth.” You state, trying to calm the shake in your voice. He nods. “Are you an Ineo?”

“Noona I-”

“The truth!” You remind him. “Only the truth.”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing out over the water before looking back down at the ground between you. “I will tell you everything if you come back inside.”

You hesitate. Could this be a trick? Although, you suppose if he wanted to hurt you, he could just push you off the cliffs right now. You sniffle, wiping your face as you nod. He tries to help you to your feet but you smack his hands away, standing by yourself and cautiously leading him back toward the house.

You both walk in, slipping off your shoes as you walk over to the living room. Jeongguk sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him, but you ignore him, choosing to pace in front of the tv instead. Jeongguk runs an exasperated hand through his hair, looking down at the floor, and that’s when he sees it; the book. He chuckles to himself as he picks it up.

“Where did you get this?”

You see what he’s holding and immediately snatch it out of his grip. “In the basement.” You state, flipping through it until you find the page with the drawing. “I didn’t think anything of it until I saw this.” You turn the book toward him and show him the picture. His hand immediately moves to his ribcage, his thumb rubbing over the fabric of his shirt.

“Ah, I see…”

“Tell me.” You slam the book shut and put it down on the table in front of you.

Jeongguk takes a deep breath as he looks up at you, his hands folded neatly in his lap. “It’s true.”

“And you?”

“I am.” He nods. “An Ineo.”

A lump forms in your throat but you force yourself to swallow it back down. “And Hogeun?”

Jeongguk’s face twists in anger. “I didn’t do that.”

“But you kill people.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s… complicated.” He shakes his head. You simply cross your arms, waiting for him to explain and he sighs again. “Ineo are more like mythological sirens than mermaids. We are born of trauma, of death, and accidents. We’re made to lure humans to their deaths, to crash their ships, or tangle them in their nets. When a human dies by the ocean, some of them are given a second life as an Ineo; a slave to the sea, forced to do her bidding for her. We are given human features to help our purpose, but meant to spend our lives beneath the waves. Sometimes, Ineo can be born the natural way. It’s rare, but it happens.

“That’s what it was for me. My mother, like me, was born of another Ineo. She mated with another Ineo.” Jeongguk pauses. “She died of complications during my birth, so Yeongsu, my birth father, was left in charge. Something you have to understand, not all Ineo want to be what we are, we resist it, we fight it; and then there are some that give themselves over to the ocean fully, those are the true monsters.

“That’s what happened to Yeongsu. After my mother died, he became inconsolable. And went on a rampage. He is the reason the north side of this island isn’t inhabited. He set up just off shore, killing anyone he could get his hands on. He claimed so many lives that day…” Jeongguk trails off. “In the book, did you read about our marks? And how they spread?”

You nod. “It spreads with every life you take, eventually turning your skin blue as you lose your soul.”

“Right. And it does.” Jeongguk confirms. “My father… He killed enough people that his mark spread instantly. So much so that his mark had covered him completely in a matter of seconds.”

You walk over and sit next to Jeongguk on the couch as you process everything he’s said. “Why… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because Hogeun, he didn’t want you anywhere near this. Humans aren’t supposed to know about us. It’s dangerous.”

“Then why did he know?”

“He was helping me. Which is even more dangerous.”

“Helping with what?”

Jeongguk looks down at his feet for the first time. “He was helping me find a way out of this. To not be what I am.”

This surprises you. “Like a cure? Why?”

“I don’t want to be a monster…” Jeongguk holds his head with his hands.

You’re afraid to ask it, but your curiosity gets the best of you. “How many have you…?”

“One. But it was an accident.” He explains. “I was young. I didn’t know what I was capable of. I was just by the shore singing and someone heard my song. He jumped from the cliffs on the east side of the island and hit the rocks. I was a mess for days… I-I didn’t understand what had happened until I went back home and someone explained it to me.”

“Then my uncle…”

“If any Ineo knew he was helping me, or that he even knew about me, they would have tried everything in their power to kill him. ”

“Jeongguk-”

“Y/N, you can’t let anyone know what you know. Hyung’s death is on my hands, but I won’t let yours be too. Please.” He pleads, grabbing your hands and looking at you with a certain desperate sadness in his eyes, the feeling nearly tangible.

“I won’t. I promise, but Jeongguk I need you to know that Hogeun’s death was not your fault. If someone killed him or not, it will never be your fault.”

Jeongguk offers you a weak smile. “Thank you…”

It’s silent for a long moment before you stand up. “I should get some sleep.”

“You were up all night, weren’t you?”

“Yeah…” You admit, walking toward your room. “If you need anything just wake me, okay?”

“I’ll be alright, noona, sleep well.”

You give him one last nod before disappearing behind your closed door, tossing your sweatshirt to the ground before crawling under the covers. Images of scaly tails and gills flash in your mind until sleep overtakes you.

When you wake up next, it’s some time in the afternoon. The house is quiet except for the pitter-pat of rain against the roof. Still tired, you get up, stretching your arms as you stand and change out of your pajamas, into some jeans and a t-shirt and securing your necklace around your neck. It was a long morning, but you have things you need to do anyway; like go to the grocery store. With the way Jeongguk eats, it’s no surprise you’re already running low on food.

When you walk out of your room, you still don’t hear anything. When you check Jeongguk’s room, it’s empty. You hope he doesn’t disappear for too long this time… You grab your wallet and keys before heading out to the truck and making your way to town.

You decide to stop in at the bar and grab some lunch since you haven’t eaten yet today. You park and head inside the dimly lit building to find it mostly empty, with Donghyun wiping down the bar. He looks up as the door jangles, his eyes widening when he spots you.

“Y/N!”

“Hey,” You walk over to him and take a seat at the bar in front of him. “Is the kitchen open?”

“For you? Always.” He offers you a warm smile. “What’re ya having?”

Donghyun quickly whips you up a spectacular lunch as the two of you chat. It isn’t until you’re finished your meal and go to pay that he finally brings up the previous day.

“Nonsense, it’s on the house. An apology for last night.”

You wave your hand at him. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I know better than anyone that new people in a small town aren’t the most welcome; and Jeongguk is no exception.” You place a handful of small bills on the counter.

“Y/N-”

“Please, it’s the least I can do to thank you and Saki for everything you’ve done for me already.” You push the money toward him until you’re sure he’s going to take it before taking your hand off the counter.

“At least take this.” Donghyun slides something across the counter for you. You pick it up to find the original picture of you and your uncle used to make the larger copy from last night. “He’d want you to have it.”

You offer him a smile. “Thank you. I’m still in town for a few more days, so I’ll see you around.”

“Alright, we’ll have to have dinner again before you leave!” He calls as you start to walk to the door.

“Of course!” You wave one last time before walking back out to the truck.

You drive the short trip to the grocery store and grab a basket as you head in. You take your time shopping, perusing the aisles as you think of things Jeongguk might enjoy, even though he’s never had a bad thing to say about anything you’ve made. You grab the box of sweet cakes he likes as you wander over to the meat section. They have some fresh seafood options, but nothing can compare to the fresh seafood Jeongguk brought you. You wonder if he actually just went out into the ocean and caught it himself. You suppose that would make sense…

You stop in your tracks as you realize just how much you’re thinking about him during this simple trip to the grocery store. You begin to wonder when exactly your mind became a whirlwind of all things Jeongguk. You shake your head. You have been living with him for the last week, so it’s only natural that he’s become the focus of your thoughts, right? You start to wonder about what he and your uncle were working on, if they had actually found anything worthwhile about a cure. Or if there even is one…

You finish your shopping, packing everything in the seat next to you so it doesn’t get wet. As you start the truck, a light dings on the dashboard and tells you that you’re almost out of gasoline. You drive to the gas station by the docks to stop and get some gas. As you’re pumping, you start to hear the strangest noise.

It sounds like singing, but you’re the only one in sight. It almost sounds like it’s coming from offshore somewhere. You hold your hand up to block the relentless drizzle from falling in your eyes as you search the waves around the dock. It sounds… familiar. Like you’ve heard it before, but you can’t place it, the song sounding too similar to the crashing waves against the cliffs nearby.

You look around one more time, and when your gaze passes by one of the rocky outcroppings, you swear you see something moving. A shadow of some sort. Is that a person? You run over to the edge of the gas station where the cliff drops off, thinking they might need help, but when you look again, the shadow is gone.

The sound of the gas nozzle clanking as it shuts off brings your attention back to your truck. You look out over the waves one more time, but there’s nothing there. You have a strange feeling in your gut as you walk back over and put the gas nozzle back in its place, screwing the gas cap back on the truck before climbing back into the cab. As you pull out of the gas station and drive back up the road, you hear the sound again, but it fades into the distance as you drive away.

Jeongguk comes home as you’re putting groceries away and you watch him out of the corner of your eye as he kicks his shoes off and walks over to you, smelling of salt. His eyes go wide when he sees the snack cakes, immediately ripping into the box and pulling one out, making you giggle at how excited he seems. He offers you one and you take it, observing him as you both munch on the cakes. You take in the sight of his strong jawline and soft eyes, wondering what he might look like underwater.

“So where’d you go today?”

He looks up at you as he unwraps another cake. “Nowhere, just around.”

“Jeongguk, you don’t have to lie to me anymore, remember?”

“I was just asking around about some stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Stuff.” He repeats.

Suddenly it clicks inside you, the final piece of the puzzle. “You’re looking into Hogeun’s death, aren’t you?”

He avoids your gaze, guilt on his features. “Noona, I told you, you shouldn’t get involved in this.”

“But-”

“Trust me, the less you know, the better.” He shoves the cake in his mouth and then turns away, walking toward the bathroom.

“Hey,” You grab his arm, forcing him to turn back. “Listen, I know it’s risky, but-”

He shakes his head. “No, you really don’t know.”

“Jeongguk if you’re looking into my uncle’s death I want to help.”

“No.” His voice is firm as he shakes you off of him. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“But if you’re still looking for a cure-”

“Noona!” Jeongguk spins and pins you against the fridge, his hands on either side of your head as he stares at you. You’re caught in his gaze, unable to look away; he’s so close, too close; the smell of sweet cakes on his breath ghosting across your face. “Hyung said no. Please, just let it go.”

“I won’t.” You can’t stop the words before they’re out of your mouth. He drops one arm, moving back a bit in surprise at your stubbornness. “Jeongguk, he’s gone. And I could be next, but even if I am, you’re my friend. As long as you’re searching for a cure, I’m going to want to help you. No matter how dangerous it is.”

Jeongguk sighs, taking another step back as he rubs his hands over his face. “Noona-”

“You said you guys had research. At least let me look at what you have already.” You offer. “I might see something you didn’t.”

“Fine.” Jeongguk nods, starting to walk away again as he strips his shirt off over his head. “After dinner.” And with that he disappears into the bathroom.

Just as you finish cooking, Jeongguk emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel and heads to his room, coming back out a few minutes later in a change of clothes. You can feel his eyes on you as you put everything on the table. You sneak your own glances as you sit down and eat. His hair’s still wet, all of it pushed back off of his face, small droplets falling onto his shirt as he eats. God, you can’t stand how beautiful he is. Couldn’t he have been average looking? Once he glances up at you at the same time and you both panic, nearly choking as you immediately avert your gazes. You want to try to fix the awkward silence, but you can’t think of anything to say.

After you eat, Jeongguk gets up and disappears into his room. You hear him rooting around in there while you put dishes in the sink, and as you finish packing away the leftovers, Jeongguk comes back out with a box. He places it on the table in front of the couch with a loud thunk and then turns to you.

“Here you go.” He sits on the couch as you walk over to investigate. “This is everything we had.”

You look in the box to see papers with notes scribbled haphazardly on them on top. You begin pulling things out and sorting them, a stack of loose-leaf papers, several large books, and even more notebooks with notes and pictures all taped inside with no sense of order or organization in sight.

Jeongguk turns on the tv and you eye him closely. You run to your room and grab a spare notebook and a pen before heading back out to the living room and sitting down next to him, beginning to read through things. You take notes as you read, writing down what you think might be important, or things you want to come back to or look up later.

You read into the early hours of the morning, quietly going over everything you can get your hands on, and Jeongguk sits beside you as you do. He watches you, mumbling to yourself, but you can feel his eyes on you as you turn page after page.

At some point, you must fall asleep, because you wake up to the feeling of Jeongguk’s arms around you and you stir just enough to feel your bed underneath you as he sets you down on it, pulling the covers up over you. You relax back against the mattress when you feel him brush his fingers over your cheek. The touch is fleeting, and you’re not entirely sure it was real, but as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. And then you hear your door shut. You touch your cheek where you felt his fingers only moments ago, humming pleasantly as you are pulled back into slumber.

Part 2 ->

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