#and to be completely shallow i want her in this scene | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wildernessuntothemselves · 23 hours ago

Text

Now See Them Burn in Fire | Part 4

Genre: dark fic, smut, angst

Word Count: 17.8

Chapter Excerpt:

“I was invited,” He says simply, and you feel a heat crawl up your spine. Invited. No. No, you didn’t invite him. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want any of this.

“I… I didn’t—” You croak, your throat tight around the words. Panic claws at your chest, and your breaths come out shallow, frantic. Your gaze snaps to your mother, desperate to explain to her that you had nothing to do with this, but when your eyes meet hers, you see none of your own horror in them, none of the shock.

Instead, there’s an eerie calm in her eyes—a nauseating resignation.

“I did,” She tells you flatly, her voice steady, emotionless “I said I would end it, didn’t I?”

You stare at her, your mind struggling to comprehend her words. End it? What does that mean? Your heart hammers in your chest as it refuses to put the pieces together, to admit to what your mind already knows.

But it can’t hide away from it for long. Not when your mother blatantly proclaims it to the world to hear, not scared of how her act of betrayal against her own daughter might incur the wrath of the gods.

"Take her. Do what you want with her. Just release me."

Warnings: fem!reader, DARK FIC, FUTURE NONCON/DUBCON, mentions of people being burned alive, iron age au, supernatural au, yandere beomgyu, allusions to child sacrifice but nothing graphic, character death, smut, blow job, handjob, riding (lol the warnings be giving you whiplash)

______________________

The high priest’s burning sparks a twisted revelation in Beomgyu’s mind. Why should the tribe carry the burden of those marked by the curse—housing them, guarding them—when he could rid the land of them as he did with the priest? With each body he casts into the fire, he sees it as another step toward his grotesque mission of purification, purging the tribe of these cursed souls and claiming victory over what he calls the evil that threatens all of you.

It is not difficult for him to rally the tribe to his cause. After all, the afflicted were all but dead in the eyes of the people, their fates sealed as soon as the first sign of the curse was seen within them–and Beomgyu presents the purge as an act of deliverance, allowing the tribe to turn its gaze away from the humanity of the victims. With his power to draw out the mark before the curse could completely corrupt their bodies and souls, he convinces everyone that the victims’ removal is not only justified, but humane—a mercy killing.

The first of these so-called purifications unfolds in a scene of dreadful cruelty. Dozens of men and women, their voices silenced by gags and their limbs bound tight, are led to the center of the settlement where the flames are stoked high, eager to consume their bodies and drown their cries in the crackling and snapping of its fire.

The cloud of smoke that results from the horrid act is putrid and choking, hanging over the settlement like a deathly veil. It clings to everything—clothes, hair, even skin—until it becomes part of the very breath the people take. For days, the ash lingers like a dark miasma, a constant reminder of the atrocity that has occurred, haunting the people like a second shadow.

Though the smoke eventually begins to lift, it never fully dissipates, for the fire is never allowed to die. As long as there are new victims to be found, it continues to burn, fueling Beomgyu's influence over the tribe, as if his dominion is sustained by the very lives he consumes.

You confide in your mother, knowing full well that you cannot speak of your suspicions to Kai or his family. They would not understand. She listens, appearing perturbed by what she was hearing. But instead of confronting the horror you both know to be true, she retreats further into her work, her magic now consuming her every waking and most of what are supposed to be her slumbering hours. Though she does not say it, you know she believes you.

She has become a shadow of her former self, her body ravaged by the dark forces she’s courting. Her hair, once thick and full, falls away in brittle strands. Her eyes, once bright, are now hollow and drained of life. Her once-strong frame is now emaciated, the dark powers stealing away years of her life in mere weeks.

The sight of her chills you. If Beomgyu doesn’t kill her, the magic will. Either way, you fear for the fate of her eternal soul.

Not that she welcomes your concern. With each passing day, her bitterness toward you deepens, winding its tendrils around her heart, suffocating the remnants of warmth she once held for you. She holds you accountable for the blight that has befallen the tribe. In her eyes, you are the harbinger of doom. She insists that, were it not for you, none of this would have come to pass. She believes you were sent by the gods to curse your family, as Beomgyu cursed his, and that, unless she can find a way to break the curse, she will succumb to the same fate that afflicted your father and Beomgyu’s parents.

Oh, how Beomgyu would delight in this, were he to hear her words—or perhaps he already does, watching from some hidden corner, amused by your suffering. It must be endlessly entertaining to him to witness you enduring the very fate you once abandoned him to escape from—the distrust of your family, the suspicion in the eyes of your people, the public fall from grace. Could this all be an act of vengeance devised by a scorned man?

It can’t be… Surely he would not go so far just to hurt you. To curse the innocent, scorch their bodies, to raise those long slumbering powers—

Overwhelmed by it all, you flee to the hills that embrace the settlement, desperate for a breath of air that does not taste of ash. But when you reach the crest and look down, your heart falters.The village lies beneath you, shrouded in a veil of black smoke. It rolls across the earth, giving shape to the curse, devouring home, streets, and souls alike.

From this height, it’s difficult to find hope to cling to. From where you stand, all seems lost.

Should you flee? Kai and his family still rule the tribe, but for how long? How soon before Beomgyu weaves his schemes to undo them, just as he did with the high priest? His influence grows with each passing moment, and you wonder if their reign will slip through their fingers like water in the palm of a hand.

But where would you go? Would it be better to die under the claws of a wild beast than at the hands of Beomgyu and his men? Everywhere you turned your gaze you saw only death.

Your families were still fighting—that much was true.

Your mother, Kai’s family, and the remaining elders had bound themselves in an uneasy alliance, pooling what power and knowledge they possess between them in a last, desperate attempt to stall Beomgyu’s creeping dominion.

But as it was necessary for your mother to conceal the full truth from them in order to shield you both from suspicion—much of her work had to be done in secret. And due to that secrecy, she often found herself with no choice but to turn to you. Her summons were never tender. Your obedience never willing. It brought her no comfort, and you no peace.

Ever since that dark ritual she performed on your father’s lifeless body, your mother had spiraled deeper into the abyss of dark magic. Each incantation drew her further from the path of righteousness, binding her more tightly to shadowed forces—those ancient, insatiable beings whose whispers came with a price. Their demands grew darker, their hunger more cruel, and with every new pact, a toll was taken.

Her body suffered. But it was her soul that bore the deepest scars.

You tried to distance yourself as much as you could. Surely, fighting darkness with darkness was not the path of the gods. This calamity should have been an opportunity to prove your steadfastness, to remain true to your faith even if it meant your death. Better, you thought, to endure a slow, agonizing end upon this earth than to be cast out of the eternal bliss in the shadow of your beloved gods and into the fiery depths of the underworld.

You have come to realize a bitter truth: that despite all your knowledge, all your years of training and sacred rites, you are no different from the common folk when true peril knocks at your door. In the face of such a threat, even the wise falter. Even the learned cling to superstition, whispering half-remembered prayers, and committing the most desperate and selfish acts in the name of survival.

“You’re a long way from home, flower.”

Terror seizes your body at the sound of his voice. You hadn't heard him approach—not a single footfall, not the faintest rustle of leaves. How could you have believed that the wilderness could shield you from him when this is where he has always found refuge, where he has long conspired with the unseen forces that dwell in the shadows of the wild. This has always been his domain for as long as you can remember, his secret kingdom. Here, there is no escape from him.

“I just wanted to breathe,” You murmur, your voice barely a whisper, your body stiff with terror, refusing to turn and meet his eyes.

“I see,” He replies, his tone flat, undecipherable..

A silence hangs between you, as stifling as the black cloud of smoke. He is content to stand there and let the stillness suffocate you, and you realize you must break it yourself before it breaks you. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Do you think I am going to kill you?” He throws your words back at you, replacing your fear with amusement. They come out slowly, as if he’s savoring them, relishing in the terror he’s created in you. It is clear that your discomfort, your fear, pleases him.

“Is this funny to you?” You frown, unable to mask the disgust in your voice. He was the one who brought about this catastrophe, and yet here he stands before you, unburdened by any hint of guilt. His cold indifference to the suffering he has caused, the destruction in his wake—it’s almost worse than the act itself. He watches you, as if this is all some twisted game to him. He truly is a monster.

“I must admit, it is.” He replies, his voice light, almost playful.

“Why are you doing this? Just... please, tell me,” You plead, the desperation clear in your voice, seeking to find the real reason for his actions, to finally make sense of why he has seemingly decided to throw the world into chaos one day.

He laughs and you stare at him in incredulity. “What is so damn funny?”

"I find it rather amusing," He says, his tone laced with a quiet, unsettling humor that is only funny to him, "how not long ago, I was beneath you. And now, here you are, so eager to talk to me."

“You still are beneath me.” You proclaim proudly, no matter how dearly that would cost you. If he insists on this path, so be it. The monster standing before you has no shred of mercy within him so there is no point in trying to appeal to it. “Just because you’ve maimed and killed your way into this farce of a leadership among your band of savages, does not make you worth anything.”

The false lightness in his expression slips away, replaced by a burning hate. "And just because you married into power," He spits with bitter disdain, "does not mean they will protect you or your kin. When the time comes, they will stand aside and watch your bodies burn, all to save their own hides. He would, too."

“You know nothing of him.” You hiss at him, feeling defensive of Kai. “Your wretched soul cannot even begin to fathom the love his heart can hold. He would lay down his life to protect us.”

“But how will he protect you when he’s not even here?” Beomgyu tilts his head, feigning curiosity. In that moment, the reality of your situation comes back into clear focus and you remember where exactly you are, and who the man standing before you is.

He steps closer, his presence looming, and reaches out to gently grab your neck in his large hand, pressing down slightly. The absolute emotionlessness in his expression sends a shiver down your spine. You dare not resist; there’s no point. Any struggle would be futile, and you know all too well how easily he could overpower you. You’d be on the ground in no time like you were the last time you were alone with him. At least if he kills you now, you will die standing.

“If I wring your little neck and bury you in the earth under our feet, how will he stop me? If I choose to end this now, would he even know where his lovely bride laid? ” He taunts you, “Tell me, did you even bother to tell him you’d come here?”

He feels your gulp under his hand and his grip tightens in response, sensing your answer without you even needing to utter a word. A rush of regret floods over you—no, you hadn’t told anyone where you were going. You had acted carelessly, and now, that recklessness may cost you your life.

“Figured as much. You’ve always been pretty, but not too bright, my flower,” He remarks with a sneer, and you're taken aback by how his words sting. Though your death by his hands seemed imminent, you had still believed your past friendship was genuine. The thought that he had always harbored such disdain for you cuts deeper than you expected. It tarnishes the memories you thought were safe, innocent. Had he been deceiving you all along? Was he always the monster everyone had warned you about, and you’d simply failed to see it? You really are stupid…

It doesn’t matter now, does it?

But then, unexpectedly, he laughs and releases his hold. “How has your mother been?”

The sudden shift in his tone catches you off guard, and you freeze, unsure of what to make of this abrupt change. For a brief moment, confusion clouds your mind, but that confusion quickly turns to dread as the true implications of his question settle in.

“No. Don’t you dare!” You warn, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm.

He chuckles, a hot, bright sound that scalds its way down your spine. “Dare to do what?”

You have no time for his games—they serve only to entertain him, offering you nothing but distress in return. Whatever truth he holds, he’ll twist it into something unrecognisable just to watch you suffer. The only way to find out what this threat truly means is to go find your mother right now.

So with a shaky breath and even shakier limbs, you take a step back. “Are you going to let me walk away?”

He grins, the expression predatory and playful, as if this is yet another game to him. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

You draw in another shaky breath, bracing yourself for what’s to come, before you sprint down the hill, heart pounding in your chest. Each step feels frantic, as if you’re trying to outrun your fear, the thought that Beomgyu could be hot on your heels unshakable. Every part of you expects him to leap from the shadows and drag you back into his grasp, to make good on his earlier threats. The world around you is a blur of trees and underbrush, and despite your desperate pace, the tangled roots and uneven ground slow you down, making you stumble and fall as if the earth itself, subject to his swat, has conspired to bring you to your knees.

By the time you see the familiar sight of home, you’re battered and breathless. Mud streaks your clothes, and your skin is marked with scratches and bruises—a testament to the battle you’ve waged against the wilderness. But none of that matters now. As you stand before the entrance to your home, a dread unlike any you’ve ever felt sinks into your bones. What will be waiting for you inside?

The possibilities rush to your mind, each one worse than the last. Will your mother be missing? Dead? Bound, tortured, andleft to the mercy of those dark forces she meddled with? The thoughts gnaw at you, and the images they summon are near enough to fell you where you stand if you let them continue to run wild.

With a quiet prayer to the gods above, you steel yourself, pushing the terror down into the pit of your stomach, and step over the threshold.

“Mother?” You call, the word leaving your lips with an urgency that belies your composure. There is a long, drawn-out moment of silence before you hear her answer. Weak, but unmistakable. Her voice, though faint, is still there—and in that small, fragile sound, you find a breath of relief. The tension that had wound so tightly in your chest begins to loosen, though you remain on edge, knowing the fight isn’t over yet.

You follow the direction of her voice, finding her hunched over her cauldron in her usual spot—her ghastly face illuminated by the flickering candlelight, casting eerie shadows as she stirs whatever concoction brews within.

At first, you don’t notice it, the strange lighting obscuring your view. But when she looks up at you, taking a step back from the cauldron, your eyes catch it—the faintest discoloration on her skin, a sickly, blackish hue that sends a rush of nausea through you. You’re so struck by the sight that you can’t hide your reaction, and it’s then that she sees your dismay.

“What?” She croaks, her voice trembling. You remain silent, a lump forming in your throat. “Is it on me?”

“Mother, I’m sorry–” You apologize as if you truly believed it is your fault. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s all because of you.

Your words have the opposite effect than you hoped. Instead of evoking her sympathy, they seem to fan the flames of her fury. In an instant, anger takes hold of her, and she thrusts herself toward you, scratching at your face. “You fucking slut. You did this. You brought him into our lives.”

“I am sorry.” You weep, holding your hands to your face to prevent her from clawing your eyes out.

“I ought to kill you right now, bury you alongside your father and rid us of this evil. No, you do not deserve the dignity of a burial. I should slit your throat and leave your body out to the vultures to pick at your innards and the beasts to tear you apart from limb to limb.”

“Please, mother, I did not mean for any of this to happen.” You try to reason with her, but even you feel yourself choking on your own guilt.

“Shut up! Shut up!” She snarls, striking you repeatedly.

Fortunately for you, her strength has long waned, the dark magic sapping what little power she had left. You manage to push her away, stumbling backward toward the door, your heart hammering in your chest. As you flee your home, your tearful apologies echo behind you, but they feel hollow—an empty attempt to ease the guilt that eats at you with every step you take.

Kai is taken aback by the state you’re in when you stumble through the door of your married home—disheveled, wounded, your eyes wide and wet with grief. He asks what happened, tries to coax even an explanation from your lips, but you are in such an inconsolable state, you could not have given him any even if you had wanted to. So he stops asking.

All he can do is gather you into his arms and hold you close, rocking you gently as if the motion might carry you out of your despair, and futilely drying off your unending tears as he whispers meaningless reassurances to you.

It’s all worthless. Beomgyu is going to win. He will take each and everyone you love away from you and then he is going to kill you.

________________

You fabricate a story to tell your husband, weaving it with just enough truth to make it sound believable. The words flow from your lips with effort, each one stinging with betrayal. You tell Kai that you had a falling out with your mother over your decision to venture into the woods in search of a rare herb that would aid in her potions—potions that would ultimately benefit his family. You tell him that you ignored her warnings and ventured out alone, only to be attacked by a wild animal. You describe how your mother arrived just in time to save you, though her fear of losing you—much like she had lost your father—left her furious. Her anger, you say, led her to say things she didn’t mean and ultimately cast you out of her home.

It would have been a convincing story had the scratches on your face not looked so human and had you not been so reluctant for Kai to attempt to mediate any form of reconciliation between the two of you, fearing that your mother would be angry enough to expose your secrets to him, even if it meant her doom. After all, what has she got to lose? She’s already been claimed by the curse.

So imagine your surprise when she was the one who extended an invite to you to talk things over at your family home, telling you that she has found a way to get rid of the curse once and for all.

You felt exceedingly nervous about it, especially that she had specifically instructed you not to tell anyone you'll be meeting her. It made sense that she didn't want anyone to know about the secrets you've been harboring, but after the way she had spoken to you the last time you saw her, you worry about this being a trap to get you within arms reach so she could act on her previous threats.

Still, you had no other choice but to go. If anyone could find a way to break the curse, it would be your mother. And if not, you die. Either way, you die, right?

Your mother looks nothing like herself anymore. The curse has latched onto her like a parasite, rapidly consuming her body until she’s nothing more than skin on bones. She’s covered with it from head to toe. It writhes and pulsates over her in deep slow breaths.

“Mother…” You speak slowly and she grimaces.

“Don't you dare look at me in pity. You did this. You're the one who invited the evil in. But I'll be the one to end it.” She tells you resolutely, but before you can seek more answers, before you can ask her what she means, a sudden suffocating presence presses down on your chest. The room grows impossibly still, and the world outside seems to fade, leaving only the rhythmic pounding of your heart in your ears.

Your gaze is drawn, unconsciously, toward the front of your home. There’s a shadow, a figure standing just beyond the threshold, barely visible in the dim light of the evening. It feels like you’ve been here before, the vision cut right out of your nightmares—the figure so suffocatingly familiar to the deepest, most primal part of your brain, bringing forth images of deathly blue eyes, and with them, the paralysing fear.

The figure moves, a silhouette cloaked in darkness, each step slow, deliberate. Your pulse quickens as your mind races, your body rooted to the spot, unable to move, barely able to breathe. But when the figure steps fully into the light, the air in your lungs escapes in a sharp, panicked gasp, for the monster it unveils is even worse than the one in your nightmares.

Beomgyu.

A mixture of disbelief and terror floods your veins. You try to speak, to say something, anything, but your voice falters. He’s standing there, more real and solid than the ground beneath you that threatens to fall away from under your feet to escape his presence.

"W—what? What are you doing here?" The words stumble out of your mouth, barely more than a breath. Your legs feel as if they’ve turned to stone, unable to carry you to safety even as terror pulses through you. The monster in the doorway, Beomgyu, stands with an unsettling calm, his eyes fixed on you, something predatory in the curve of the smile lingering on his lips.

“I was invited,” He says simply, and you feel a heat crawl up your spine. Invited. No. No, you didn’t invite him. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want any of this.

Instead, there’s an eerie calm in her eyes—a nauseating resignation.

“I did,” She tells you flatly, her voice steady, emotionless “I said I would end it, didn’t I?”

"Take her. Do what you want with her. Just release me."

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, sharp and burning. You can't breathe. You can’t think.

“Mother!” You shriek, shaking your head in denial. “What are you saying?!”

Her eyes meet yours then, but there’s no softness, no comfort in them. Her expression is cold, like she’s already detached herself from what’s happening, like she’s already let go of whatever bonds once tethered her to you, allowing her to commit the unthinkable against her own flesh and blood without her heart giving way in protest.

Beomgyu doesn’t make any move. He just stands there, watching your reaction with curious intensity, studying your every flinch, your every gasp, as if to see if this will finally break you. The room feels impossibly small, as though the walls are closing in on you, and the darkness of his gaze—of his presence—fills every inch of space, suffocating you.

He tilts his head towards your mother, his voice laced with false sweetness as he continues to wear that chilling smirk on his lips, like a tyrant delighting in watching his subjects perform their misery for him.

“Look at you, Mother. You are unwell. It's making you delirious.” He coos, his eyes glinting with amusement as they flicker toward you. “I have nothing to do with this or your daughter.” “Don’t you dare mock me,” She spits out, her voice fierce, but there’s something hollow in it, something broken. “I know it is you behind all of this. I know you want to have her for yourself, so do it. Take her and do what you will with her. I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go.” The words send a tremor of revulsion through your body. Your stomach lurches, nausea rising like bile in your throat at the sheer abhorrence of what she’s just said. Your mother, your own mother—the woman who should have been your protector, the very one meant to shield you from the cruelties of this world— is willing to give you up, to throw you out to him in order to save herself. How could she? She has seen what he's capable of. How could she hand you over to him like this?

But to your surprise, Beomgyu doesn’t act on her offer. He doesn’t step forward, doesn’t claim you the way your mother so coldly suggested. Instead, his grin widens, and he chuckles softly, as if amused by the entire exchange.

“No offense, mother,” He says casually, his voice smooth and playful despite the jarring reality. That lightness, that ease, only makes it more terrifying. “Your daughter is a beautiful lady, and I understand that every child is precious and priceless in their mother’s eyes. But do you really think I’ve set the netherworld loose on my own tribe just so I can have her?” He pauses, letting the silence stretch between his words and wrap around your throats, before he continues, “I think you might be overestimating her worth a little bit.”

You halt at his words. When he says it like that, it sounds almost absurd, doesn’t it? How highly do you think of yourself? How inflated is your own sense of ego, that you could ever believe that a man would go to such lengths just to possess you?

You suddenly question everything—the beliefs you held, the assumptions you made. Have you completely lost your mind? The realization hits you like a wave, washing away your certainty, leaving only the salty sting of embarrassment in its wake. In truth, are you nothing to him but an insignificant pawn in a much larger game? All this time you had convinced yourself that you were his sole obsession, the source of his dark desire and unquenchable wrath, when your suffering may be nothing more than an afterthought to him.

But your mother is not so easily dissuaded.

“Don’t you dare lie to my face,” She snarls, voice shaking with fury, and lunges at him. “I know who is killing me.”

A blade flashes in her grip and for a moment your heart lurches in your throat as visions of blood, of Beomgyu’s skin split open and carved by her fury, flash through your mind unbidden—but she is much too slow. Whether it’s the curse draining her strength or the unnatural force thrumming through him, it hardly matters, because Beomgyu catches her arm mid-swing and twists it with savage ease, a sickening crack echoing through the room.

Her scream is as mangled as her arm and the fight leaves her all at once. She would crumble to the floor if it wasn’t for Beomgyu grip on her arm holding her up

“Mother, is that the mark of the curse?” He asks emotionlessly, bringing her now deformed arm to his face so could have a closer look.

Your mother pales at the realisation of what she's inadvertently revealed and tries to pull herself away from him but he quickly grabs her by the throat with his other hand, ruthlessly cutting off the protests she tries to utter.

No, this cannot be happening. You cannot bear to lose another parent to him.

Desperation surges within you, and you rush forward, falling to your knees. “No. Please, don't. I beg you. Don’t take her from me.”

He gazes at you, bemusement flickering in his eyes. “You wish for me to spare her? She was prepared to sacrifice you to me.”

Yes, you’re acutely aware of that fact, but she is the only family you have left. Without her, you would be utterly lost. How can you ever hope to stand up to him if the only remaining person who knows the truth about you and him is gone? The only person remotely capable of devising a plan to stop him?

“She’s the only family I have left. Please, don’t take her from me.”

The world seems to hold its breath as Beomgyu regards your pitiful form at his feet. His expression reveals nothing, his face carved from stone. You cannot begin to decipher what he's thinking, and that is the most terrifying thing of all.

You want to save your mother. That’s what you tell yourself. But as you kneel before him, a dark terror coils in your chest—tight and shameful. Because in pleading for her life, you’re leaving ajar the door your mother had opened—an invitation to come in and steal you away.

And what if he does?

You are all too aware of his hatred for you, and the thought of him finally getting his chance to unleash that festering rage, not on strangers or enemies but on you, the one who left him behind and chose another—it makes your blood run dry. Because you know you won’t be treated with the same twisted cruelty he treated them. No, what he has in store for you will be far worse.

And yet, when he finally speaks, it is not with fury—but with cold indifference.

“She has been marked. Her fate is no longer in my hands.” Beomgyu finally declares, his voice devoid of human emotion.

Without another word, he turns, dragging your mother along, and you follow in frantic pursuit, but neither your mother's wailing and flailing nor your screams and attempts to separate them yield any success. He leads you both toward the heart of the settlement where the bulk of the cleansings have been taking place.

“I have another,” Beomgyu announces to his men, who are tending to the ever burning flames at the center of the ritual site, keeping it well fed with daily sacrifices.

“No, please, don't do this.” You plead hysterically, but Beomgyu’s men have long forgone any trace of mercy. They move with grim efficiency, one tearing you away, another seizing your mother. There is no flicker of hesitation or remorse in their eyes, as though this act of unimaginable cruelty—this tearing apart of families, this march to feed the flames—has become second nature to them…mundane. “No, please, please!” You thrash and scream until your throat burns, but still you cannot break free of the grip that holds you. People gather quickly, drawn like moths to the flame, eager to feast their hungry eyes on the latest sacrifice to the fire that rages like a god over their lives.

And before long, so do your husband and his family.

A sense of nauseating terror and shame fills you as you see them make their way through the crowd, for in that moment, your greatest fear is not the impending loss of your mother—but the dread of what they might see, the secrets that she may expose in her desperation and anger at you.

“What is happening here?” The leader’s voice rings out, commanding attention, but Beomgyu does not flinch. His expression remains impassive as he calmly reveals the mark on your mother’s body, exposing it to all who have gathered around, and the sound of shocked gasps ripples through the crowd, echoing in the air like thunder.

The leader is struck into a disquieting silence, wearing a grim expression that tells it all. You shake your head in disbelief, the words tumbling from your lips in a frantic plea. “No, no, it’s a mistake. You must do something.”

But he does not answer you. This man—your leader, your shield, the one who once stood bold and brave against a whole horde of enemies at your gates—cannot even summon the strength to meet your eyes.

He doesn’t speak, because he doesn’t have to. His silence confesses what his pride won’t—that he is too afraid to challenge Beomgyu. Too afraid to stand between her and the flames. And in that moment, whatever faith you still held in him withers away completely.

So you turn your gaze to Kai instead, pleading for him to save your mother. And your husband, your precious Kai, tries to move forward, tries to do something, anything, to stop this madness. But before he can act, hands seize his arms. Not Beomgyu’s men, but his own family.

“She bears the mark,” His father declares, his voice flat, stripped of emotion. A wave of disgust churns within you, not just at his words, but at the apathy with which he speaks them, as though he agrees that condemning your mother to a fiery grave was the only possible solution.

"I have to do something!" Kai shouts, his voice raw, his body taut with urgency, but his family does not yield, they keep their grip on him iron-clad, unwilling to let him risk his life to save your mother’s.

Left with no other recourse, and desperation all but consuming you, you throw your body around, managing to somehow slip away from the man holding you.

“She didn’t do this. You know she didn’t!” You dash towards Beomgyu, but one of his men quickly intercepts you, shoving you back roughly, the force causing you to crash onto the ground–and you lay once again at Beomgyu’s feet.

He looks down at you, his expression blank, unnerving. “I know—or you know?” He asks, his words laying out a trap for you. “Is there something you’re hiding from us? Do you know who is behind this?”

A knot tightens in your stomach, and for a moment, the world stands still. You know you cannot accuse him, not without proof.

And without proof, nobody would ever believe you—they would turn on you as easily as they have turned on everyone else. They’re itching to burn you too, you are certain of it. This must be what Beomgyu wants. He seeks to provoke you, to drive you into a corner, to force you to reveal your own culpability in front of them all and seal your own fate.

“I—I don’t,” You stammer, flinching as you crawl back, the fear in your chest tightening around your lungs like a vice.

“Then how do you know she’s not involved?” Beomgyu takes a step forward, like a panther stalking its prey.

You hesitate, your mind racing for an answer that could save your mother without giving yourself away, but you cannot find a lie convincing enough even if your mother’s life depends on it.

So you turn your face away in shame, just like Kai’s father did. You’re all nothing but cowards and he will pick you off one by one.

“I don’t.”

A cold sneer curls on his lips, and he spits the words at you in contempt. “Then don’t waste our time.”

“He did this. He's the devil.” Your mother finally screams, not afraid of holding back anymore. But it’s too late for her now. No one listens to the ravings of the condemned. No truth she speaks will save her life—But that doesn’t mean her words won’t damn yours.

“Are you happy with what you’ve done?” She snarls, her voice trembling with fury as her eyes bore into yours. And in that gaze, you see it—a hatred deeper than any she could ever hold for anyone else, even Beomgyu. “You’ve killed me. You’ve killed your father!”

Your heart lurches in your chest, your mouth running dry. Is this it? Is this how you burn?

But before she can speak further–before she can offer you up to the hungry crowd, Beomgyu steps in, wrapping a strip of cloth around her mouth–silencing her.

Your mind reels. Why did he do that? Why did he save you? Is it so he can trap you a little longer in this waking nightmare? To force you to watch as everyone you love is devoured by flames? So he can draw out your agony, savor it, let it rot in your bones before he finally claims your life?

You watch as Beomgyu’s men bind your mother in the same manner they did the high priest, the ropes biting into her skin as they force her to her knees and hold her there. She struggles but her muffled screams are lost behind the cloth gagging her.

Then Beomgyu approaches her slowly, in his hand he carries a censer of burning myrrh, thick smoke billowing from its bronze mouth in slow, curling tendrils. He swings it over her head, his movements rhythmic and purposeful, the scent heavy, cloying, smothering.

"Spirits of darkness, foul ones born of shadow and hate, hear my warning and depart from this vessel. Recede back into the deep earth, to the cold underworld below our feet. Linger not, lest you perish with the flesh that binds you. Let her soul rise, carried by wind and smoke, to the gods who dwell above, that she may finally find peace and forgiveness in the light of the heavens."

A strange wind answers. It weaves through the crowd like a living thing, burrowing through cloth and skin alike with claws that cannot be seen–sinking into flesh with a chilling sense of foreboding and terror. Something ancient has stirred, and it is listening.

But even in the chaos of your frantic thoughts, an unsettling detail strikes you.

Why is Beomgyu invoking the evil spirits to depart? Why not bind them within her, trap them in the flesh they defiled, and let the flames consume them?

Surely, if his goal was to destroy them, this would be his chance. Unless… their destruction was never his aim. Unless this ritual is not a cleansing—but a deliverance. A gruesome offering to those same dark spirits.

You glance around, your eyes darting from face to face, searching for even a flicker of doubt—some glimmer of recognition that this is not right, that someone sees through the veil he’s cast over their eyes. But no one stirs. They stand in still, vacant silence, their faith—or fear—rendering them blind.

And so, without question, they watch as his men step forward and present him with a shallow dish filled with a foul-smelling ointment—thick, dark, and reeking of rot. Beomgyu takes it with solemn hands, dipping his fingers into the paste and leaning over your mother. Then, in slow, deliberate strokes, he begins to smear it across her forehead, tracing a shape you do not know—Not of your people. Not of your gods.

It is other. Ancient. Wrong.

“O watchers beyond the veil, turn your gaze from the mark that stains her flesh and upon the weary soul beneath—lost, bound, and cursed,” He intones, his voice echoing inside your skull. “Unbar the gates, and let her spirit pass into your keeping.” His words fall with the cadence of prayer, but they ring hollow. The chant drifts, aimless and meandering—lacking the clarity, the structure, the intent of true communion with the divine. He names no god, directs his plea to no realm, invokes no power.

To the unknowing, it may pass as a true prayer. But you know better.

The hollowness of it unsettles you—for it either speaks of his ignorance of the sacred rites he dares to mimic, or more chillingly, his deliberate intent to obfuscate the ritual’s true nature so as to confuse and mislead those who are watching.

Your suspicions are all but confirmed when Beomgyu is handed a ceremonial knife—its blade dulled by time but still sharp enough to serve its purpose. Without pause, he presses it to the center of his palm, unflinching as he draws a thin, precise line of blood.

Then, with grim ceremony, he places his bleeding hand upon your mother’s chest, the crimson smearing across her skin like a second mark. His chanting continues—a dissonant blend of the familiar and the foreign. Words you half-recognize, twisted into forms that sound unnatural to your ears.

It soon becomes clear—this is the true spell, veiled beneath the pretense of prayer and cloaked in the cadence of forgotten tongues. Yet its purpose still eludes you. There is no revelation in his words, no guiding light—only a slow, suffocating dread that wraps around you tighter with every utterance.

Whatever he calls upon is not merciful. It is old, it is patient, and it is hungry.

As his chant begins to wane, Beomgyu looks to his men, and with a single, commanding gesture, they seize your mother and drag her toward the fire. He lifts his hands to the heavens, his voice rising in one final invocation—deep, resonant, and utterly unintelligible–spoken in a tongue long forgotten by time, its meaning lost to all who hear it.

But you’re no longer listening.

You are rooted to the ground, eyes fixed on the figure of your mother as she’s cast into the fire. Her small frame is devoured almost instantly, swallowed whole by the flames. Even her screams are soon lost to the roar of the inferno.

You stand there, motionless, the tears that should have sprung forth remain trapped behind your eyelids, their ghostly tendrils burning hot on your cheeks. Around you, the world feels distant, veiled behind a wall of smoke and ash.

You stare at the faces of those around you–everyone who has come to witness your tragedy. Beomgyu stands at the center of it all, the firelight casting haunting shadows across his blank face, untouched by the horror he has wrought. His men, however, are alive with twisted fervor, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust as they watch their sacred flame consume your mother's body.

And the common folk… they are no different. They whisper among themselves with eager smiles, reveling in your tragedy—gleeful to see another of your kind consumed by the flames.

And then there is your leader—your brave leader who cannot summon the courage to lift his gaze to you, nor to your mother’s fiery grave, his shame shackling him.

They do not mourn for you. Not him. Not his family. Not the crowd that gathers like vultures at a feast. It is just as Beomgyu had promised. They would all stand back and watch, silent, eager, complicit, as you and everything you cherish burns to ash.

____________________________

Kai tries to explain, to excuse—offering hollow apologies for his father’s shameful cowardice. He promises you protection, swears by all the gods that he will keep you safe.

But you no longer have the patience for these white lies. You remind him that he couldn’t protect your mother from Beomgyu and he cannot protect you from his family.

Because now, just as Beomgyu had warned, his family force you to take her place—pressuring you to fill the role she left behind before her ashes have cooled. They drape her robes across your shoulders and place her tools in your unready hands. You are expected to brew their potions, chant their spells, stitch their wards—positioning you as a shield between them and Beomgyu. They do not care about the risk to your life or the toll it would have on your soul. Just as they hadn’t cared about what it did to her.

But the joke is on them, for you are not your mother. You possess not her strength. The power that once coursed through her blood lies dormant in yours. You cannot command the dark forces as she did, and so your body is spared the toll that broke hers—not out of mercy, but out of lack.

And with that lack, their terror grows. Beomgyu stalks their nightmares still, and without your mother’s protection, they are left vulnerable to his attacks.

In their fear, they grow more and more callous. They demand more. Always more.

They hold Kai over you, blaming you for any harm that would befall him should you fail. They shut you within the cold walls of your mother’s now empty home for days on end, leaving you to choke on the air heavy with long-spent incense and bitter memories. Days pass, and still they demand, pressuring you to invoke powers that should never be meddled with.

And when your hands falter, when the spells fail, they turn cruel. They tell you that if Beomgyu should come for you, they would not stop him.

But their threats fall flat. If they had possessed the strength to stop him, they would never have turned to you. And if your mother had failed, how could they have ever thought you would succeed? This was all an exercise in futility, and they know it. Only they cannot bear to face that truth. They would wear you thin, grind your bones to dust, bleed you dry, tear your soul from your body and lay it bare before the void—before they would ever face the reality of their own doom.

But before they can sacrifice what little you have to offer, Kai steps in.

He cannot silence their demands, nor can he shield you from the endless expectations they heap upon your shoulders—but he can, at the very least, keep them from raising a hand against you.

Not that any of them would admit to considering such a thing—yet you see it clearly in their eyes, the desperation, the growing contempt. If it came down to it, they would throw you to the flames if it meant they could delay their own reckoning, even if for a day.

And so, in the wake of your failure and inadequacy, Kai’s grandmother, a former temple priestess herself, has to step in—the magic in her bones faded but not gone.

She arrives at your mother’s house with two men in tow, straining to carry a heavy stone slab between them—its surface worn but unbroken. She bids them to place it at the centre of the room before she dismisses them, leaving only the two of you inside. You and the dark stone.

She tells you it was once part of a great altar, built by your forebears in time before memory, when your ancestors called down unknowable powers before the tribes bowed to gods with temples. This fragment is the only piece that remains. And for that, it holds power—ancient and terrible, capable of channeling the kind of dark magic Kai’s family so desperately needs.

She begins by laying down the materials atop the cold stone—arranging them carefully in the shape of a cross, each point aligned with one of the five cardinal directions: north, south, east, west… and the center—the axis, the bridge to the underworld.

To the north, bat wings—thin and crumbling at the edges—symbols of the veil, laid down to draw the unseen from its hiding places, to give shape to powers were never meant to walk in flesh.

To the west, mugwort— dry and heavy with scent—laid at the feet of the dying to open the path between worlds, to beckon what lingers between life and death.

To the south, wormwood—gnarled and acrid—burned to rouse what sleeps beneath the earth, to tempt spirits into the realm of the living.

To the east, a hare’s thigh bone—scrubbed clean, wrapped in ash-dyed twine– a vessel of passage, used in rites that tread the seam between realms, where breath falters and blood is the price of entry.

At the center, cedar—weathered, etched with faded sigils—It anchors what is summoned, lest it drift and devour. Once it touches the stone, the rite takes hold.

She murmurs to herself as she places each item, speaking in a tongue you barely recognize—an old dialect of the priestesses, near-extinct, clinging to life only through the lips of women like her, remnants of a world that has all but turned to dust.

Your pulse falters, skipping once—twice—before racing on. Though she has not said it, your heart knows it to be true. Each item, taken on its own, could belong to any number of rites. Harmless, even sacred in the right context. But not like this. Not laid out in this formation. Not chosen in this combination.

This is not a rite of protection. It is a summoning. And whatever it calls forth will demand a price.

Then, without saying a word, she leaves you, disappearing into the shadows outside your home, and when she returns, you see a babe sleeping quietly in her arms. Swaddled. Unaware.

Your breath catches and your stomach turns.

“Grandmother,” Your voice barely leaves your lips, “what are you doing with that baby?”

She places the child at the centre of the altar, directly atop the cedar. Her eyes find yours with an unsettling calm.

“You did not think blood magic came without blood, did you?” She asks. “The old rites demand life in exchange for power—untainted, pure life.”

The air grows colder, thicker, as if the house itself is holding its breath. You stagger back, one hand clutched to your stomach. “No—I will not do this.”

“You must,” She tells you, her voice low and final as she begins to light the materials one by one, the flames catching like a stuttered breath. “It is the only way.”

Your eyes remain fixed on the child, so small, so still. The flickering shadows from the burning herbs dancing across his skin like claws waiting to dig into flesh.

“Whose child is that?” You whisper, heart hammering in your chest. She meets your gaze without flinching.

“The debt has already been forgiven by his family,” She replies, as if that excuses the butchery. “They gave him to me willingly. They understand what must be done. He will save us all.”

“Save us?” You spit out, disgusted. “You think salvation could ever come from shedding the blood of the innocent?”

She says nothing, only stares—her eyes empty, carrying the same vacant look you saw in Beomgyu’s. They are no different than him. None of you are.

“You’ve lost your mind,” You hiss, stepping back, bile rising in your throat. “This is madness and I will not be part of it.”

The flames crackle louder, as if stirred by your defiance.

“It’s either this child or everyone else.” She tells you, her voice sharp like the crack of dry bone. “If you will not help us defeat him, you would doom us all. If you do not stand with us, then you stand with him.”

“I don't.” You insist fiercely. “I won’t be made his champion just because I refuse to slaughter an innocent.”

But she only narrows her eyes, her voice rising with condemnation. Then if the ritual fails because of your cowardice, do not dare to weep as your husband is dragged to the fire for you will have no one to blame but yourself when he becomes the next sacrifice to feed the fire you refused to quench.”

“No! There has to be another way.” You cry, refusing to believe that Kai’s salvation could be bought with the life of a child barely given to the world—a soul still cradled in innocence, not yet touched by sin or time.

“There isn't'.,” She tells you cruelly, banishing your hopes away. “Spare the child, and he’ll burn with the rest of his kin before the season turns. His death is mercy. His death is salvation.”

You recoil from her words, your voice breaking. “The gods will not forgive this.”

A cruel smile twists across her lips. “What do you know of the gods, foolish girl? The old gods demand blood. They always have. They have slept long and deep, and now they wake—and they hunger.”

“I won’t be a part of this.” If you stand on nothing, then you must at least stand on this.

“Then you are every bit the failure your mother feared you would be.”

Her words almost knock you off your feet yet she does not bother to waste another glance on you. Without another word, she turns away and begins to chant. At first, her voice is thin, worn by age, but as the words spill forth, it begins to shift. It deepens. Fractures. Each syllable splits into layered echoes, as though more than one voice now speaks through her. The sound slithers across the stone, coils around your spine, and settles behind your ribs.

The air shifts, darkening, as if it’s remembering a time before light. The walls of your home seem to breathe, expanding and contracting with each syllable of her chant. And somewhere just beyond your sight, you feel it—the veil thinning, the world bending. And something drawing near.

The moonlight recedes completely, swallowed into shadow, until only the dim glow of the burning herbs remains, their smoke rising in faint spirals. The scent of mugwort is sickly sweet in the back of your throat, mixing with the acrid tang of wormwood to churn your stomach. The symbols carved into the slab—ones you hadn’t noticed before—began to glow as if sensing the offering.

A strange power stirs within you, rising without warning. It shivers along your skin, flaring at your fingertips, lighting your nerves with wildfire. It fills you to the brim, heady and intoxicating, making you feel more alive than you have in moons—whole, strong, near invincible.

You glance at the old woman, and her face—withered and worn mere moments ago—now seems to shine with youth, her features blossoming by a vitality not her own. The dark force that is sparking within you has rooted itself fully in her, feeding her strength beyond what her flesh should hold. A faint smile graces her lips as she looks at you, knowing, triumphant.

And for one breath, you waver. For a moment the power calls to you—sweet and seductive. With this power, you can make the world right again. With this power, you can save Kai, you can save the tribe, you can restore everything to order. Perhaps one life is a small price for peace. Perhaps some sacrifices are necessary for the greater good.

But then, the child stirs.

And your eyes fall on him—-small, fragile, alive. His chest rises with each shallow breath, lashes trembling against his cheeks, tiny fingers curling as though instinctively reaching for comfort he will never again receive. And in a flash, his future unfurls before you like a vision—the laughter of boyhood, the wild courage of youth, the heat of love, the wisdom that only time can bestow. All of it devoured by a power that prowls around him like a beast, eager to tear into his soft flesh.

And then—suddenly—all that power is gone. It departs your body in a violent rush, leaving you gutted and raw. You stagger back, breath caught in your throat, bile rising. The strength that once made you feel godlike now curdles from the guilt and shame brewing in your gut.

You turn around, fleeing from the horror of it all. Your feet slamming against the ground as you run—out of what was once your home and into the cold night. You don’t stop to think. You can’t. All you know is that you have to get away.

From the altar.

From her.

From the child.

From what you’ve all become.

You flee the settlement in a haze, your feet carrying you into the wilderness before thought could catch up to you. You don’t pause to consider that if Beomgyu finds you alone, in the dark, he might not spare you a second time. Perhaps, somewhere beneath the panic, a part of you hopes he wouldn’t.

The forest swallows you whole. Branches clawing at your skin. Rocks biting into the soles of your feet. You wander deeper, breathless, until the walls of your world are replaced by thorns and shadows.

The air out here is biting—cold enough to make your teeth chatter, and still you welcome it. The frigid night air is a balm against the fever that has clung to you ever since the night-bloomer scorched its way through your blood. That cursed flower was the beginning. It opened something inside you, and whatever stepped through never left.

From the edge of this high ridge, you watch the settlement below. Its fire flickers and dances—no doubt being fed new sacrifices even now. It has become a nightly ritual. You have stopped asking who, or why, or what it accomplished. It no longer mattered. One day, it would be your turn. Perhaps soon.

You stay there for hours, curled against the earth like a wounded animal, until the morning sun breaks the night open with its blinding light, its heat beating ruthlessly against your back, pulling you from your icy resting place. Only then do you begin the long walk home. Step by step, as though the daylight could erase what you had witnessed from your mind.

As you approach Kai’s home—the one you had once tried to think of as your own—dread blooms anew in your chest.

Kai is waiting inside for you. He sits stiffly near the hearth, though no fire has been lit. His eyes, hollow and rimmed in red, snap to you the moment you enter. He hasn’t slept. You can tell.

“Where were you?” His voice is rough, dry. You open your mouth to answer, but the words catch. “I—I was just…”

He turns fully to you, something brittle in his expression, like a man one breath away from breaking. “Were you with my grandmother?”

Your heart seizes up, scared to beat lest it betray you. He knows. He knows what you've seen. What you’d almost done. He knows what you are now. A monster.

“Did my grandmother slaughter a child for blood magic?”

You open your mouth, but no words come. What is there to say? There is no explanation, no defense that wouldn’t rot on your tongue.

But he does not wait for your answer. He seems to barely even see you.

“She’s gone,” Kai tells you, his voice hollow. “They burned her.”

You stare at him, quiet, still, guilty.

“She was caught trying to dispose of the body,” He continues, looking somewhere past you. “The villagers found the remains… and the altar. They saw what she had done.”

He swallows hard, his own words hard for him to stomach. “They dragged her to the fire—And they threw her in.” His breath hitches, faltering for a moment. “My father tried to stop them. He tried to save her.”

Kai’s hands tremble, fingers curling into fists in a futile attempt to steady himself. His eyes shine with unshed tears. “He stood before them all and called Beomgyu the devil. Said he’d cut him down—and every last one of them who stood with him. Even if it meant slaughtering the entire tribe.”

Kai looks down, and for a moment, you fear he might shatter into a thousand pieces that you’d spend the rest of your short life trying to piece back together. “Beomgyu didn’t even need to say a word. His own people turned on him. Just like that. They dragged him to the flames and threw him in after her.”

He lifts a trembling hand to his face, his fingers press against his skin like a dam against a flood, but it’s no use. The tears spill anyway, silent and searing. “I only survived because my men held me back. They stopped me from running into the fire after them.”

Silence settles between you for a few long moments—pressing in from all sides, crushing. Then, finally, Kai lifts his gaze to you, and for the first time, you see him utterly broken.

“I’m next. I know I am.” He swallows hard, voice thinning to a whisper. “You were right. I can’t protect you. I can’t protect anyone.”

____________________________

Kai watches, helpless, as more and more of his family fall like winter leaves—plucked from the tree one by one, their faces lost to the fire.

He moves through life like the dead, a ghost barely bound to flesh, walking only because he does not know he has been claimed. Each morning he wakes is not a mercy, but a sentence delayed. Each breath drawn is a borrowed one.

And still, you try to protect him.

You surround him with wards, cleanse the air around him with sacred herbs, speak the old words over his sleeping figure. You draw on all the knowledge you had learned from your mother and your masters—every charm, every rite, every shred of knowledge that has been passed down through the ages.

And still, it is not enough. You can see the darkness seeping in through your protective walls, like water through cracked stone. So you shift course, forced to adopt a new approach if you wanted any hope of making it out alive.

You form an alliance with Beomgyu, offering him the illusion of compliance. You adopt the language of compromise, of reason—anything to buy time. You push Kai to yield, not just out of fear, but out of strategy. Because if Beomgyu truly means to rule, he cannot do so alone.

Let him burn the priests, let him silence the elders—but he cannot kill everyone. If he erases every trace of the ruling line and all religious authority, there will be no one left to legitimize him. The people may fear him now, but once the blood stops flowing, they will begin to question. And power built on fire alone will, in time, burn itself to ash.

You believe this. You hold onto it. Because the alternative is too monstrous to bear.

So you and Kai play your parts in this madness. You nod in silence to Beomgyu’s demands. You keep your gaze lowered when they drag another innocent soul to the pyre. You swallow down your shame, choke on your disgust, and wear your submission like armor.

And it works. For a time, the sickness slows. The village breathes. The sacrifices seem to satisfy something—if not Beomgyu, then whatever he serves.

But even that isn’t enough to save him.

You notice it first, of course. A faint shadow, just beneath Kai’s skin. A sheen of black along his collarbone, no bigger than a bruise. He doesn’t see it, but you do. You press your fingers to it, try to rub it away like dirt, but it stays.

And if Kai can’t see the rot slowly overtaking his body, he can still see your reaction to it—your alarm, your despair, and eventually he has to ask. “What is it?” He says softly, his voice quiet, resigned, as if he already knows the truth you cannot bear to speak.

Instead, you burn more herbs until your eyes sting from the smoke, steep roots and resins until your hands are raw, chant until your voice grows hoarse. You bathe him in salves, wrap him in spells and prayers—but still, it spreads.

The darkness that clung to your mother has found him now. It festers beneath his skin like rot, blooming slowly. The same black veins. The same sleepless nights. The same flickers of pain he tries to hide behind weary eyes and quiet smiles.

And with every passing day, you watch as you fail the one person you have fought so desperately to save. You wonder if this is why Beomgyu has spared you. So you would live long enough to witness your lover’s slow and torturous demise. So you would be forced to bear the agony of helplessness, to watch as love turns to ash in your arms. So he can see how much more you can take before your heart splits open under the weight of your grief.

_____________________

The fire in the hearth has long since died out, but you don’t have the strength to reignite it. The shadows stretch long across the room, and Kai lies beneath them—asleep, his breath shallow, his skin dark with the unmistakable touch of the curse.

You sit with him, legs folded, his head resting on them. You haven’t left his side since the coughing began—since the first flecks of blood stained his lovely lips.

His eyes flutter open, slow and unfocused, but when they meet yours, he offers a weak smile. “You’re still here.”

Your throat tightens. “Where else would I be?”

He shifts, just barely, wincing from the effort. “I keep dreaming… that you left me. That you–” He frowns, not continuing, and you did not wish him to.

You brush your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, as though trying to smooth the sickness away. “I wouldn’t leave you. Not now. Not ever.”

Kai’s hand finds yours—shaky, and weak—and he brings your knuckles to his lips, resting them there. There’s no heat in his breath anymore, just the ghost of warmth. The silence between you is thick, filled with everything you feel and everything you don’t have time to say. Outside, the wind howls like it mourns for you.

Kai’s hand moves slowly, fingertips brushing your cheek. “Do you remember the first time I saw you in the temple gardens?”

You smile weakly, the memory fond and precious in your mind. “You asked me if I was a spirit.”

“You looked like one,” He murmurs, awed. “Too bright to be real.”

You let out a soft laugh—real but slightly bitter. “I think you’re the only one who’s ever looked at me like that.”

It’s true. No one has ever looked at you so kindly. Not your parents. Not Beomgyu. Not anyone.

“You’re the only one I ever looked at like that,” He tells you, his weak voice sounding firmer than it has been for a long time. “If my end is near… I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”

You press an aching kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering there, as if the love you press into his skin can sink deep enough to drive out the curse.

“It’s not the end,” You lie gently. “You’re still here. And I’m not letting go yet.”

He looks up at you, and there’s something in his eyes that breaks you—resignation, sadness, the desperate look of a man who knows he’s fading and wants to feel alive just one more time.

You shift, laying his head down on soft fabric so you can climb over him, breathing him in. His hands reach for your waist, tentative, as if asking permission. You don’t pull away. You wouldn't dream of it. Instead, you lean into him, your foreheads touching, the tip of your nose brushing his.

His fingers graze the back of your neck, sliding into your hair, and you press your mouth to his slowly. The kiss is soft. His lips part against yours, and you drink in the faint warmth of him while it lasts.

You pull back just enough to look at him again, eyes shining with love. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing the side of your face.

“If I die, I want to die like this. Holding you. Not in—” He gulps, and you shush him, quickly pressing another kiss to his lips.

Then his cheek, then lower—to the hollow of his throat where you feel his thready pulse, to his chest, where his heart beats faintly beneath your lips. You take your time with him. Every brush of your fingers, every kiss, is slow, deliberate—like you’re trying to remember him—not just his body, but everything about him, the way his muscles tense beneath your touch, the way he sighs your name like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

You make your way down his stomach, lingering where the faint little hairs rise from under his breeches, listening for the way his breath hitches at your proximity.

Then you pull them down, exposing his hard member to you. You gather it in your hands, placing a few gentle kisses along the length before taking it in your mouth. You shudder at the soft moan he lets out. He lies still and pliant, chest rising and falling in rhythm with your movements. His hand finds the back of your head, not pushing, just holding—like he needs you to anchor him.

“You feel so good.” He chokes out, breath quickening as the heat of your mouth gets to his head. “Gods, I love you so much.”

You slow down again, needing to savor the way his hips twitch beneath your touch, the tremble in his legs. You can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding back, not wanting to overwhelm you with his urgency. It makes your chest ache. Even now, with his body failing, he’s still thinking of you.

“I know, darling. I love you too. So much.” You whisper, taking your mouth off him to pump his length in your hand instead, your pace fast and easy over the wet member. “Want you to give in to me. Forget everything and only focus on my touch, the tightness of my grip, the softness of my lips…”

You talk him through it, punctuating your words with open-mouthed kisses to his cock, until his head falls back and a quiet, broken sound escapes his lips.

“I'm right there. I can't–I need you!” His body arches, shuddering as you draw every last drop of pleasure from him, and then he collapses back against the ground, boneless, eyes fluttering shut.

You move back up his body slowly, pressing soft kisses to his stomach, then to his chest, then to the curve of his jaw. When you finally reach his lips, he pulls you in, arms around your waist, holding you close like he never wants to let go.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Your heart drops in guilt, and you hush him with a kiss. “You deserve more than I have given you. More than I can ever give you.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve given me everything.”

No, you’ve taken everything from him, and soon you’ll take his life too.

Still, you stay close to him, selfishly curled along the length of his body, his skin damp with sweat, his breath still shallow but slower now. You rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat—faint, yes, but steady. Strong enough to ease your worries, if only for tonight.

His fingers thread loosely into your hair, his other hand cradling the back of your neck, as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. Neither of you speak for a while. The silence full of things too heartbreaking to put into words: thank you, I love you, I’m scared.

You kiss the skin over his heart, once, then again, and he hums softly, tired but content.

“You're warm,” He murmurs, and you frown. Does he feel the burn of the curse too?

You shift to look at him, your leg draping over his hips, hands resting gently against his ribcage. You can feel the sickness thrumming under your fingertips. You know it all too well now—the slow, merciless crawl of it. The way it spreads inward, inch by inch, carving through flesh and spirit alike as it creeps toward the heart, and yet he holds you like he’s still whole.

“I wish I could take it from you,” You whisper, fingers pressing down firmly as if you could draw it out through touch alone. “I’d carry it all, if I could. Every ache, every breath. I’d let it tear through me instead—if it meant saving you.”

He shakes his head resolutely. “I would never let you. I would die a thousand deaths before I let it hurt you.”

There is no use arguing with him. For all your declarations, neither of you can save each other. So you lay your head back down on his shoulder and fall into a rhythm with his breathing, your hand moving slowly up and down his side in a soothing motion.

“Tell me something good,” He asks you quietly.

“Like what?”

“Anything. A lie, even. I don’t care.” He says, and his desperation breaks you.

You think for a moment, then smile to yourself, picking the most beautiful lie. “You’re going to get better. We’re going to beat this, beat him, and restore everything to what it was. Then we’ll rebuild—cleanse the tribe, shape it into something kinder, somewhere safe. A place worthy of the children we’ll raise together. And one day, there’ll be stories about us. Legends. Our descendents will speak about how we saved the world from darkness.”

Kai chuckles, low and raspy. “That’s a good lie.”

“I’ll keep telling it until it’s true.” You lean up and kiss the corner of his mouth. He turns his head and kisses you back, more desperate and needy this time—the kind of kiss you give when you don’t know how many more you have left.

He touches you more boldly, his hands running along your sides, to your hips, pulling your dress up and guiding you over his cock until you’re sinking down on it, making you both cry out in relief as you become one.

If you could, you would never let this moment end. You would stay here, forever bound to your beloved.

Your hands slide across his chest, your mouth trailing close behind it, kissing every inch of skin as if each touch could buy you another day. He murmurs your name like a prayer, over and over.

When your bodies meet, it’s not rushed despite your desperation. It’s not even just about pleasure. It’s about closeness. Skin to skin, breath to breath. You move together in the dark, your hands tangled in his hair, his fingers grasping your waist, your shoulders, your arms—anything to keep you near. You feel him tremble beneath you, from the strain of his pleasure, from the emotions he can no longer hold in.

You kiss his tears away. You give him your everything—every thrust of your hips, every desperate moan, every gasp as you ride him until neither of you can tell where he ends and you begin.

“I’m so sorry.” You tell him, fighting to hold back your own tears as you watch him ache beneath you, his cock hot and twitching inside your fluttering pussy. “I’m so sorry.”

He can’t hear your apologies, and perhaps that’s a small mercy. Better he never knows what you’ve done. The curse might claim his body, but to live his final days with the knowledge that he has been doomed by the very person he loves—that is a fate more cruel than death.

You can tell that he’s close, and you let one of your hands drop between you to brush against your pussy, pushing yourself over the edge so your contracting walls can milk his cock dry.

“Oh, gods!” He groans, his eyes fighting to stay on you as his second release wracks through his weak body. “I love you. Thank you.”

You cannot bear to receive his gratitude, not when you know that the slow ruin overtaking his body all began with you. So you kiss him until he can no longer speak, until the tension fades from his limbs and his body yields to exhaustion. Only then do you stop.

You collapse beside him, your bodies pressed together, limbs entwined like roots grown from the same tree. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, your hand over his heart once more.

It still beats. Not strong. Not for long. Not if you do nothing.

You cannot let him die. You need to save him. You’ve been selfish enough, watching him suffer for far too long while you cling to your fear, your pride, your hope that there might be another way. But there isn’t.

And you know what you must do.

_________________

You slip out in the dead of night, silent as the grave, your heart pounding so loudly it feels like it can be heard through the stillness. The village sleeps around you, tucked into an uneasy slumber. You should be asleep too—wrapped in your lover’s arms, but instead your feet carry you forward—to the one place you swore you’d never go.

Beomgyu’s home looms ahead, shrouded in shadow, the darkness pooling thickly around it, making it seem larger, more oppressive than it is. The door hangs slightly ajar, as though left open for you. And perhaps that should have been your first warning.

You step inside, breath lodged in your throat, every footfall echoing loudly in the unnatural stillness. You half-expect to find him asleep, or hunched over in some twisted ritual. But instead, he’s standing in the center of the room, perfectly still, eyes fixed on the door, on you, as if he knew you were coming. That should have been your second warning.

The hairs on the back of your neck lift. Every instinct screams at you to turn and run and not look back until you’re far away from here. But it’s already too late. You’ve stepped into his grasp, and you know he will not let go so easily.

“What are you doing here, flower?” He asks, his voice quiet—almost gentle. There’s no surprise in it. No confusion. Just a calm certainty. As if this moment had already taken place in his mind a thousand times before.

You open your mouth to speak, but your words fail you. You’re struck by the softness of him—not the snarling cruelty you've come to expect, not the hollow-eyed hatred he’d worn all these weeks since you’d first rejected him.

Gods—has it only been mere weeks? It feels like the terror and grief you’ve lived through can fill up a hundred lifetimes.

“Is it proper,” Beomgyu murmurs, his tone and expression almost… fond. As if you were lovers meeting in secret. “for a married woman to be alone in another man’s house at such an ungodly hour?”

His tone is light, but beneath it lies something darker—a knowing, a warning, a welcome. And though you haven’t yet said a word, he already knows why you’ve come. You see it in the way he steps closer, in the slight, assured curl of his smile. He’s been waiting for this.

“There is no such thing as an ungodly hour. The gods watch over us always.” Your voice is steadier than you expected, the defiance slipping out before you can stop it—small, trembling, but there, surprising even you.

Beomgyu smiles wider, and you can’t help but feel mocked. In this house of darkness, you worry that the gods can’t see you.

“Indeed they do,” He takes another slow step toward you, hands clasped behind his back as if he does not need to lift a finger to bring you to your knees. “Does he know you’re here?”

You shake your head, already struggling to breathe. “No.” Your voice is quieter now, more weak. “He can’t know. He can’t know any of it—so please, just… stop.”

Your mouth fills with saliva as bile rises to the back of your throat. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t understand what you want from me. But please… no more.”

You hate how broken you sound. You hate the way the shadows press closer around you as if they can sense your weakness, how he watches you as if he’s ready to devour you.

“So you’ve come here all alone… behind your husband’s back… to another man’s home?” He advances on you slowly, like a predator savoring the moment before the strike. “That’s not very wise.” Another step. “What if I do something to you?” His head tilts, eyes gleaming with something far too close to hunger. “What if I decide to take what I have always wanted?”

His words hang in the air like incense smoke, thick and cloying. He watches you the way a cat watches a mouse it had battered within an inch of its life—curious to see what you will do, knowing you can’t run.

Your breath is shallow, but your pulse is a thunderous roar in your ears. You flinch when he finally closes the distance between you and reaches out. You brace for the worst, but his fingers merely brush through your hair to tuck a loose strand behind your ear. The gesture may seem sweet, but it only serves to remove what little separates you from the depthless darkness of his eyes, and that is exactly his purpose.

He hates you and he wants you. This isn’t about affection—it’s about conquest. About proving that he can take what was once denied him. That he can make you his, if only to undo you. You feel it in his gaze, in the sharp softness of his touch. This is the revenge he’s always hungered for.

Your voice comes out quieter than you had hoped, but it remains resolute. “Do what you will… just stop this.”

“Stop what?” The corner of his mouth twitches. That cruel little glint of satisfaction, duper’s delight, flickering in his eyes like he can barely contain his pleasure at seeing his plans unravel so perfectly. “I am only purging this tribe of those infected with the curse,” He says, mockingly pious.

You stare at him, heart thundering, disgust bitter on your tongue. “Then go jump into that fucking fire. That will cure us all.”

He laughs, the sound battering against your weak heart and making it want to shrivel up and die–his apparent good mood more unnerving than his anger. You feel like prey already halfway into the lion’s mouth.

“Why, surely you’re not implying that I am behind the curse?” The mockery drips like poison honey from his tongue. He’s daring you to say it, daring you to try to strip away the mask he wears for the others and face the monster you’ve unknowingly nurtured.

“You are!” You cry, your voice thrumming with a courage you do not truly possess. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, or how you can find any of it amusing, but it’s not. You’re killing people—innocent people!”

Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, your fury and disgust scattering around him like ash in the wind. He merely tilts his head, a slow, mocking gesture, and drawls, “Who is innocent? Your mother? The woman who tried to barter your life for her own?”

That silences you—but he isn’t finished.

“Or perhaps your husband’s father—our brave leader—who threatened you, used you, and would've cast you at my feet just as your mother did, if it meant I’d spare him.”

You don’t respond, the truth of his words piercing your skin like blades.

“No one in this tribe is innocent,” Beomgyu continues, his voice low, almost mournful. “They care for nothing but their own safety. Their own comfort. They would let the world burn just to keep themselves warm.”

His fingers lift—gentle, too gentle—and brush against your cheek. The touch is soft, but it feels like it brands you. “They condemn that which they don’t understand and cast it out without a second thought. Without mercy.”

You swallow, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Is that what all of this is for? To punish them? To take revenge for what they did to you?”

His gaze darkens, like a storm passing over still water. You've struck something raw. “Do I not deserve revenge?”

“For what?” You ask, incredulous. “Because they looked at you in distaste?”

“You think that’s all that was done to me?” His false smile finally slips from his face, revealing the raw edge beneath. “I was feared by my own mother, hated by my own father, then blamed for their deaths. I was judged before I even had the chance to defend myself. I was stripped of everything, my family name, my birthright, my future, and you all watched it happen. No one came for me. No one defended me. My bloodline was doomed to rot while others like yours were revered. I was condemned to nothing—and still you call it distaste?”

You feel the world bend around you—as if even the night itself recoils in fear of his wrath.

“If you think all that was nothing but distaste,” He murmurs, his voice stripped of all pretense, “then why are you here, begging for it to stop when it’s finally happening to you?”

You blanch, the breath catching in your lungs like smoke.

Suddenly, everything begins to make sense. His aim was not just to dismantle and destroy those in power so he could rise to take their place. No—he wanted you to suffer as he had suffered. To feel the whispers at your back. To endure the suspicion in your family’s eyes. To suffer the isolation that gnaws at the edges of your sanity. To see your name soiled, your future crumbling in the palms of your hand.

He wanted to ruin you, just as you watched him get ruined. “Please,” You whisper, voice quivering with the tears of despair and utter hopelessness you’re struggling to hold back. “Whatever justice you believe this to be, you’ve delivered it. Let it end now—please.”

“But I am not doing anything, my flower,” Beomgyu says, his voice once again cloaked in silken innocence. “This is the gods’ wrath, sent down to punish the sinners.”

You recoil as though scorched, fury and dread climbing your throat like smoke from a pyre.

“Liar!” You hiss at him. “It’s you. This is all your doing.”

He feigns confusion, his smile soft and patronizing. “How can that be? I have no power, remember? I am nothing, no one. Not compared to you.” His gaze sharpens, though his tone remains deceptively light. “Wasn’t it your family who was entrusted with the sacred arts? The divine craft passed down through generations? Wasn’t it you who once told me of the dark magic that is kept hidden behind the walls of the temple? The spells marked in blood beneath the altar?”

The implication in his words is clear. You cannot give him up. If he burns, you burn with him.

Your knees nearly buckle under the weight of it all—his threat, his power, the noose he’s been quietly tightening around your neck seemingly since the moment you met him.

“Please,” You plead, voice frayed. “Spare them. Spare him.”

He regards you in a silence that stretches between you like a taut thread ready to snap. Then, calmly—almost kindly—he says, “Only the innocent will be spared.”

Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. “But… you said there are no innocents.”

His answering smile is slow, terrible, and you finally start to cry, the tears falling faster than you can wipe them away. “He is innocent.” You insist, wailing.

“Is he?” His voice is not raised, but sharpened—like a blade sliding between ribs. “His family is the reason mine is dead.”

“Lies!” You shout, desperate to drown him out, to push back against the tide of his hate. “He is good—he’s good.”

But your words barely leave your mouth before his hand strikes like a snake, fisting in your hair and yanking your head back sharply. You gasp, pain blooming across your scalp, your neck straining as he forces you to look up at him—his eyes dark and gleaming with fury and hurt, long-fed and allowed to fester.

“Tell me again. Tell me how good he is.” His grip tightens, uncaring that he’s hurting you as he watches your tears stream down your cheeks.

“Tell me why you chose him over me.” For the first time, his voice rises, a crack forming in his composure, letting you glimpse his hurt. “Was it because he is respected? Because his family’s name sits high on the tongues of fools while mine is dragged through filth? Because the people love him—trust him—as a matter of birthright—while they hate and fear me for the lies his family told? For the poison your elders whispered into my father’s ear? For the lies they let fester until they bled into every home in this cursed tribe?”

You try to shake your head, to deny it, but his grip holds you fast.

“You’re lying,” You manage, the words brittle, barely holding shape. “Why would they do that? Why would they want to hurt you?” You ask as if you’ve never heard the rumors. As if you don’t remember the whispers that once buzzed like flies around a fresh grave, speaking of his father’s untimely death and how fortuitous it was for Kai’s father to survive his only real rival for leadership.

Beomgyu’s laugh is empty, humorless. “Ask your precious husband. I’m sure he won’t lie to you—not now that you’re one of them.” The accusation in his voice burns like his fire. “You’re both cut from the same cloth. Liars and hypocrites. You wear righteousness like a veil, pretend to be pure, pretend to be above me—” He sneers down at you, his shadow devouring your light.

“I’ll strip away that veil—thread by thread. And when there’s nothing left to hide behind, not your name, not your blood, not your husband’s family, I’ll show everyone what you really are. What you’ve always been—rotten underneath.”

You stare at him, heart fluttering in your chest like an injured bird. “You’re insane,” You whisper faintly to whatever monstrous creature is wearing Beomgyu’s face.

And yet, the cruelest truth is the one you cannot deny—he is not wrong. You’re no better than him. You have brought death to your parents, ruin to your husband’s bloodline, and doom to the tribe. Every choice you have made has carried you further from the grace of the gods, and you fear that their gates have been long closed to you.

He leans closer, until there is no air between you and him. Until the warmth of his breath ghosts over your skin, and you can smell the faint trace of herbs and smoke clinging to him like a second skin. “Maybe I am after all,” He murmurs, voice low and intimate, as if sharing a secret only with you.

“What do you hope to gain from this?” You sob, wondering with growing terror if there remains any plea, any offering, that might yet stay this madman’s hand. “Just to kill us all for crimes you’ve imagined we committed?”

“Oh, flower,” He murmurs, almost fond. “You’re even more beautiful when you cry but I must warn you that those precious tears you shed only burn me with more hatred.”

He cups your cheek in his hand, and though he stands suffocatingly close, you can’t pull away, not with his fingers tangled in your hair like claws hooked into flesh. “It makes me want to kiss you until I've taken all your breath away, to fuck you until you have no tears left to shed and your throat bleeds from screaming my name.”

There it is—he no longer makes any effort to conceal his ravenous hunger. You came knowing this moment could come, hoped for it… but to say you were prepared for the violence of his desire would be a lie. Still, if surrender is the price for a little more time, you will pay it. If he harbors even a sliver of mercy in that withered heart, you’ll trade whatever pieces of yourself he demands so he will let you breathe a little longer. Not for you, but for it…

“Please…” You tremble, the words tearing your throat like thorns. “Spare my child. It is innocent.”

He stills, his haughty expression faltering. “You’re… with child?”

For the first time, there is no mockery in his voice. No smile on his face. No anger in his eyes. Just curiosity. And a flicker of something you’re scared to name.

You nod, tears blurring the shape of him, but never softening it. The despair wells up like a maelstrom in you as your thoughts drift to the life inside you. So small, so fragile. A child who may never see the light of day because of the monster that stands before you.

His shadow spills over you—vast, engulfing—larger than any mere mortal’s. His hand moves. Down. Until it lays gently over your abdomen.

You still, every muscle in your body tightening. You want to recoil, to strike him, to run. But you can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do if you try.

His touch is warm, gentle even, but it makes your skin crawl just the same. He is silent, contemplative, as though he could feel your child's lifeblood pulsing beneath his fingers. Then comes the faintest curve to his lips—a small, inexplicable smile that unnerves you. You can’t make sense of it and that terrifies you more than all the threats he’s made. Is he marveling at the life within you… or planning how best to use it? Will your child be spared, or sacrificed?

Your mind spirals. Behind your eyes, that horrible image resurfaces—the one you’ve tried so hard to banish: the infant Kai’s grandmother laid on the altar, soft and helpless, its innocence consumed to feed something foul and ancient.

Will he slaughter your child the same way—spill its blood to sustain whatever darkness writhes beneath his skin?

You wish you’d never told him. You wish your child would slip into the silence of your womb, its life fading before it could be used for something unholy. Before he could defile it, as he has defiled everything he’s ever touched. Before he could stain its soul so utterly that even the gods would turn their faces in disgust and refuse to welcome it home.

“Please,” You sob, barely able to speak through the wave of panic drowning your lungs. “Please don't hurt my child.”

He brushes away your tears with the pad of his thumb, his touch so gentle it only deepens your horror, convincing you that he’s preparing you for the slaughter. “Hush, flower,” He whispers. And then, slowly, he leans in—

His lips find your cheek first, kissing the trail your tears have burned down your face. He follows them as they run, until they pass over the corner of your mouth. There, he catches your lips in a kiss. Uninvited. Unwanted. Unstoppable.

You do not dare fight him. Instead, you kiss him back, desperate, needing to appease him. You let him draw you closer, pliantly responding to his terrifying hunger. You suppress your flinch when his hands start to roam, caressing and groping places only a husband should claim.

His pleased sighs are hot against your mouth, and you force yourself to swallow them down—burying your revulsion, your horror, your shame. You feel the hardness of him pressed against your hip, and everything inside you screams at you to stop this.

But you can’t. Because if this is the cost to keep your child alive… If this is what it takes to keep him from burning the only person you have left… then you will endure. Even if it breaks you. Even if the gods forsake you. Even if you never forgive yourself.

Your breath hitches as his hands roam lower, kneading the flesh of your hips, fingers digging in as though trying to mold you to him. You feel his hips grind faster against you—firm, insistent. You hear the roughness in his breath as he leans in closer, burying his face in your neck, breathing you in. And still you don’t pull away.

“So soft,” He murmurs, voice rough with need. “You don’t even realize what you do to me.”

You’re filled with revulsion—at him, at yourself. It sickens you to hear him all but admit to having viewed you so lewdly, to having lusted after you. But what makes your stomach turn even more violently is the way your body still reacts to his touch, despite everything—despite the monster he’s become, the horrors he’s unleashed, the blood he’s spilled. Despite the fact that you belong to another man, one you love. You hate it. You hate yourself for it.

And you begin to wonder if this too, is just another step in his cruel design? Not just to take you, not just to break you down and claim the pieces for himself—but to make you complicit? To make you question your purity, your loyalty, your sanity?

His lips press along your jaw, down the side of your throat, trailing heat and dread in equal measure. You close your eyes and try not to feel any of it. Try to think only of the child inside you. Of Kai’s face. Of anything but this.

You pull back, breathless, your lips damp with the salt of your own tears and the taste of him still clinging to your mouth. “Please, if I let you have me… will you spare them?”

He cocks his head to the side—eyes wild, feral. He lets the silence stretch until your heart is pounding against your ribs as if it wants out. You’re the first to break. Of course, you are. You cannot bear it, and so carefully, slowly you push one hand between your bodies to find his hard length and wrap your fingers around it in a tentative stroke. His jaw parts on a groan—a low sound that rumbles from deep in his chest. His lashes flutter shut, and for a few breathless moments, his body is open to you.

You study him—the quiver of his lips, the tension in his brow, the ache he hid for so long.

You watch his lashes, long and thick, fan out softly against his cheeks. His nose rising in an elegant silhouette from his handsome face. And his lips—soft, full, and delicate in a way that doesn’t belong in his world of ash and fire. You wonder how someone so lovely could hold so much darkness. With his eyes closed, he looks almost peaceful. Serene. Like an angel caught between two worlds, reminding you so much of the young boy you once held a small flame in your heart for, and your heart breaks. Not for the man in front of you, but for the boy who never stood a chance.

For a few moments, all you see is the boy who once waited for you at the edge of the woods with dirt on his knees and wildflowers in his fists. The boy who laughed too loudly and asked too many questions, excited and eager to have a friend, to get a glimpse at a world that never made room for him.

You wonder if he is still in there, if the fire burning through him hasn’t completely consumed him. You wonder if it’s not too late, if the monster still remembers what it means to love. You wonder if maybe, just maybe, there is a way to pull that boy out from underneath the embers.

But even with his eyes closed, you feel watched. Not by him—but by whatever always clings to him.

You keep stroking him, slow and measured, your other hand braced on his chest to keep some distance between you because despite all your mournful ruminations, this is not an act of tenderness, of love. This is a bid for salvation. He is no longer the little boy who yearned for belonging, who begged for your attention. That boy is long gone, if ever he existed. In his place stands a monster who slaughters those who once shunned him, carving out the place he was robbed of with blood and ash, and forcing you to bargain for the life of your unborn child with your chastity and dignity.

Beomgyu’s head drops back to your neck—gravitating there like it’s in his nature to tear you apart. His lips are hot and open, teeth scraping against your skin with something between hunger and rage. You wince, swallowing down your cries and moans. You can already feel the bruise forming there, how you’ll have to hide it later. If you live long enough to care.

He drags your dress up with possessive hands, fabric sliding over your thighs like a shroud being lifted. You shiver, the cold air meeting your bare skin, but that brief moment of chill does not last long for it is quickly replaced by his burning touch, his cock pressing—hard and hot, against your bare pussy.

You try not to cry out, try not to feel, but every nerve in your body seems to betray you, registering the pressure, the heat, the terrifying intimacy.

“What a pretty, pliant little whore,” He breathes against your ear, voice low and filled with a dark kind of awe. “Look how easily you break for me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, shame burning you alive. You want to vanish, to disappear inside yourself—anything so you won’t have to endure the shame and guilt of your body reacting to his touch.

But you stay still. You let him. Because there’s nothing else left to give. No more bargains to make. Just this. Just your body. And he knows it—He savors it.

You feel it in the way his breath turns ragged, in the low hum that escapes his throat like a growl. His hands tighten on your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh like he’s trying to imprint himself on you, like he wants you to never forget this.

His thumb brushes against your clit, touching you with slow intent, forcing you to feel as he drags his cock against your wet pussy. His satisfaction is palpable in the heat of his body, in the raspy moans that break from his lips like prayers through clenched teeth. Each breath he takes sounds like hunger. Each sigh, like triumph.

“Gods,” He mutters, voice shaking with pleasure. “I can eat you whole.”

“P-please…” You barely have the power left to speak, your shaky voice sounding repulsive to your own ears. Oh, how deep you’ve sunk. “Whatever you want. Just… just spare my baby. Spare Kai. Please.”

Suddenly, he pulls back, and the shift in his demeanor is swift and jarring. His mouth that was open in pleasure snaps shut. His brows that were furrowed in pleasure take on a furious look. And his dark gaze that is no longer tempered by pleasure—locks onto yours.

His hand wraps around your wrist and you swallow down the trepidation at the back of your throat, bracing for him to pull you in for more, to finish what you started. But instead, to your relief—and despair—he doesn’t. He pushes your hand away and steps back, shaking his head.

You blink, uncomprehending, as the distance opens between you. His eyes stay on yours, and for a heartbeat longer, he allows you to see the storm behind them. The rage. The grief. The boy who was buried alive beneath years of humiliation and exile, and who clawed his way back from the grave with nothing but the hatred and pain burning through his veins.

The full revelation of it, wrapped in a single, horrifyingly calm moment, almost knocks you off your feet.

“Can you give me back respect?” He asks, his voice low, his anger barely contained. “The dignity they stripped from me? The place in the tribe that should have been mine by birthright—stolen by your husband’s family?”

Your stomach knots. “No,” You shake your head, denying it until the end. “That’s not what happened. You brought this upon yourself. You killed your parents. You gave yourself to the dark.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe they conspired to ruin my family in order to keep their place atop the tribe?” His eyes blaze, his tone bitter, “And yet so easy for you to believe that a child—a child—could murder his own parents? His unborn siblings?”

You struggle to meet his gaze as if the hatred within it has the power to fell you. “Because you’re evil. Everyone can see it.”

The words hang in the air, quivering like a blade waiting to drop.

His smile returns, and your stomach drops. That’s when you know—you’ve said the wrong thing. You’ve broken whatever fragile thread held back the monster. “Then everyone will see their evil too. And they won’t be given mercy, just as no one showed me mercy.”

“Please,” You try again, voice cracking and hands trembling as you try to reach out for him. try to fix it. “Please, Beomgyu.”

But his eyes remain cruel, pitiless. You’ve squandered your one chance.

He seizes your arm, his grip bruising, and hauls you toward the door. “Save your tears. You never shed them for me. Why should I care if you shed them for him?”

With a final shove, he casts you out. “Go to him,” He spits, looking down at you. “Save him if you can.”

And just like that, the door slams shut behind you—snuffing out the last flicker of hope you still dared to cling to.

__________________________

A/N: There is only one chapter left because this one was humungous. please let me know what you think and how you think the story will end

and just for fun though i already know the answer

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #heuningkai smut #supernatural au #dark fic #yandere au

29 notes · View notes

pankowcrumbs · 3 days ago

Text

Don’t ever touch her again X Will Poulter

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

Filming together had always been easy with Will.

Too easy, if I was being honest.

From day one, we’d just… clicked. The banter came naturally, we fell into rhythms without trying, and on set, our chemistry translated into every scene even the ones where we were meant to hate each other. We were co-stars, sure, but somewhere in the quiet moments between takes, sharing snacks or glancing at each other across the read-through table, something unspoken had taken root.

A spark. A thread. A possibility neither of us dared tug on.

Because that’s how it always went, didn’t it? You meet someone who makes your chest tighten and your stomach flutter, and you decide it’s safer to stay on the edge than fall completely in.

Especially when you’re working together. Especially when there’s so much at stake.

So instead, we danced around it. Teasing. Laughing too long. Letting our knees brush under dinner tables. Smiling at each other like we were in on a secret no one else could see.

But tonight, that thread felt tighter than ever.

We were out with the cast a wrap party of sorts, though we still had a few weeks of shooting left. Everyone needed to let loose, and the thrum of the club was relentless. Strobe lights. Bass that made your bones vibrate. Too many bodies packed together, all sticky skin and spilled drinks and perfume clinging to the air.

I’d had a drink maybe two and was dancing near the centre of the floor with some of the girls. Will was at the bar when I’d last seen him, deep in conversation with one of our producers. His eyes had flicked to mine every few minutes, checking in.

But now, I couldn’t see him.

And I felt… off.

The crowd was swelling closer. I suddenly became very aware of how tight the space was, how each person around me seemed too close, like they were pressing in on all sides. My chest tightened. I took a shallow breath. Then another.

That’s when he appeared the guy.

I didn’t catch his name. Didn’t want to. He’d been circling the edges for a bit, but now he was full-on in front of me, too close, sweaty, grinning like he’d already decided I owed him something.

“C’mon, gorgeous,” he slurred, swaying. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

I shook my head, polite but firm. “I’m good, thanks.”

He didn’t move. Instead, his hand came to rest low on my back. Then lower. “Don’t play hard to get.”

“I said no,” I said louder, trying to edge away, but the crowd kept closing me in.

He grabbed my wrist.

And that’s when panic really hit. My breathing quickened. I froze. Why wasn’t anyone helping? Couldn’t they see...

Then, like a force of nature, Will was there.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t hesitate.

He just punched the guy square in the face.

The guy stumbled backwards with a guttural noise, clutching his nose. I think he was more shocked than hurt.

“Don’t ever touch her again,” Will growled, his voice sharp and ice-cold.

Before anyone else could react, Will turned to me the anger melted instantly and reached for my hand. His touch was feather-light, almost afraid.

“Come here. I’ve got you,” he murmured, guiding me out of the crush of people, weaving through the club until we were outside in the cool night air.

The second we stepped onto the pavement, I gulped in the oxygen like it was gold.

Will didn’t let go of my hand.

He stood close but not crowding, his other hand hovering near my elbow like he wanted to pull me in but didn’t want to push.

“You alright?” he asked softly, searching my face.

I nodded, but my throat was tight. “I... yeah. Just needed air. It got too much in there.”

Will exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

“I saw him touch you,” he said, voice low. “And I swear to God, Y/N, something just snapped. It made me feel sick. Like physically ill.”

I looked up at him, wide-eyed. His jaw was clenched. His hand around mine had tightened, just a little.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone,” he continued. “And then I saw him put his hand on you, and I swear, it was like tunnel vision. I had to get you out of there.”

The streetlight behind him lit his face in gold and shadow. He looked like something from a dream soft, serious, dishevelled with emotion.

My heart hammered.

“You really hit him,” I whispered, a weak smile tugging at my lips.

He huffed, brushing his hand through his hair. “I don’t usually go around punching people, you know.”

“I know. That’s what made it so… shocking.”

We stood there a moment, the buzz of the street and the muffled music from the club washing over us.

Then I said, “Thank you.”

Will stepped closer. “You never have to thank me for keeping you safe.”

Silence again.

And then I did the stupidest, bravest thing I could think of.

I reached up and touched his cheek. Just lightly.

“You were really scared for me,” I said, more a statement than a question.

Will nodded once. His hand covered mine, pressing it gently to his skin.

“I care about you more than I should,” he said quietly.

That made something shift. Like someone had finally opened a door neither of us wanted to admit existed.

“I care about you too,” I breathed.

His eyes locked onto mine not with heat, but something deeper. Something that felt like coming home.

“All this time,” I said, “and we’ve been dancing around it.”

Will gave a breathless laugh. “We’re idiots.”

“Massive ones.”

And then he leaned in.

He didn’t kiss me not yet. But he rested his forehead against mine, like he needed the contact to keep grounded.

“I was so scared I’d be too late,” he whispered.

“You weren’t. You were right on time.”

A beat passed.

Then I added, “Also, your punch was really impressive. Remind me never to piss you off.”

He chuckled, and the tension between us eased a bit.

He finally, finally kissed my forehead. “You don’t piss me off. You drive me mad in the best way, but never that.”

I looked up at him through my lashes. “So what now?”

Will tilted his head, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “Now I walk you home. And maybe tomorrow we stop pretending we’re just co-stars.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

He smiled then full and wide and soft, the smile that always melted me on set.

We started walking, hand in hand, leaving the noise and chaos behind us.

For the first time in a long while, everything felt quiet. And clear.

And finally, like something had shifted into place.

#fanfiction #reader #x reader #one shot #requested #will poulter imagine #will poulter one shot #will poulter fanfic #will poulter x reader #will poulter #will #poulter

25 notes · View notes

allfallsdown · 3 months ago

Text

so, for once in my life, let me get what i want. (lord knows it would be the first time.)

ER, s7e12, Thy Will Be Done

Coffee & Pie, a Carter and Abby playlist

4 notes · View notes

simpjaes · 4 months ago

Text

✘ WIP DIARY ── LAST NIGHT, I READ YOUR DIARY. (p.sh) ✘

Sunghoon has been trying be everything you need since your mother passed. A father, a friend, a therapist. You never really understood what your mother saw in him in the first place, if you’re being honest. He’s awkward, quiet, and typically used to keep to himself up until now. You’re impressed with his efforts by the time you’re entering into your senior year of college, though his entire demeanor towards you seems to have changed. or the one where your step-father grows obsessed with you minute by minute.

── step-dad /weirdo park sunghoon x afab reader

── minors dni

── tags: sunghoon is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s so, age gap, step-cest, heartbreak, obsession, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome-ish, fluff if he manipulates you as a reader lmfao, angst, smut. don't read this if you are easily triggered. ── side characters: heeseung as reader's ex boyfriend, jay as reader's closest friend

── !WARNINGS!: this work contains non-con, dub-con, and stalking behavior. your mom isn’t alive in this fic. warnings will be updated as i write.

── a/n: this one is gonna be a wild ride, that's all i gotta say.

LAST UPDATED: 4.30.25

⨯ est wordcount: 30k+ ⨯ current wordcount: 18k ⨯ est release date: may 2025 for patreon, public release date is still tbd ⨯ completion: 65% of 100% ⨯ scenes written: 12 of 16

⨯ TAGLIST IS NOW CLOSED. if you asked to be on it and you're not, please comment on this post! some of you may have been lost!

15k is now available to read on patreon! UPDATED REVIEW 5.8k:

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your first heartbreak is meant to be painful, but this? This is more painful than you could have imagined after what you’ve already gone through.

Heeseung was one of your only constants in life. From childhood to high school it’s like he was there more than anyone else was, and certainly more than your own father. Even when your mother passed, Heeseung was the one who held you through it, he’s the one who made you smile again, he’s the one who made you feel like it was okay to heal and keep going despite the horrifying truth of your life.

It’s the fact that it was a “mutual” break up that hurts the most because deep down, you couldn’t see yourself without him at that point. Yet, still, you willingly watched him hop on the plane with a short kiss and long goodbye. It felt so final to you. You could have handled a long distance relationship, truly. But Heeseung didn’t want that. He wanted to explore the world, he wanted to try new things, be with new people.

He wanted to do things without you clinging to him all the time.

In a way, you understand that. After all, you’re the only girl he had ever been with up until now. Senior year of college. You think you knew your relationship was coming to an end by the time he announced he was going to be studying abroad for his final year without ever once even telling you he was applying to do so.

So, yeah, it was mutual solely because you want him to be happy and he’s made it clear that he believes that can only happen without you. Such is life. Painful, painful fucking life.

You can’t imagine being the light in someone’s life anyway.

Just last year when your mother passed, you nearly dropped out and Heeseung had been your rock to make it through class after class with a grade barely high enough to pass. You’re certain some of your professors took pity on you and raised your grade just enough to move forward. You’ll forever thank them for recognizing how hard you were trying to hold it together. But now? Without your mother, without Heeseung, you’re at a loss.

And there’s a difference between loneliness and isolation, you think. Loneliness to you always hits hard during small spaces in your day, like when you’d get into Heeseung’s car and he would close your door for you. The silence always hurt your ears while he was still making his way around the car to the driver’s seat. A shallow loneliness that you could feel right at the top of your gut, like it was squeezing inside of you and making you lose your appetite. Solely because that silence reminded you of what you always had, a lack of loneliness because of him.

But then there’s isolation. Where it feels forced upon you by other people. Your mother fucking died, Heeseung fucking left, and now you’re just here expected to wake up like you always do, go to class, study hard, sleep well, when the reality of it is– you’re genuinely struggling just to look at yourself in the mirror.

Then there’s Sunghoon. The only person close enough to you now that you can reach out to. The issue with that is you’ve never actually been close. And that’s what sucks. The fact that he of all people is all you have now? May as well just assume you have nobody.

His regular calls meant close to nothing to you in the grand scheme of things. Despite him calling twice a week every week since your mother died, your step-father is just as distanced from you as you are him. You’re aware that it’s his obligation, not because he cares. And that hurts, because it’s all you have now.

Now, you have to try and find meaning in those short calls. After all, Sunghoon fell apart when your mother passed all on his own, with no one beside him. You had only called him out of obligation too. You were already in college and stressed, falling apart yourself with someone to love beside you helping you through it. Calling him when it all happened felt empty because you knew both of you were trying to hold it together and save face.

It wasn’t like this before she died. In fact, he never called and you never cared for him to. You’d see each other when you were home, share awkward pleasantries, and that’s it. It’s hard to believe that now you feel like you need a father, after all those years of practically rejecting him as one. He seemed fine with the rejection after you hit your teen years. He knew by then that he could never be the father you want, but at least he could be the husband your mother needed.

You have grief in common now though. Loneliness. Isolation.

You try not to think about how you were okay up until now. Having Heeseung to fall back on to soften the blow of your loss, you guess Sunghoon didn’t have that. Maybe his monotone voice and empty words through phone calls were his way of coping, a way of hearing a voice that wasn’t the one in his own head.

It’s just you and a man you never considered family past the titles and obligatory respects. Finding meaning in his short phone calls does nothing to help your growing isolation, but you cling to them now that Heeseung is gone. You wait for the calls, you ask him to check in with you every day now, to the point Sunghoon starts to notice the difference in you.

No longer rushing to get off the phone. Now, you’re dragging on meaningless conversations. Now, he hears cracks in your voice.

“You feeling okay?” Sunghoon asks you, in a way that makes you wonder how he’s able to tell that you’re definitely not. The way his own voice has a bit of life to it when he asks it is…strange too. Like he’s concerned.

“No–” You trail off in your meek voice, staring at your ceiling and mind swirling with all of the work you need to get done for classes already. “I’ve only been in classes for a week and I already feel like I’m drowning.”

Sunghoon sighs into the speaker, contemplating how to further the conversation with you in a way that isn’t too intrusive. After all, who is he to pry? Still, he never intended for you to feel neglected or like you couldn’t come to him. After all, you were too happy about his lack of parenting you throughout his presence in your life.

He finds solace in the fact that you’ve been accepting him now, though he hasn’t the slightest idea as to why. He’s checked in with you since the passing, but lately it feels to him like something more is going on with you. He may be somewhat estranged, and he may have his own problems to deal with, but you’re still someone he needs to be here for.

Plus, it makes him feel needed again, which is nice considering the circumstances. After living in this bustling house with you and your mom for so long, to it just being him and your mom, to now just him…all that remains now is dread, dissociation, and his own thoughts.

“Did something happen?” Sunghoon keeps his questions short, offering more silence if anything for you to use this call as a therapy session if you need.

You pause for a long moment, realizing that you want to talk about your issues so badly but don’t quite feel the need to share it with him, of all people. You’ve already ranted day after day to Jay. To the point you’re sure he’s about one rant away from blocking your number.

Probably because you’re not that close to him either. Not these days, anyway.

You sigh instead.

“No…” You trail off. “I think I just miss being home. My dorm mate is never here, class work is already piling up, and I can’t even find the energy to look at the assignments.”

Sunghoon can tell you’re feeling much like he does and he can’t imagine the weight on your shoulders dealing with these feelings while also in college. Sure, he has work, but it comes easy when he doesn’t even need to leave the house for it. When he’s the boss, and when he has people to practically do his job for him. You don’t have that.

But, you have Heeseung, do you not? It appears to him that you’ve been doing okay until now, and you haven’t even brought him up. Not once in the past few weeks has his name been uttered by you. Which is strange, after all, the two of you were practically attached at the hip growing up, to the point of choosing the same college, working the same jobs, and even keeping that middle-school puppy love in full swing throughout highschool and college.

If anything, after your mother passed, Sunghoon felt okay knowing you had Heeseung there with you to help you through it. It meant he could focus on himself and get through the day-to-day. He could barely handle his own mournful thoughts, let alone the daughter’s feelings of the woman he loved so dearly. He was forever grateful for Heeseung during this time.

He has his suspicions now though, and his heart aches for the voice he hears from you these days.

“Why don’t you come home for a while?” He lends a pause to see if you’ll jump for the opportunity before selling the idea to you. “I have the bills here covered and your campus is only a forty minute drive. I’m sure that’s inconvenient but you won’t have bills to worry about on top of everything else.” He doesn’t want to sound too desperate, of course.

After all, the loneliness he’s feeling is also becoming unbearable. Even if the two of you never were able to see eye to eye, or to form a bond together, you’re all he has left of your mother. He, arguably, is nothing to you, but there’s no one else in this world he’d rather heal the loneliness with outside of you. Only because you knew your mother on a level deeper than he did, and to have someone to share those memories with, or even laugh with, would help him tremendously too.

“I think being at home may do you some good.”

You think it over in your head, wondering if being home will help you at all. In reality, you know it may make you feel more trapped than you do now. All those memories with your mother, with Heeseung, with all of your friends that have since moved to different colleges.

But…you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with someone who knows how to give you space because he’s never even tried to shrink your existence to that of your bedroom and your bedroom alone. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent, food, or anything aside from studies, gas money, and trying to heal from your heartbreak.

Your dorm is small, you note as you look around the room and wonder how long it would take you to pack your things up. Two hours, give or take. The longest part would be taking all of the little decorations off the wall, if you’re being honest.

You find yourself nodding before answering, solidifying in your mind that– maybe you’re not the only one who needs company in your space. Not too close, but close enough to not be totally isolated.

“Okay.” You mutter into the phone, for some reason feeling the tears well up behind your eyes.

You’re just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Knowing you’re going home feels like a relief you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah?” Sunghoon confirms. “Just let me know when and I’ll drive up there to help get your stuff back home.”

You agree, sighing into the phone with a shaking voice. Sunghoon takes note of it, always remembering and quite frankly missing how loud and obnoxious you used to be. Hearing you like this pains him. He wants to help. Now more than ever is his chance to be someone you need, and he hates knowing he hasn’t already become that person for you.

Getting to be your father now? It feels awkward, but at least it’s a feeling other than loss.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sunghoon sighs at you through the speaker. “I know I’m not someone you like coming to but–well, I’d like for you to rely on me more, okay?”

You find a lot of comfort in those words, despite hearing him say them time and time again. This is the first time he’s ever shown that he means it through the offer of bringing you home, rather than just saying it and accepting whatever you say back to him at face value.

“I know…” You trail off. “I’m okay though, really.”

Sunghoon hates himself for never forcing you to accept him. Sure, there may have been some teenage defiance towards him, but eventually the two of you could have seen eye to eye. He could have been someone you needed. You could have relied on him too, rather than just Heeseung. That’s all he can really think right now. If there was ever a good time to do this, it was probably a year ago, the second best time is now.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” The man nearly pleads in his tone, desperate to have someone rely on him again. “I’ve never heard you sound so exhausted before, I can’t help but worry.”

You’d tell him, but honestly, what grown ass man wants to hear about a first heartbreak? It would just get awkward again, he’d just feel obligated to do something about it, and worse, he might end up feeling like he’s supposed to dislike Heeseung now.

You choose to remain silent in the final straw that broke your back this semester.

“Really, I’m just tired.” You nod to yourself as you hold your phone loosely against your ear. “I might not go to class tomorrow and just pack instead. I’ll just call you when I’m ready, is that okay?”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, wanting to mean something to you in a way that can hopefully help you out of this slump. Your mother would be throwing a fit if she heard how you’ve been sounding, he can’t help but take over that role and try to make damn sure you are okay.

“That’s fine,” Sunghoon confirms. “I’ll call and let them know what’s going on so don’t worry about any of that. Just get yourself ready to come back home.”

You find yourself smiling, relieved that you don’t have to be the one to contact your school and tell them that…well, you’re breaking your student-lease, dropping your food plan, and need to be reimbursed for partial tuition costs since Sunghoon insists every semester that you purchase tuition insurance. You should no longer be charged to live on campus, or for the facilities within the dorm.

Knowing you’ll at least get back a couple thousand dollars is a nice change of pace, and already you’re feeling weirdly excited to go back to a space that will likely make you miss your mother more. It’ll hurt, but at least you won’t be alone.

The forty minute drive to campus feels less horrifying now, and maybe your friends will still come and hang out with you in your actual home rather than a tiny dorm.

“Sounds good.” You say, as if to end the call before you mutter out again. “Thank you, by the way. Sunghoon, really.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon knew he was spiraling further and further into his loneliness. He knew it wasn’t healthy either, but now. Oh, now he realizes just how bad it’s gotten as he demonizes himself upon picking you up.

You haven’t come home since your mother’s funeral, and even on that day he barely remembers what you looked like. Eye contact was never a thing for him, but looking at you now, he sees how much you’ve matured since you went off to college. Truly sees it.

Your once bright, excited eyes have turned dull and empty. The bags under them are heavy from lack of sleep. Your lips appear to be in a permanent state of pouting, though he isn’t sure if you’ve noticed. You appear to have lost weight, which is concerning for him of course, but…there’s something else about you.

Something that sits in the pit of his stomach and rots.

“Uh–” You cough, noting the way Sunghoon looks at you as you try to hand him a large box. “Thank you for helping me move my stuff back…”

Sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing a heavy box and then waiting for you to stack another on top.

“No big deal,” He mutters, feeling the weight in his hands double as he prepares to carefully carry your things out to his car. “You haven’t been home in a while so, I’ve fixed up your room for you and went ahead and connected my gaming system in there.”

You nod quietly, feeling awkward for how fatherly he seems.

“Thanks…” You trail off, flopping a pile of your things into his trunk before stopping to look at him. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, noticing for a split second how that facial expression you made is very similar to one his wife used to throw at him when he’d have hair out of place, or a wardrobe malfunction. And then he smiles.

“You’re not looking too good yourself.” He jokes out to you with a small, breathy laugh.

You smile back at him, feeling a bit of the awkward air fizzle away.

“Well, I’m not doing well, so.”

You were continuing the joke, but his face falls before yours does.

“You can talk to me–” He starts.

“I know, I know.” You wave him off. “I’ll feel a lot better once we get back and I can settle in.

There’s a nod from him now, and then silence as the two of you continue to put the rest of your belongings into both his car and your own.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” You say now, awkwardly.

Sunghoon nods, looking you over once again.

“See you in a bit.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shame.

Pure fucking shame.

Sunghoon knew he needed another presence in this house but upon seeing you again, he knew that this may have been a mistake.

He likes to think of himself as level headed. He’s never gotten into any trouble, never had a stray thought, never cheated, lied, or stole anything. He can’t think of a single thing that he’s done in life to be considered taboo. But simply looking at you feels…incorrect?

Indecent?

You’re his step-daughter for fuck sake but it’s the fact that you don’t feel like you are. When he looks at you, he just sees another person. He did this to help you, he did this to feel needed, to be your fucking father.

He did not do this to look at you this way or to feel his eye stray even without his intention. Why do you look so much like her? Why do you do that thing with your pinky when you carry things like she did? You even have a similar smell, probably having picked up on your mother’s habits throughout childhood.

You being here…It’s like she’s still here. Except it’s you, and he can’t be thinking this way yet his mind still spirals. Already he’s caught himself nearly calling out her name rather than yours when your back is turned to him.

And for you, it just feels…too nostalgic right now. Walking through the door for the first time and not being able to see your mother running to greet you.

Ouch. It’s like your body reacted, dropping everything in your hands to expect a hug, only to feel and see nothing while Sunghoon bumped into your back by accident with your things.

“Oh– Sorry.” He said briefly, stepping back and trying not to drop your boxes.

You moved quickly out of his way, stepping into the room and grabbing a box from him. The smell in the house hit you harder than anything though. It still smells like her perfume, you suspect Sunghoon must be spraying it quite often for it to be this strong.

It’s suffocating. So much so that it takes every ounce of energy for you to gather the rest of your things to put them in your room without your eyes burning with tears. Only able to breathe one full breath when the bedroom door is closed and your window is open.

This is not how you cope. Still being able to smell her hurts, despite knowing it’s nothing more than a too-expensive bottle of perfume you can buy from any high end store. It’s more than that to you, and more than that to Sunghoon. It’s her.

That scent he had grown accustomed to does not assault his nostrils, if at all, his skin burns when the air isn’t polluted by it. Still, unaware of why, Sunghoon had noted the rush in your step. He tries to pay no mind to the way you lock yourself behind that door, knowing you’re needing to settle in before he makes any effort to be who you need right now. After all, his mind is struggling to be a good father right now too. He needs the distance just like you do.

And what exactly does being a good father entail, exactly? Give you your space, make sure you’re fed, throw around a few shitty jokes? Fuck if he knows. All he can do is try to pretend that this isn’t awkward. That his mind isn’t going in fifteen different directions regarding this situation as a whole. Ten of those directions being…well, not savory for most.

Intrusive thoughts. That’s new, even for him.

So, he lets you stay in that room walls away, and he mimics the action himself by closing himself in his own bedroom that he’s grown to despise. Alone again, empty, lying in a bed that always felt so full until she was no longer here.

The walls, empty of photos because he struggled to look at them day after day. The scent of her perfume is still in the air by his own doing. Nothing has changed for the better, even with you just down the hallway. And you can argue that you feel the same.

Then again, expecting an immediate change is more insane than the two of your struggling minds put together.

Already, you miss the tiny dorm room you just abandoned. There weren't many places to cry in there, but here there’s far too many corners with memories, far too many walls and windows to contemplate while you stare off. Much like him, much much like Sunghoon, it just feels…worse.

You find yourself lying down on your childhood bed trying not to kick and scream. You remember the last time you had a tantrum in this bed and the reasoning feels so small to you now as you anticipate the bubbled feeling of loss claw and scratch at your chest. Your mother wouldn’t let Heeseung sleep over, even though you offered to leave the door open and promised that there would be no funny business.

He was so happy with you back then, cheeky and mischievous smirks at each lie you’d tell your mother. You both knew the door would fall shut by “accident” like it had done so many times before.

Funny how the two who caused that tantrum are no part of you now outside of fond memory and pain. Even funnier how the tantrum you could throw now would end far more dangerously, with ripped sheets and broken windows.

You just cry quietly instead, pushing the assignments you still need to try and prioritize to the back of your mind, hoping that this short one week break from classes will help you get your head screwed on straight.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The days blur together during your time off, pretending to laugh and enjoy conversation with a step-father you barely know well enough for it to be real. It became routine after the first day, which is kind of helpful because routine is what you need right now.

Something to focus on, something to keep you from wondering where it all went wrong for the last light in your life to flicker itself out so willingly. Still, you wonder where Heeseung’s head has been since your mother’s passing. You must have grown to be too much for him, too heavy of a burden on his shoulders to stay much longer with you through it.

You appreciate him if that’s how he felt, because you really had no idea. He was always so gentle, loving, and kind towards you. Never changed in any way, or even acted as if he was hiding anything. That– you think, proves that in some way, he does truly love you. Or, did love you. Just not in the way you need.

He may not have enough love in his body to stabilize someone like you. Someone who is entirely unbalanced on this earth. And when you look at Sunghoon sometimes, you wonder how much he loved your mother, or how he got through it without someone to constantly exhaust with his mournful antics like you did.

The circles under his eyes and that permanent furrow in his brow shows the stress he’s been living with. You never thought he could appear more dull and lifeless even before she passed, but now. Now he looks dull. Now he truly looks lifeless, lost, maybe even as if he died with her. There’s part of you that feels bad over how you thought of him previously compared to now because of it. Thinking back, there was so much more life in him, and probably so much of him to enjoy from your mother’s perspective. You just never cared to see it.

You missed the chance to see what it is about Sunghoon to love, and now all you can see is a shell of a person who made your mother the happiest she had ever been, if you can call it that. You know it wasn’t Sunghoon’s fault, if anything, he’s the reason she held on for so long.

And you note the house’s condition more and more as you wander around, almost like this isn’t your own childhood home. It’s pristine now, in immaculate condition. Never has the house been this clean, and perhaps that’s why you feel like you don’t entirely belong anymore. It doesn’t feel like it has been lived in. You don’t know how he finds the energy to keep the place clean after the nature of your mother’s death came to light. Or even how to stay in this house at all, in that bedroom, sleeping on that bed.

He’s still hurting. Maybe even more than you.

The worst part of it is that you truly felt like you were healing when Heeseung was with you, but it turns out, he was just a bandaid and a distraction. He didn’t like seeing you sad, so he wouldn’t let you feel those things if he could help it. You couldn’t mourn, you didn’t want to mourn.

Now you have to.

It’s hard to truly believe you were healing only to find out that you haven’t faced the loss of your mother at all and now you’re forced to face not only her passing, but Heeseung prying you off of him and moving out of the country just to get away from you.

He still loves you, right? He doesn’t resent you…right?

It’s just you and Sunghoon now, hopefully you can get through it together. So, you try. You try to use some of your time to spend with him, to genuinely laugh at his jokes, and mock his attempts to pretend that the two of you have always been close just for the sake of pretending like a family.

No smile reaches the eye though, for either of you.

It feels easier as the days pass though, up until you’ve got only two days left before you need to start going back to campus. You spend them trying to make the days lighter. Opening windows to erase the scent of your mother, because in all fairness… seeing Sunghoon discreetly spray her perfume every morning is really, really heartbreaking. Additionally, you’re trying to let the dishes pile up in the sink and practically plead with Sunghoon to just…leave them.

Let the house be a mess for once. No more nervous cleaning, no more busying yourself with things that don’t matter. No more, no more.

And it’s like hell for him seeing you try so hard to feel okay, but he relents to your pleas of letting the house become a mess. His hands itch to clean, but his heart burns knowing that if you feel better, maybe he will too. Even with the scent of your mother wafting out the windows into the big, horrifying world, he tries to stay away from that bottle of perfume too. He misses her so much that it nearly crippled his brain.

Somehow, you’re bringing a type of normalcy back despite the dark thoughts that he doesn’t allow to surface. Still, there’s a long way to go with this, it seems. He knows all too well how you fall apart once your bedroom door is closed. The effort from you is endearing during the daylight hours though, and he softens up at you everytime.

Yet, those hidden tears aren’t just for your mother and he knows it. There is something else happening.

“So, how has Heeseung been?” Sunghoon asks over dinner. A shitty bag of takeout mending both of you bite by bite.

He doesn’t notice at first the way you fall silent, awkward again as if it’s still the first day you came home.

“Oh–” You come up with excuses, with lies. “He’s taking a semester off to see his mom. Guess what happened rattled him a bit too, wanted to hug her and stuff.”

Sunghoon’s gaze stays on you as you avoid eye contact. You’re lying, he knows it. He remembers your mother always calling you on your little lies when you still lived here too. “She always curls her pinky and ring finger when she’s lying.” She had chuckled to him back when she still had a twinkle of hope in her eyes. He recalls how you slammed your door that night, lying about being with Heeseung when you said you were with your very obvious not-best-friend.

Your mother would have let you go, but you were just a teenager and she had to at least pretend to parent you. Sunghoon loved watching her do it. All the laughs that came out of it, learning about you through her and her alone.

Now, he sees your hands on top of the table and he focuses on that pinky and ring finger curling into your fist. Such a small action telling on you.

The point is, Heeseung wouldn’t just up and leave you like that, not in a million years, Sunghoon thinks as he remembers the sheer amount of times he’s met the boy. In fact, it was rare to see you without Heeseung.

“I see…” He trails off, taking another bite of his food before washing it down with a gulp of soda. “Has he called you?”

You feel it in your stomach, the fact that you’ve even avoided asking yourself that question. Because no, of course he hasn’t. And he probably hasn’t because he knew you didn’t want to break up despite pretending it was okay. It’s for you, he’s giving you space. It’s not because he doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” You nod, trying to mask yourself to be perfectly fine. “The other day he called super late and I was already asleep so we didn’t really get to talk.”

“Does he know you’ve moved back home?”

You nod slowly, wishing that Sunghoon would go back to not really caring about what’s going on in your life.

“Yep.” You lie again. “Seems pretty happy about it, said he thought it would help me since he’s not around anymore.”

Unfortunately, you don’t notice the slight slip of your tongue. He’s not around anymore. That sounds far more permanent than a simple home visit where he misses his mommy due to the death of your own.

“Ah, that makes sense.” Sunghoon watches you and your nervous body language. Lie after lie plastered blatantly on those false-smiling lips. “Forgive me if I’m prying but, don’t you think it’s selfish that he just up and left to see his own mother after–well,”

You nod without intent before raising your hands in defense of Heeseung.

“No, no!” You exclaim, Sunghoon noting how this is the most emotion you’ve had all day. “I don’t blame him. I’d probably do the same thing.”

He relents now, realizing it’s probably too early to expect real, honest answers from you. Even if he’s just curious, he would assume anyone would be considering the way you and Heeseung, again, were attached at the hip.

“Well, I’m still here for you.” He finally says.

Before, you’d just wave him off, but now? It feels like your efforts are making it so that you pay attention when he says those words. When he pretends to care, or offers his comfort. He’s really all you have now, and maybe it’s just your own mind telling you that. Then again, maybe it’s all that sorrow and guilt that’s doing it.

“I know…” You sigh, losing your appetite entirely. “You can talk to me too though, you know?”

Changing the subject seems easier. The fact that Sunghoon is trying so hard right now does mean a lot to you, but even if your relationship with him wasn’t estranged– you still wouldn’t be ready to talk about how Heeseung left you the way you did. Not yet at least.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Sunghoon responds warmly, not mentioning how much you should.

“Focus on you.”

You nod, looking down at the table and recognizing that this food that once smelled so delicious to you is now turning your stomach.

“I do worry though.” You mutter.

Sunghoon sees your fingers uncurl from your fist at those words and he physically can feel as his heart swells. Finally, someone worries for him again.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This fic will be dark, very taboo, morally bad. Not a grey area, it is blatantly bad. sunghoon will do bad things. Please be aware of your own triggers once it's completed and posted. I write within my own triggers, not yours. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

#enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #wips

2K notes · View notes

nezz-cringe-crib · 1 year ago

Text

growing up is realizing that dipcifica was actually a pretty damn good ship and holy shit i totally misjudged this pairing.

i never really liked dipcifica mainly because of how it got represented by the fandom, but looking back on it, it would've made a lot of sense and it would've been beneficial for both of them to date each other. and even in a completely platonic sense, their dynamic worked well enough that they could've done a lot more together.

dipper is a very nerdy awkward guy, clearly. he likes solving mysteries and sometimes he gets a little in over his head because of it. and his silly little awkward teenage love life reflects all of these things. that little shrimp was disney's #1 simp, it's actually insane. whenever he'd start to fall for a girl it'd end up going pretty terribly because he'd have no idea how to just act like himself and he'd also become a little bit of a jerk. (i'm not trying to like dog on dipper btw. he's just a kid and these are all understandable flaws, especially at his age and at the time period gravity falls took place in). however, with pacifica, a lot of these flaws are manageable solely because of how they're introduced to each other. dipper hates pacifica at first and wants nothing to do with her, but eventually they're forced to work together and realize "huh. we actually make a really good team." for dipper, this gradual building of a relationship is really beneficial to him. he wouldn't just go head-first into simping for some random girl and he'd also learn to respect her as a person and realize when he's being a little bit of a dick. being with pacifica, platonically or romantically (though personally i think romantically would strengthen their pros more but thats just my personal taste), would've helped dipper become a better person.

this goes for pacifica as well. pacifica's homelife is extremely controlling and it's what groomed her into becoming the mean girl that she's first presented as. as the show continues though, it's clear that she doesn't really want to be mean to anybody. she only acts spoiled because she doesn't know what else she can act like. she wants to connect to people but she's been so forced into this fake rich life that she has no idea how to be genuine with anybody. that's why her having a connection to dipper is so important. dipper is a little blunt, and he especially won't hide that from pacifica because he initially hates her and her family's lifestyle, so this'll eventually help pacifica realize "oh shit. i'm kind of a dick. my family are kind of huge dicks." and we do end up seeing this from her in "Northwest Mansion Mystery". she learns how to be herself, learns who "herself" even means, and learns to stand up for who she is when she figures that out. also pacifica's pretty damn smart???? especially socially???? she could absolutely help dipper do a lot of things when it comes to mystery solving, and with her status it'll most likely be things that dipper could never pull off and never even thought about because that's just what he's used to. they'd both end up learning a lot from each other because they'd be dragged into environments that they're not familiar with, but the other is. and their different perspectives/lifestyles would help the other view their environment in a new light.

not only is their relationship genuinely really beneficial to the both of them, but i also just know that their dialogue and scenes with each other would be so damn silly i can't not say yes to it anymore. i also just personally like headcanoning them both as bisexual so that's a plus for me.

anyways, tldr: i was wrong about dipcifica and its actually really good, i just think people should really analyze their relationship more since the way the fandom presents it (or how ive personally seen the fandom present it) is a little icky and shallow at least in my opinion. yay for dipcifica being silly little goobers :3

#gravity falls #analysis #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #dipcifica #nezz brainz

2K notes · View notes

sourcherryandsprinkles · 11 months ago

Note

pkay! so i was wondering if u could do a jace x reader where after the funeral she takes him and comforts him and looks after him in the bedroom to help him calm down because he had to act strong infront of his family but in the contents of his own chambers he could let himself cry on them!

Another one for Jace because this scene broke us all. This will be the last one about this scene. I have written three versions of different moments, I think all has been said

Warnings: mention of death, grief, panic attack

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You stood alongside Rhaena and Baela during the funeral. Behind you stood Corlys and Rhaenys, all mourning the loss of Lucerys.

Along with the remains she found on the shore, the Queen threw in the pyre her son’s clothes. Jacaerys stepped up next and threw the baby swaddle their mother used when he was a baby. And lastly, Jacaerys picked up Joffrey, who threw the horse toy Lucerys had when he was little. It had been handed to him when he grew out of playing with it, but it was still Lucerys’.

Your heart ached at how Joffrey clung to his big brother, who himself had his eyes filled with tears threatening to spill. You wanted to go up to him and hold his hand, but the time was not right.

When the flames of the pyre finally extinguished, everyone retreated inside. The Queen had withdrawn to her chambers with her youngest sons. Losing one had only intensified her need to keep the others close.

Your eyes searched the hall for the one who was promised to you, but Jacaerys was nowhere in sight. To your left, you noticed Rhaena and Baela, who had just parted from their grandmother. You approached them, and Rhaena, who had lost her betrothed, welcomed you with a brief but heartfelt hug.

‘’Have you seen Jacaerys?’’ you asked them.

Rhaena shook her head, but Baela nodded. ‘’I saw him taking the stairs minutes ago.’’

You thanked her and followed her lead.

Upstairs, you knew exactly where to go.

Inside your chamber, you found Jacaerys pacing the room with frantic steps, one of his hands gripping his chest. His breathing was ragged and shallow, and his face contorted with panic. He pulled at his doublet, feeling like it was choking him and stopping air from getting into his lungs.

You rushed to his side, alarmed. ‘’Jace,’’ you called out, your voice tinged with concern and confusion.

His head snapped in your direction, his face filled with fear and tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He didn’t know what was happening, and neither did you.

‘’Should I fetch the maester?’’ you asked, your heart clenching with worry.

‘’It... hurts... can't breathe…’’ he managed to gasp, his voice strained with desperation. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, as if the air was somehow refusing to fill his lungs.

Jacaerys pulled at his doublet again.

You tried to remain calm, knowing that panic would only make the situation worse. You reached out and undid the buttons on the front of his doublet, hoping to loosen the constriction around his chest. But even as the tight fabric released its grip, it didn’t seem to help. His chest continued to heave and shudder, each breath sounding like a painful struggle.

‘’Let’s sit.’’

He nodded, his eyes wide with fear as he allowed you to guide him to the settee. With every step, his breathing only seemed to get more and more erratic, each gasp sounding like a strangled sob.

Once he was seated, you knelt in front of him, your hands gently gripping his trembling ones, offering what little comfort you could. His chest continued to rise and fall rapidly, each breath sounding as if it was being wrenched from his lungs. His eyes were fixed on you, panic still evident in his gaze, but there was also a glimpse of vulnerability there, as if he was silently pleading for your help.

It was heart-wrenching to see him in such a state, his normally calm and collected demeanor completely shattered.

You squeezed his hands gently, hoping to offer some small comfort. ‘’Focus on me,’’ you urged him, your voice soft but firm. ‘’Listen to my voice. Try to match your breaths to mine. Inhale.’’ You breathed in deeply, exaggerating each inhalation and exhalation, hoping that Jacaerys would follow your lead. ‘’Exhale. In through your nose, out through your mouth.’’

He tried, his eyes locked onto your face as you breathed in and out. At first, his breaths only seemed to become more shallow and labored, but gradually, they began to match the pace of yours. Each gasped inhalation slowly started to become less frantic and more controlled.

After a moment, he calmed down and you wiped his tears.

‘’Thank you for helping me. I don’t know how this happened. I…I thought I was going to die.’’

You rose to your feet and wrapped your arms around him.

He buried his face in your shoulder, still shaking from the intensity of the experience. He wrapped his arms around you, clinging to you tightly, as if holding on for dear life.

‘’I was so scared,’’ he whispered, his voice still shaky and raw. ‘’I thought I was losing control. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think... It was like everything was closing in on me.’’

You held him tightly, one hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. His body was warm and solid against yours, his muscles tense with lingering fear.

You hushed gently, kissing his shoulder. ‘’You're okay now. You're safe with me.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13@cece05@laylasbunbunny@gemofthenight@beautyb1ade@mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog@queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon imagine

1K notes · View notes

allthingswhumpyandangsty · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you happen to have any advice for writing smut that *doesn’t* sound like a teenager posting to Wattpad? 😅

before we start, I’d like to say that these are all just what I personally do with my writing / how I personally write. these are not “rules” and if you disagree with them, that is totally fine!

also, there’s going to be explicit language moving forward so you may scroll past this post if (written) porn isn’t your thing! 18+ content ahead!

let’s begin with the focus of your story. instead of focusing solely on “the action”, you can try focusing on “the feelings” too. how the characters are feeling as they’re being intimate with each other. in other words, instead of focusing on the “physical” aspects, try focusing on the “emotional / mental” parts and the “feelings” too. so that your characters also feel something else that isn’t just shallow arousal (obviously, there’s nothing wrong with being so horny that nothing else matters, if that’s your goals then go for it, what I’m saying is sometimes sex can be about something else that isn’t merely the act of coupling, if you get what I mean? the “porn with feelings” tag on AO3 is there for a reason and, yes, porn with feelings can get you just as aroused if not more!)

for instance, instead of “he roughly shoved his entire dick inside her pussy, grabbed her boob with one hand, the other steadied her hip, before he started thrusting and moaning”. you could try “he wasn’t being gentle when he pushed his length inside, feeling her body yield and surrender, engulfing him in one confident thrust. with one hand on her breast, the other on her hip to keep her still, he began moving, making love and declaring to his wife his fidelity in an ecstatic moan.”

how you describe your characters’ private parts affects the mood / vibes your readers get from your work too. I personally prefer using “cock / cunt” to “dick / pussy” because for me, the first set of pairing sounds sexier, more raw and more “mature”, while the latter just gives off the vibes of horny and mindless teenagers instead, which might only be a personal opinion and preference of mine!

that being said, the trick is that you don’t always have to use the exact, direct words over and over again while talking about the genitals. using “cock” sounds sexy and all, but using the word “cock” three times in the same sentence can feel like you’re trying a little too hard to make your readers know this is smut. they already know. and they know what the character is stroking.

sometimes the trick lies in the implication and indirectness of how you describe your scenes. sometimes it sounds more hot to, instead of directly saying what the characters are doing, use implication and metaphor to tell your readers what the characters are doing.

for instance, instead of “he pushed his big, big cock inside her and felt the walls of her cunt squeeze his cock, so he stayed still for a while to savor the feeling of her cunt around his cock before he started moving his cock” you could say something like “he pushed himself inside her, feeling the warmth of her around his length and opting to keep still to savor as much as he could of her tightness before he started thrusting.”

or, instead of “his cock was so huge it made her mouth water” it could be “the promise of godhood between his legs elicited from within her the hunger she never knew existed”

yes, smut is about sex. but sex can also be about other feelings besides arousal. sex can be about vulnerability, the complete trust one gives their partner. it can be about surrendering and submitting yourself to someone. it can be about dominating and controlling someone. it can be about pain and betrayal. it can be about hatred. it can even be about grief and mourning. just in case you want to throw in some feelings or angst and in case you want to describe your scenes with something else that isn’t just mindless arousal.

(again, smut with nothing but mindless arousal isn’t bad. there’s nothing wrong with smut just being smut with no other feelings involved. so this isn’t me saying you have to throw some emotions and depth into your porn, obviously. smut can be just smut and that’s fun and hot enough, and if that’s your thing then you do you. I will always be rooting for you.)

the two most important things while writing smut — as well as anything else that isn’t smut — are 1.) write whatever you want for you and 2.) practice makes perfect.

keep writing. your smut doesn’t have to be perfect the first time you write it, and that’s okay. that’s normal. the most skilled writer out there started out terrible at what they wrote, but the nature of writing is that you get better the more you write.

the first smut I wrote was about 8 years ago and it was terrible. and that’s fine. I’ve come a long way since. the point is: keep writing and writing and writing and you will keep getting better and better and better.

keep writing whatever you want to write, and have fun, that’s the key.

498 notes · View notes

romanovthinkver · 1 year ago

Note

What about Nat taking you for the first time, being soft and careful but losing control for a bit and filling you up to the brim 🥴

sorry for the wait anon, i needed to get rid of my uni things, but here we go! it came out longer than i imagined, hope you enjoy either way!

warnings: sex scenes, dom/sub dynamic, g!p nat, daddy!nat, p in v, gxg, breeding, blowjob, fingering, orgasm, age gap, dirty talks.

daddy! nat was a completely a soft bear during your first time. you weren’t nothing but an inexperienced little virgin thing and natasha was this older woman who clearly had lots of sex in the past.

she took so much care of everything. the bed had towels for the eventuality of blood loss, bottles of water were lined up on the bedside table, the room was in the right temperature, a hand towel ready to wipe you off and she already set items ready for the aftercare. everything was under her control and ready to assure every of your comfort.

wet, needy and ready you were on her big bed being eaten and stretched out for the first time, at every whimper of discomfort natasha would softly hush you and press a kiss on your thighs. she was slow, lovely, giving you time to process and let her taste you in the most delicate ways.

natasha could’ve swear she would have been happy to die between your milky thighs with her mouth and fingers deep inside you, the sweet taste of your juices tempting and the most sinful sounds rolling off your tongue were driving the older woman drunk and lustful.

she was there with you, living the moment, living the passion, living the love flowing between you. starting to memorise your body that eventually became her favourite place to be, to mark, to own.

her knee sunk into the bed and while you were worshipping her plump breasts, she was jerking herself off with grunts and moans. your pussy was soaked thanks to the two orgasms she already gave you.

she shifted both of you on the bed, her back propped up against a mountain of pillows on the bed. fully naked, skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. her breath came in shallow gasps as natasha watched you, who was positioned between her legs.

natasha’s cock was standing erect and ready as you leaned closer, breath hot against the warm flesh. you kissed the tip hesitating, lips soft and teasing. your daddy eyes fluttered closed momentarily, a low groan escaping her lips.

“oh, bunny,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire.

your tongue darted out, feeling bolder to giving the tip a series of playful kitty licks looking up at the redhead for guidance which was immediately given as big veiny hands found their way into your curls, gently tugging to guiding your movements.

“look at me, baby girl,” natasha commanded, her voice firm yet tender. you obeyed, gaze locking with her and slowly taking the cock in your mouth starting with just the tip, tongue swirling around it before starting to take more, inch by inch like a drug.

the woman’s hips bucked involuntarily, desperate to thrust deeper into your wet and welcoming mouth, hands tightened in your hairs, trying to maintain control. “take it all, bunny. I want you to take every inch.”

your eyes filled eventually with tears as the cock reached the back of the throat, but you didn’t pull away because you wanted to make your daddy proud, so you relished the sensation of pleasing her, the power and submission blending into a heady mix that made your own body tingle with arousal. bobbing head, cheeks hollowing as you sucked, tongue working the length of the massive venous cock.

natasha’s breathing grew ragged, her moans louder and more desperate. “fuck–you’re amazing, baby girl. just like that.” her fingers twisted in your hairs holding you in place firmly.

you could feel the twitching of the prick as the heavy balls of the woman prepared to release its contents, you redoubled efforts, mouth moving faster, eyes never leaving natasha’s. the connection between you was electric, the intensity almost overwhelming.

“daddy needs you to swallow, bunny,” natasha growled, her hips trembling with the effort to stay still, she was so close and only god knows how she wanted to pin you down and fuck your mouth with mercy. “can you do that for me?”

you nodded as best you could, eyes filled with determination and devotion. with one final, deep thrust, natasha released her load, filling your mouth with the warm, sticky cum. you gagged slightly but quickly composed yourself, swallowing every drop as your daddy had commanded.

the redhead whole body shuddered with pleasure as she watched you. “that’s my good girl. you took it so well, baby.” pulling you up for a kiss, your mouths meeting in a passionate, messy collision. the taste of the cum was still on your lips, and natasha licked it off, savoring the flavor.

"you're so beautiful, baby," natasha murmured against your lips. she kissed her way down to your body again and her thumb found your clit, teasing your folds. you moaned softly, body arching towards the woman.

natasha made sure you was wet enough, she was so worried to hurt you like you were made of glass. patting the tip of her cock against her pussy and brushing the tip gently over her entrance, she breathed softly "are you ready, my little one?.”

you nodded with eyes filled with trust and need. "yes, daddy. please."

the redhead positioned herself and slowly pushed the tip inside you, inch by inch, ensuring you didn't feel too much pain, her lips found yours in a slow, sweet kiss, muffling your mutual groans of pleasure and then finally she bottomed fully inside you.

"you're doing so well, princess," she praised, her voice tender and head resting on your neck, you were so warm and tight and natasha was already on the brick of blowing. she kissed you softly while you gripped at her back with nails digging in slightly.

natasha, once sure the pain went away, began to thrust gently, setting a slow and intimate pace. each movement was filled with love and adoration, her hips moving rhythmically against yours. "you feel so good, bunny. so perfect.”

you whimpered, body trembling with pleasure and need for more. "daddy! oh–more, more. please!”

natasha increased her pace gradually, her thrusts becoming more intense. "fuck–baby, i need to cum inside of you. i need to fill you up, sweet girl. daddy needs to claim you." she continued to move, her body pressed intimately against yours until she felt the climax building.

with a final thrust, the redhead released the cum inside your warm pussy, humping softly to ensure it stayed within you. "take it all, princess. you're so good for me," natasha praised, her voice full of pride and affection.

foreheads touching, breath ragged and sweet smiles painted your lips and bodies locked close, natasha caressed your hair, kissed you gently, and whispered sweet nothings. "you're my everything, bunny. you did so well," her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

she kissed you deeply again and again. your connection building stronger than ever, as you held each other close, the world outside fading away in the warmth of your shared love.

2K notes · View notes

rafes-slut · 1 month ago

Note

stepbro!rafe playing with readers clit to the point she has to shove her face into one of his pillows to muffle her screams 🫣 maybe they almost get caught, that part is up to you tho!

Close Call

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You (Stepbrother)

Warnings: Smut, taboo/forbidden relationship (step-siblings), fingering (f receiving), teasing, overstimulation, risk of getting caught, voyeuristic tension, dirty talk, strong language, manipulation, use of pet names, Ward Cameron mention, semi-public (someone nearby), intense sexual tension, light dom/sub dynamics.

Your thighs were shaking—completely trembling with need—while Rafe’s fingers worked their slow, deliberate rhythm between your legs. His breath was warm against your neck as he hovered close behind you, one hand pinned to your hip, keeping you in place, while the other lazily toyed with your soaked pussy, as if he had all the time in the world to break you down.

And God, he was breaking you.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered, smug amusement dripping from his voice as he dragged the pad of his finger over your clit again, feather-light just to fuck with you. “All this from my fingers, huh? Filthy little thing.”

You bit down hard on your lip, the moan threatening to escape from the back of your throat muffled by the way you buried your face deep into his pillows. His room reeked of him—his cologne, his sweat, and now the scent of you.

Rafe’s smirk widened, like he could feel how desperate you were getting—your hips twitching, rocking subtly into his touch, but it wasn’t enough. His fingers weren’t moving fast enough, deep enough, anything enough.

You whined, high-pitched and needy. “Rafe... please.”

He chuckled, and it was low, dark, and wicked. “Please what?” His breath was right by your ear now, voice practically vibrating with arrogance. “You want me to finger fuck my sweet little stepsis till she screams my name into my pillows? Gonna have to beg, babe.”

You wanted to. God, you would—but you knew what that did to him, how it riled him up, made him lose control.

But before you could even think about forming a proper sentence, Rafe shoved two fingers deep inside you, curling just right as you gasped into the sheets, your body jerking forward, the bed creaking under your weight. His palm pressed hard against your clit now, rubbing it in slow, firm circles, driving you toward the edge at a punishing pace.

“Fuck—Rafe—fuck, I’m—” you gasped, your voice half-muffled as you stuffed your face deeper into his pillows, trying so fucking hard to be quiet because anyone—Ward—could be home.

He groaned behind you, pushing even deeper. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me. Come on, come all over my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.”

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, your back arching, a strangled cry falling from your lips—

Then it happened.

The door handle twisted.

You barely had time to comprehend it before Rafe yanked his fingers away from you and fell back onto the bed like nothing had happened. You were frozen, heart hammering in your chest, your body throbbing with unfinished pleasure as you yanked the sheets over your lower half, trying not to scream at him.

Ward stepped into the room, his eyes sweeping over the scene. “Rafe?” he asked, brow furrowed, confused. “You seen the paperwork I left here this morning?”

Rafe stretched lazily, like a goddamn asshole, licking his thumb clean with a subtle smirk before answering, “No clue. Haven’t touched a thing.”

Your face was still buried in the pillow, pretending to sleep, your breaths shallow and fast, your entire body on the verge of a meltdown from the interrupted high.

Ward glanced around, oblivious, then shrugged. “If you find it, let me know.”

“Yeah, sure, man.”

The door closed again. Silence fell.

You were still shaking, your pussy throbbing with unrelieved need when Rafe leaned down, lips grazing your ear.

“Where were we?” he whispered, already dragging his hand back between your legs.

380 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years ago

Note

I read the Derek and Spencer fainting bit and now I want to complete it with Hotch :)))

If that’s alright of course…

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Aaron knows you harbour more affection for him than anyone else on the team, which is a true compliment to him, as you adore Spencer. He can never tell if you're friendly or loving, if you want some or all or nothing, the line between you blurred.

When Morgan and Garcia first began their flirtatious friendship, Aaron thought they were seeing each other on the sly for a whole fortnight. He's a profiler, but he doesn't know everything.

He does, however, know that something is wrong with you today. Hand held up over your eyes, you squint out over the crime scene with a wrinkled nose. The lakeside smells as bad as it looks with gore blackening the surrounding grass. He's been telling you for months to get some shades. You've been ignoring his advice.

Your disapproval of the smell is normal. Your unsure footing is not. You take his forearm when he offers it and step across the muddy bank to the body without audible complaint, though you give him a 'this fucking sucks' narrowing of the eyes when he gives you the time.

"Agent Hotchner," a deputy greets, "Agent L/N. We found the second body here. Bystanders pulled the first out thinking she was still alive, but that was unfortunately not the case."

You shift unprofessionally close to Aaron. He doesn't really care. The sheriff barely looks at you both, his attention on the corpse hidden between overgrown cattails.

Aaron hates to admit that he gives you more of his attention than is helpful. You seem odd. Call it intuition, call it plain old profiling, Aaron reads the next minute of events in the smallest twitch of your finger.

You put your hand on his back and he doesn't think, he just grabs you. The sheriff deputy startles as you fold over Aaron's arm like a marionette with strings sliced, exhaling hard as your body does its best to hit the grass beneath your feet.

"Agent L/N!" The deputy yelps.

"I got her," Aaron says, easing you down to the ground. He keeps a hand behind your head to lay you down flat, the other quick to leap from your side to your cheek. You'll likely have bruises in the shape of his hands at your waist. "Y/N?"

He rubs his thumb under your eye. Quick, he leans down with an ear to your lips and relaxes at the sound of your shallow breathing. He pulls away, resting a hand atop your chest.

"Can you hear me?" he asks, conscious of and ignoring the copious pairs of eyes watching over you.

You don't respond. Aaron goes into emergency mode, flagging down a cop who races for a paramedic, hands at your throat unbuttoning the first button on your blouse, the second in an overabundance of caution.

"Y/N, if you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that?" His tone wavers somewhere between demanding and desperate. "Come on. Come on."

Fainting is one thing. Fainting with no signs of dehydration and little sun exposure is another, especially considering you hadn't moved from one position to another. You've passed out with no obvious cause. Any number of things could be wrong.

He doesn't slap you —it works in the movies and not often elsewhere. In fact, Aaron finds himself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Patient outwardly and insanely panicked on the inside, he holds your face in his hand and waits for someone to tell him you're alright.

Your breath catches, your head lolling into his palm. He straightens it, weary of your airways. "Y/N? Tell me you can hear me."

The whirlwind of your fall and the eternity of your recovery has him holding his breath.

"I can hear you," you mumble, again attempting to turn your head. He lets you this time. He's so relieved, he'd let you do anything.

He fights the urge to shout, Where's the medic? instead following your face, tilting his head to the side. "Open your eyes, honey," he murmurs, for your ears alone.

Your lashes twitch against his pinky index finger. You frown as though you're in pain and finally rouse to attention.

"What hurts?" he asks, brows furrowed.

"Nothing hurts…" Your frown worsens. "You look really unhappy."

"I'm not ecstatic about this," he says. He gives in, shouting, "Where's the medic?"

"Oh, no, please," you say, trying to sit up, "that is so embarrassing."

Aaron pushes you flat to the grass beneath you. "Stop, you need to stay flat. You passed out. This is the solution–" He puts his hand flat over your chest as you put in some effort. "Hey, this is what you need to do. Listen to me, agent."

"What happened to honey?" you ask quietly.

"That's when you were doing what I wanted."

You close your eyes in a faux strop. "I guess I'll have to do what you want more often, sir."

"That's enough." He sounds fond. Why does he sound so fond?

The deputy clears his throat. "Paramedics are here."

You groan. Aaron hides a smile. Through everything, his hand has stayed on your cheek. He doesn't pull it away until he absolutely has to, and even then, he holds some part of you. Your elbow, your wrist. He has the sense to be sheepish about it when the paramedic ushers him back, but even then, he's thinking about when he'll get to touch you next; he needs the assurance that you're okay.

He gets it a half hour later when you're sipping on a gatorade in the back of an SUV.

"Do I still get paid for today?" you ask, smiling playfully. "Or is this a write off?"

He wants to joke about it with you, but there's work to be done. He sends you back to the hotel with a frankly unprofessional hug and a demand to take it easy. He's sure you'll be back stepping on his heels by late afternoon.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

3K notes · View notes

incognit0slut · 2 years ago

Text

Buried in the pillow

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A night of restless sleep ends better than expected. Based on;

warning: 18+ explicit content including edging, a little chocking, sexual intercourse, and dom spence

words: 4,6k (I got carried away😭)

a/n: am I supposed to be writing something else? Yes. Will it stop me from writing a slow, lazy sex scene? NO

MASTERLIST

“…you’re buried in the pillow, yeah you’re so loud…”

THERE WAS NO DENYING THE WARM FLOOD OF AROUSAL RUSHING IN HER SYSTEM. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath, her heart rate climbing in her chest she could feel her pulse throbbing through her entire body. She readjusted herself along her pillow and closed her eyes before exhaling, her thighs pressed together as she tried not to let her mind travel into any lewd thoughts.

But the sound of his shallow breathing was enough to make her terribly aware of the abrupt shift in her body. She could feel the dull, needy throb between her legs merging with that burn of sheer want for him low in her stomach. Her eyes fluttered open then, and there he was, sleeping on his side of the bed with his face facing toward her.

Spencer looked so peaceful. His eyes were closed, lashes brushing along his cheeks, and his mouth slightly parted while his chest rose in a steady rhythm, a sign of him in complete slumber. She had seen the drowsiness in his eyes the moment he walked through the door this evening, the fatigue clumped in his shoulders as he kissed her in greeting. It had been days since the last time he had proper sleep, having to travel across the country for a recent case, and today he finally had the chance to rest his bones from all of the work.

But it also meant it had been eleven days, fifteen hours, and forty-six minutes since the last time she had him buried deep inside her...

Not that she was counting.

Fine—maybe she was. Maybe she was keeping up with their time apart because being with him was something she looked forward to, in and out of the bedroom. How could she not? He was her partner; her smart, caring boyfriend who she loved too damn much and would do anything to bide the time relishing in his presence.

Although tonight she did have a specific activity in mind, which now seemed more like wishful thinking considering he was already deep in slumber. He needed the sleep, she reminded herself. He was simply tired and he needed all the rest he could get.

Swallowing hard, Y/n tried to push her desire back down. She turned over, laid back down on her back, and let her eyelids fall back down as she settled her arms to her side. But the position was too uncomfortable. She let out a groan and shifted again, hips moving along the bed a few times before she finally stopped.

The feel of something shifting woke Spencer up, his mind slowly stirring awake. A soft sigh escaped him as he lay silently, his mind quieted in the stillness of the night. Then his breathing evened out a moment later, exhaustion of the past few days took over before his eyelids lowered, body drifting back to sleep. Except for a little bit later, he heard more rustling along the pillow, a soft, feminine sound of frustration barely ringing in his ears. This time he slowly opened his eyes, adjusting himself in the dark.

The first thing he noticed was a mass of hair laid in front of him, then bare arms and a slender body clad in a silky nightgown. There was silence as he tried to pick up her breathing, watching her back move steadily in the poorly lit room. When another exasperated sigh escaped her, Spencer inched closer and reached out, an arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her closer toward him.

"Hey," he softly murmured, concerned about her constant movements in her sleep. "You alright?"

Y/n stopped herself from letting out a moan. On normal occasions, being pressed up against him in bed would lull her to sleep, the comfort of his arms provided an immense amount of warmth and safety. Definitely not tonight. The way his arm tightened around her, tugging her back into his solid chest awoken that part of her she tried to suppress. The heat of his body enveloped her and she found herself leaning back, accepting the warmth he was offering.

"Hmm," her returning hum answered, sinking deeper into his embrace.

"Bad dream?"

She stopped herself from snorting. She couldn't even get a wink of sleep and here he was, concerned about the possibility of her having nightmares. But it was a better reason than to admit why she couldn't rest her eyes, so she nodded, her voice slightly breathless as she whispered, "Something like that."

The silence in the air after her reply was jarring. If Spencer was half-awake before, he was fully awake now, the rasp in her voice far too familiar for him to ignore. And when he finally regained his consciousness back, he became highly aware of his surroundings. The soft mattress underneath him, the plush pillow below his head, and the soft curves pressed against him.

He could feel her body trembling underneath his palm, her breathing picking up its pace as his fingers glided along her stomach. He could practically hear the sound of her heartbeat as he pulled her even closer, his head shifting along her shoulder, his nose brushing against the back of her neck. The subtle fragrance of flowers and honey filled his nostrils as he breathed in her scent, nuzzling further into her, the stubble of his jaw grazing along her skin.

"Spence," she muttered, tilting her head into the pillow. "What are you doing?"

"You seem to be having trouble sleeping." She felt the bed shift behind her as he moved again, and then a moment later she felt him pressing his hips into her ass. She let out a gasp. "I'm helping you relax."

She felt something pleasantly warm grazing her neck, his lips moving deliberately slow, as if he was in no hurry and only wanted to savor the taste of her skin. His hand then slid further up her stomach, palm flat as it dragged up her body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. It eventually stopped its roam, halting its search when he cupped her left breast tenderly.

She couldn't stop the strained moan from slipping out of her mouth. "Sleep isn't exactly on my mind right now."

"I figured," he murmured beside her ear, his hot breath drawing goosebumps along her skin. "How long have you been awake?"

His hand gently kneaded her breast as his mouth traveled along her neck. Her eyelids lowered slightly, a wet heat forming between her thighs as her arousal intensified. "I haven't slept."

"And why is that?" A finger brushed across her nipple through her thin nightgown. She suppressed a helpless whimper as his thumb circled around the nub, caressing it so gently she could feel her body shaking with need. "Go on." He tugged on her nipple between his fingers. "Use your words."

"I..." She felt his tongue softly grazing her skin before he wrapped his mouth around her flesh, sucking on the spot. What was she to say? That she was too aroused to relax? She carefully weighed her words, feeling bashful verbalizing her thoughts, so she finally settled with, "It was too hot."

He hummed in response, somehow acknowledging the meaning behind her words. She watched as his hand left her breast, sliding up her bare arm before it settled on the strap of her flimsy sleepwear. He gently tugged down the thin string as his mouth lowered towards her shoulder, languorously trailing kisses down the line of it. "We should do something about that, shouldn't we?"

She couldn't think clearly when his touch sent her into a whirlwind of chaos. To crave something was one thing, to actually acquire that craving was an entirely different thing. She had wanted to feel him so much, but as his hand trailed back to her now-exposed breast, her mind was in a mess of desperate longing and need. Somehow his mouth trailing on her neck wasn't enough. Somehow his callused fingers stroking her nipple wasn't enough. She needed to feel every inch of his body on her. She wanted all of him.

More, more, more.

"Spence," she breathed out, her hoarse voice hanging in the air.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Tell me." His grip on her nipple tightened, and she shuddered at the sensation. "Tell me what you want."

"You," she answered in a daze. "I want you."

"What do you want me to do?" He gently bit her flesh. "Do you want me to make you feel good? Do you want me to touch you, relax the tension in your body?" Then her heart sped up in her chest, slamming roughly into her rib cage at his next words.

"Do you want me to fuck you to sleep?"

A strangled whimper left her mouth. Spencer was a lot of things in bed. When they had first been together, he was so timid and unsure of himself, too caught up in his thoughts that left him too afraid to touch her—which she honestly hadn't minded, she loved being the one who saw his transformation in the bedroom. But when he finally started to loosen up and be himself with her, exploring things he wanted to try, to finally take control? It drove her absolutely wild to experience him gain his confidence it made her weak in the knees every damn time.

Like this side of him now always managed to render her speechless. Perhaps it was the way he was so poised and calm outside the bedroom, a very different demeanor when he was alone with her, that made it all seem so overwhelming. In the safety of their bedroom, he was everything he desired, and being crude and demanding was what he decided to be this night.

His hand caressing her nipple slid up her chest, his fingers gently wrapping around the base of her neck. Her breath hitched as he softly gripped it, pulling her even further into his chest. "Tell me, is that what you want?"

She was breathing even heavier now, her shoulders heaving with each audible inhale. "Yes."

He bit her earlobe, evoking another breathless shudder out of her. "Explain it in words, I need you to speak to me."

Y/n enjoyed the sweet, gentle way he made love to her. She really did. Very, very much so. But there was a certain enjoyment whenever he was in control. Whenever he let himself go and have his way with her—crass words over sweet nothings, rough stokes over soft touches. It burned her skin and gripped onto her arousal, waking up the submissive side of her which she enjoyed more than she should probably have.

Spencer's grip tightened at her silence. "Are you not going to answer me?"

"Yes," she quickly responded, feeling the subtle bulge of him pressed along her backside. "Please."

"Please... what?"

She couldn't believe he was making her say it. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath and leaned into his touch, practically shifting the weight of her body on top of him. "Spence."

"I need to hear the words or you won't get anything at all," he spoke, his thumb grazing her chin.

The thought of being left sexually frustrated was enough for her to nod, giving in to his command. "Yes," she whispered, and because she wanted to make him feel as desperate as she was, she squirmed, hips writhing along his groin as she searched for friction. "I want you to fuck me to sleep."

A pleased rumble vibrated in his throat. Letting go of her neck, his hand trailed down her body and landed on the top of her thigh, gently massaging the muscle beneath his palm. His fingers skimmed up toward her skin, pushing up her nightgown, exposing more delicate skin and skimpy underwear barely covering her ass. Then it happened so fast. One moment he was caressing her, the next thing she knew his hand drew back before it came barreling forward with a sharp smack that echoed in the room. She gasped in pleasant surprise, her clit throbbing in excitement as his palm rubbed along the stinging flesh.

"You liked that, didn't you?"

She whimpered in response. Then his hand retreated from her ass only to come flying forward again with another sharp crack. Her hips jolted forward at the impact, her eyes closing at the delicious sting as his hand held onto her her stomach. His fingers then slowly trailed south and her breath hitched in her throat as she felt his lips hot on her ear.

"Open your legs, sweetheart."

Her knees fell apart at the demand, one of her legs laying on top of his. She waited for him to touch her, to dip his hand into her aching folds in the confinement of her underwear. Instead, his fingers slipped into the side of her fabric, tugging the material to the side, exposing wet, damp skin to his desire. The slick evidence of her arousal stuck onto the fabric so thickly it was enough for her to feel the heat creeping along her cheeks.

"Would you look at that?" He whispered, lips touching the back of her ear. "I haven't even touched you here and you're already soaking wet."

Her heart was pounding hard in her chest as she watched him. There wasn't a moment of hesitation while his fingers tugged the waistband of her underwear, gingerly sliding them down her legs before pulling them past her feet and casting them somewhere over the side of the bed. Then he grabbed onto her knee, parting her legs further apart but not doing anything to quench her desire. He could feel her trembling, writhing with need as she pressed further into his front.

The cool air hit her exposed skin, and it took a lot of self-control for her not to beg even further, but the way her body squirmed was enough to let him know what she craved. Though his hand stayed where it was, firmly gripping onto her left leg, sliding it on top of his while his lips lazily mapped along her neck.

"Here's what we're going to do," his gruff voice filled her ears. "I'm going to touch you, I'm going to please you in every way you like—" His hand slid painfully slow down her thigh before it came to a complete stop. "—but you can only cum when I give you permission to." His fingers inched closer to her throbbing heat. "Do I make myself clear?"

A shiver spread along her body, understanding what he meant by those words. He wanted to rule her, he wanted to be the one in charge of her own body. And while she should've felt appalled at the thought, her arousal rather grew deeper at every ticking second as he waited for her reply.

And then suddenly his fingers wrapped around her neck again, gently pressing onto her skin as he jutted his hips towards her. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," she begged him, her hand lightly tugging around his arm. "Perfectly clear."

Then his hand trailed down again, slightly brushing her aroused nipples before it settled on the heated span between her legs. When the pads of his fingers lightly grazed her clit, his teeth bit down on her shoulder. A hiss of pleasure instantly flew out of her mouth. Two of his fingers began running back and forth between her damp folds, the sensation was gradually pulling shallower and shallower breaths from her.

"You're so wet," he growled against her skin. "This what you've been needing?"

She faintly nodded, her hips moving gradually with his fingers. His fingers circled in swift motion and it was enough for her to roll her head back onto his shoulder. His fingers then slid back into her slicked entrance before he abruptly slipped two of them into her. Eyes snapping shut, she groaned in pleasure. He began thrusting slowly into her over and over, curling them deep inside. A whimper escaped her mouth at the feel of them as he began to pump into her roughly, her hips pressing eagerly back into his hand.

"I can already feel you clenching around my fingers," he whispered. "You really needed this, didn't you?"

"So much," she found herself answering, a hand grasping onto his arm as he kept thrusting his fingers at a steady pace. "I needed you."

"Then you have me. You'll always have me."

A breathy moan flew out of her at his words, her back arched in response. She felt his lips pulling into a smile along her skin, thrusting his fingers all the way in. She moaned loudly, her head dropping down between his shoulders as he pulled his fingers out before quickly pushing them right back inside.

"Spence," she breathlessly sighed, his fingers still vigorously thrusting into her, only pausing to occasionally curl inside of her which in turn had her toes curling on the bed, her body feeling closer to the edge of her release. "I-I'm gonna—"

"No. You're not."

She let out a loud groan, griping his arm as he thrust deeper, his fingers spreading wider into her as another finger entered her heat. His warm breath was brushing over her skin, the sensation mingled with his finger still thrusting into her deliciously pleasant. "Baby, I-I can't—"

"You can," he whispered, his breathing sounding harsher than before. "You're going to wait until I give you my permission."

A harsh moan ripped in her throat, her body spasming as she tried to force herself to control her body. but it was getting harder to do when her vision felt like it was blurring, her breath coming in sharp pants as his fingers continued to drive into her, the sensation had her legs shaking. She could hear how wet she was, the slick sound of him pumping into her echoed in the room.

"You're really enjoying this," he ground out as his pace picked up. "You're already so close."

She nodded against the pillow, whimpering out an affirmative noise that wasn't quite a word.

"Then I can't let that happen."

Instead of getting what she wanted, he abruptly pulled his fingers out from inside of her before she whined in protest. The loss of his touch on her body was too much to handle as she gripped his arm again, guiding him back between his legs. Spencer couldn't help the amusement dripping in his voice as he watched her move his fingers with her own. "What are you doing?"

"Spence, I was so close—"

"That's not how this works."

Then he retrieved his hand again before shifting behind her, and when she caught him pulling down his sweatpants, she couldn't help but arch her body towards him. She swallowed hard, goosebumps raising along her skin as she watched him pull out his cock, his hand gripping onto the length of it as he settled between her legs.

A moment later she felt the head of his cock rubbing through her damp folds, a shudder running down her spine at the sensation, a soft hum vibrating through her lips. She felt him line himself up with her entrance, her breath feeling like it was catching in her throat as she impatiently waited for him.

And then, finally, after many days of being apart, the tip of him slid inside of her so slowly. A gasp fell out of her mouth. Spencer rumbled out a very gruff, contented noise as he gradually sunk even deeper inside of her, pausing to let herself adjust to him.

"You feel so warm," he groaned out. "So perfectly warm."

She moaned in response, breath coming in hard. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

She could feel her walls fluttering around him, trying to adjust to his girth. Then his hips slowly began rocking into her, pleasure washing over her body in waves at the sensation. His mouth lowered beside her ear, each of his panting breaths falling straight into it. "Nice—" He moved his hips back before pushing them forward leisurely, enjoying the way she clenched around him. "—and slow."

The roll of his hips pulled her into a trance as her body responded; muscles straining, eyes widening, lips parting. Sparks of electricity began to ricochet along every nerve. The coil inside her was building up, her chest was rising and falling faster, more and more, dragging desperate breaths into her lungs with every thrust of his hips.

Then her eyes shifted downwards, watching the way he entered her deliciously body. It was a strange sight, to watch her body react to something so wonderful. Her muscles tensed, goosebumps sprang up along her skin, and it was all there for her viewing pleasure. She watched as he shoved himself into her, over and over again, her walls trembling at how intoxicating he was making her feel.

"Baby, I—" she whimpered, trembling in her wake. "I can't hold much longer."

"You can," he assured her, his fingers digging into her skin.

Weak and desperate, she surrendered in the wake of the urge elicited by his abrasive touch. His hands were all over her, large and expansive, confident in the way he touched, squeezed, and fondled every part of her body. Eager flames bloomed in the pit of her gut. "I—I can't."

He relished the way she clenched around him, her breathing coming out shallow as he took what he wanted. Then he gripped her hips, building up his pace as he thrust deeper into her. "You're so close, I can feel it," he pointed out. "Do you want to cum?"

She tried to focus her mind on something other than the feeling of him inside her. "Yes."

"Hmm," he hummed out, his pace briefly slowing. His lips brushed the shell of her ear as he demanded, "Beg me or I'll stop."

A whimper left her. "Spence."

His lips found her neck when he felt her walls squeezing him even tighter, "Do you want to cum?" he repeated against her skin.

"Mhmm."

"Use your words," he groaned as he increased the pace of his movements. "Say it."

Swallowing hard, her head rolled against his shoulder. Her lips were quivering as he kept up his pace, her body inching closer and closer to her release. She was fighting to hold it back, her body slowly beginning to shake along the mattress.

"Beg." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

She was so close. Her eyes were half-lidded her voice rang in the air, breathless and desperate for his mercy from the overwhelming pleasure. "Please," she finally breathed out, almost letting out a cry, her lips parted in delight. "Baby—I-I... please let me cum."

"What was that?"

"Spencer," she whimpered desperately. "Please. Please. Let me—fuck.. baby, please."

This time she did let out a cry.

He snarled behind her before his teeth snapped at her earlobe, tugging at the delicate skin. Her body was quaking on the bed as she whined, struggling to hold back any longer. And when she felt like she was about to lose control, he finally released her earlobe and spoke, "Go on, then. Cum for me."

A loud moan flew up out of her throat, her body pressing back into his. She felt the hard clench of her walls around his length as pleasure spread through her entire body. As the coil in her stomach grew, she couldn't help but snake a hand down to where they were connected and quickly found her throbbing sex. Catching her desperate fingers, he swatted her hand away, replacing it with his own as his fingers circled around her clit.

His rough fingers taunting their joint bodies tipped her over that tantalizing edge. She felt each pulse of her walls so acutely, felt the heat flow throughout her spine as the high she reached never came to an end. He buried his face into her neck, kissing and biting the smooth skin. A certain movement from his fingers made her whole body shake. She couldn't handle it, couldn't see through the tears falling, couldn't feel anything but him and the hot pleasure.

She finally came with a scream, wrenched from her throat so roughly it seared its way out of her lungs and into the air. She felt herself clench around him, hard, and his hips shuddered violently against her. Her ears tingled at the rhythm of his grunts as he exhaled her name, his thrusts growing erratic. Then she felt him completely, she could feel his warmth seeping into her heat as he let out the most primal groan she had ever heard.

Silence engulfed them afterward, their heart slowing down from their erratic breathing. It wasn't until he slipped out of her that she let out a tired moan, her voice echoing in the dark. He gently grabbed her body and turned her around, cradling her cheek before leaning in for a kiss.

Then slowly, but steadily, all he tasted was her. It felt like a missing puzzle falling back to its place as his warm lips connected with hers. He was so enraptured by her touch, by the taste of her, that it took a lot for him to pull away. Breathing heavily, he finally rested his head back onto his pillow, a coy smile stretched on his lips as his thumb stroked along her cheek.

"Hi."

A sincere smile flourished on her face. "Hi."

"Well, that was... something."

She laughed as she leaned closer, wrapping her arm around his waist. "It was fun."

"It really was," he agreed, suddenly feeling shy as he realized what had just occurred. "I always surprise myself when I'm with you."

"Good," she simply said. He wrapped his arms around her as she settled in his embrace. They lay in comfortable silence, her head on his chest, legs draped over him as his fingers drew lazy patterns on her thigh. Then after a moment of relishing each other's presence, his deep voice cut through the silence.

"You know," he started, his voice very soft. "You could've just woken me up if you have trouble sleeping."

She slightly leaned back to look up at him. "You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb you."

"Nothing about you will ever be disturbing to me."

She wrinkled her nose. "Even if you got home from a long, exhausting trip, you wouldn't mind if I woke you up for sex?"

"I'd especially want to be woken up for that reason," he replied in disbelief. His fingers trailed under her chin, angling her gaze on him. "Wouldn't you?"

She smiled at the thought. There was a delightful feeling as her mind wandered on the possibility of him interrupting her sleep because he craved her touch. "Alright," she agreed. "Duly noted."

His arms tightened around her. "Do you think you can sleep now?"

She hummed out a positive response, her face burrowing along his skin, just beneath his chin. Her body suddenly felt the heavy post-sexual bliss, and now surrounded by his warmth, she could feel the fatigue creeping into her body.

"I was hoping so," he murmured.

Tugging the sheets up higher over their body, she felt him shifting along the bed for a minute, his arms encircling her waist. His chin was carefully tucked onto the top of her head as he drew her in tight under the covers. And when the steady rhythm of his breathing embraced her, her body finally relaxed, falling into sleep.

5K notes · View notes

ohtobeleah · 4 months ago

Text

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Epilogue: Part One [Boulevard of Broken Dreams]

Summary: You received a call you and Bradley Bradshaw have been waiting on for what felt like a decade. Jakes mother causes a scene as worry consumes you. And does Jake want the very thing that put him in the hospital in the first place?

Warnings: Jake Seresin Whump. Mentions of Religion. F!reader x Jake Seresin. Angst, Mother-in-law issues. F-18 crash. Bad Medical representation.

Word Count: 6.2k

Author Note: EEEPPPPP we're almost there. this is the chapter EVERYONE has been waiting for. Just what the hell is going on! Please don't forget to let me know what you think.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

December 23rd

Your genetic makeup, the genes that you inherit from your parents, determines who you are biologically. They’re your blueprint so to speak. Everything from your eye colour to your height to your laugh. Even some diseases like asthma, diabetes, and various cancers.

But who you are at the core of it all goes far beyond your genetic makeup. Who you really are is the result of many, many things: How you deal with fear. Who you surround yourself with. And how you show up when it matters most.

The sea breeze was a gentle reminder of how quickly life could change in the blink of an eye. As you walked along the sand with small, barely there waves lapping at your ankles, the sight of families running after beach umbrellas and holding down sandy towels after the sudden gust of wind came through and caused a disturbance, really made you smile. Smiles were a treasure that was few and far between. It had been for months.

The somewhat sunny day was shrouded in the unknown. Chronic winds continued to wreak havoc on unsuspecting families just trying to enjoy their weekend. A storm was brewing off the coast. But for you, something much more life-altering was wreaking havoc. Something all-encompassing and certifiably depressing was eating away at your soul.

Your boyfriend and the love of your life had been severely injured in a work accident just over two months ago. His mother is certifiably insane and clearly doesn’t like you even existing on the same planet as her son… and his best friend hasn’t left you alone in what felt like a century.

But who were you to compare tragedies on this fine, sunny day?

“There you are!” The second you heard that agitating, grading voice, you rolled your eyes so hard you could have fallen into the shallows. The flightless bird you knew as Bradley Bradshaw was racing after you, making his presence known along the shore as he ran to catch up. “God, you had me worried for a second there. I was talking to Sue for like five seconds and you were just gone.”

“Some bodyguard you are,” you huffed as Bradley finally caught up to you. It wasn’t that you didn't like Rooster, it was more about the fact he felt obligated to keep an eye on you given the circumstances. “How is Sue anyway?”

“Uh–” Bradley looked back over his shoulder hesitantly to see the woman he’d been dating for the last few weeks walking away. “I don’t think we'll be seeing Sue much anymore.” It was all the explanation you needed. And if you were to be completely honest you didn’t blame the women. Who wants to fight for attention with a man whose sole responsibility these days was to keep his best friend's unborn children safe?

“You should be paying more attention to the women you’re trying to sleep with you know,” you replied as you kept walking down the pristine beach. The place that had become a home away from home. “I’ve told you, I don’t need a babysitter. We’re good, I promise.”

It had been an unspoken understanding since meeting Jake’s wingman that Rooster would look after you if anything were ever to happen to Jake. It went both ways for the two aviators from hell. Although at times the pair couldn’t be in the same room as one another without starting World War Three, it was a given that they would always be there for the other’s loved ones. It was brotherhood in its finest and rawest form.

But it was driving you mad.

“Jake wouldn’t–” Bradley tried to explain, but you’d heard this explanation too many times by this point. So much so you could finish Rooster’s sentence for him.

“‘Jake wouldn’t forgive you if something were to happen to me’, I know I know,” you huffed again. Your right hand came down to rest across your growing bump. Two little souls were currently using your internal system as their personal development grove. Two little Seresin babies that were as unexpected as they were blessed— or at least, to you. “But you– for as much as I appreciate everything you have and will continue to do for us Rooster– are driving me insane.”

“Too bad,” couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled you into his side. His arm slung over your shoulders before you could even protest his actions. “You’re Jake’s girl and Jake’s not here so therefore I gotta do what I gotta do and that my dear Y/n–” Bradley paused for a second before he continued just like the small waves that lapped at your ankles. Fear threatened to overcome Rooster’s nervous system. Yet, fending off fight or flight mode, he continued. Playing the role you needed him to be: Caregiver brick wall extraordinaire. “---Is to be right here, by your side, until that idiot wakes up.”

They say time heals most wounds. And for the majority of people that saying is pretty spot on. But for Jake Seresin, that hadn’t been the case. Jake had been in an induced coma for weeks after his near-death accident. The experienced aviator was no match for the panic attack that took him hostage mid-training exercise. His body currently lay battered, burnt and bruised in the Miramar Base Hospital in the intensive care unit. His soul remained trapped inside the mind you sometimes hated to love and loved to hate.

And when Doctors tried to wake him from the state they’d put him into in order to heal…he didn’t wake up.

That was back in November…It was now approaching Christmas Day and still, there was no sign of Jake waking from his coma. He’d battled and fought what seemed like everything the world could throw at him: Broken bones. Third-degree burns. A swollen brain. Organ damage. Pneumonia. You name it and Jake had battled it.

He was a fighter. Someone who was going to fight until he had nothing left. Doctors assured you there was brain activity. A good indication of a recovery.

But when he would wake was entirely up to him…

“Some idiot huh?” you teased playfully at your boyfriend’s expense. But the reality of the situation was that with every passing day, with every complication or turn of events, you missed Jake more and more. “He’s coming out the other side of the phenomena though, which is a good sign.”

Bradley walked by your side as the two of you debriefed about what the day would bring. First, you needed to shower and change into something that wasn’t kissed by the salty air of the beach you liked to walk along every morning. It helped you clear your head from all the noise. Since Jake’s accident, your head hadn’t been quiet. Voices echoed all day long inside your mind about what you could be doing better, more of. What you could have done differently.

Sometimes those voices would grow louder and stronger the longer you tried to avoid them. However, averting your gaze and pretending the voices didn’t exist was a harder task than first thought…especially when the voices that escaped your mind were coming from Jake’s mother.

That self-proclaimed holier than thou mother fu—

Next, you needed to eat something. You hadn’t had much of an appetite your entire pregnancy. Bradley liked to think it was because of the additional stress Jake’s hospitalisation had caused. You knew he’d say something if you didn’t at least try to consume something of substance.

And finally, to you, the most important part of the list of to-do’s, was to get over to Miramar Base Hospital and see the man who’d captivated your entire heart. The goal every day besides growing two human lives was to be by Jake's side.

Even if at the end of the day the result of all this turmoil and trauma was a breakup you knew his mother was already actively praying for, you’d still be able to say you weren’t the one who walked away.

“Come on,” Bradley gently placed his arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get outta here. I’m sure Jake’s waiting for us.”

“His mother will be there,” you said without hesitation. There was a frustrated sadness in your voice. A longing for privacy. A declaration for peace. You knew Bradley was aware of the hostile relationship between the two of you, he'd been present for a few altercations. But you also knew he was right and Jake would want you there if you could be. And it was a could-be day. For both you and Rooster. “I was thinking maybe we could go a little later in the day, give her some time alone–”

“Y/n?”

Yeah?” You knew what was coming, it felt like the two of you had had this same exact conversation every day for the past four weeks.

“You’re the mother of Jake’s soon-to-be twins. He’d want you there more than Janise.”

“It’s Janeen, Roo,” you grinned to yourself as you looked down at your growing bump with a loving hand resting over your belly button. “And Hell would probably freeze over before she realises that.”

“I thought you weren’t a religious person?” Rooster frowned momentarily as he searched his brain for any conversational remarks he may have missed in passing that would have led him to forget your religious values. He wasn’t a God-loving man himself, but there had to be something out there, right?

“I’m not.” You had never followed a religion or its practices, but the longer the love of your life remained in a coma after sustaining life-threatening injuries, the more you were open to whatever religious being extended a helping hand first. Including but not limited to Satan. You’d sell your soul in a heartbreak to bring Jake back. “But a girl can dream, can’t she?”

Your non-religious self-awareness was the deciding factor when it came to Janeen not accepting you. Ever since Jake had brought you home to his parents one winter break back in your college days, you knew it was a battle not worth fighting.

You were the girl who got away. The rogue agent. The true crime writer with an appetite for knowledge and literature. Jake was the aspiring college football star turned Naval Aviator.

Jake broke it off in the spring before he went to basic. You wanted roots and stability he at the time couldn’t offer. He was off to see the world and the world would be his oyster. You couldn’t stand in the way of that no matter how much you believed Jake Seresin was the one for you.

You knew Janeen was over the moon with joy and delight that her precious boy had come home to his faith and exiled the woman who was leading him down a road of treacherous sin.

Get the fuck outta here.

It wasn’t until about a year or so ago that you and Jake reconnected after he’d come back from a mission that had him staring death right in the face and questioning what he had to look back on.

All he saw was you in that library at college smiling across at him while explaining that Christmas was fake. Something his mother would have burnt him at the stake for believing.

So, Jake called. And like a love-sick loser, you came running from across the country. Rhode Island was your home, but wherever Jake Seresin was in the world was where your heart would be.

“I bet she cries herself to sleep at night more over the fact you and Hangman are having children out of wedlock than she cries over the fact he nearly died,” Bradley growled.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” you replied as a gust of wind picked up a beach umbrella in the distance. “I’m something straight out of the book of the damned, Bradshaw. The idea of us having a child together, let alone twins, took twenty years off her life.”

“Jake would have loved to see her face when you told her,” Bradley chuckled. Then he cleared his throat and did his best to steer the conversation back on track. “We still have to go to the hospital.”

Reluctantly, you agreed. “Fine, but you’re taking me to get a muffin from Bells Bakery first,” you said all the while Rooster rolled his eyes. You knew he couldn’t say no. How do you say no to a pregnant lady who just wants a sweet little treat before spending hours in the same room as your comatose boyfriend and his overbearingly religious mother? You don’t. You don’t say no, you simply nod in agreement.

*************************

Every disease has its unique course it takes in the body when left untreated. The process begins with exposure to a root cause that sends a ripple effect throughout the body. The disease then progresses, ultimately resolving in one of three possible outcomes…

You get better, you stay chronically ill, or you die.

The weather had taken a drastic turn since you and Rooster left the beach earlier that morning. The slightly overcast and windy day brought in a nice north-easterly storm. Rain was the only thing that filled the silence as you sat waiting patiently. You caught yourself thinking of what you’d give to hear Jake’s voice before the new year.

The carefully cultivated interior design of Bradley’s Bronco was something straight out of every single bachelor’s wet dream. This car was what you expected the inside of his soul to look like. And if you were to ever become anything like Jake’s Mother, you’d think this car would be Bradley’s version of a perfect heaven.

Then, like a premonition, your phone rang, splitting the quiet like lightning through a dark sky.

"Hi, Y/n,” Doctor Hughes sounded rather cheerful as you sat in the passenger seat of Bradley’s Bronco.

“It appears that our dear friend is waking up," his voice was urgent but steady. For a moment, your mind stumbles, caught between disbelief and hope. Then you’re moving — grabbing keys, kicking on your sandals, heart pounding louder than an engine roaring to life.

“Rooster?” you whispered as you clambered out of the parked Bronco. The curb hated to see a Bradshaw coming. “I’ll be there as soon as I can!” You awkwardly spoke into your phone before hanging up without hesitation. There was no time to waste on small talk. Jake was waking up.

The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow as you walked as fast as you could, each passing second stretched thin by desperation. Memories flashed — hospital visits, whispered promises, tear-soaked prayers, or whatever bullshit Jake’s mother insisted on mumbling.

“Rooster!?” you yelled as panic, fear, and anxiety overcame your nervous system. “Bradshaw?” you yelled once more as you entered the small locally owned bakery..

“Hey, what’s wrong? I just ordered a coffee to go and your apple cinnamon muffin.,” Rooster could tell by the look on your face and how sickly you looked that something had happened. “Is the Bronco okay?”

The fact that was the first thing his mind jumped to angered you to no end. “Yes, the fucking Bronco is fine, you idiot,” you sighed as your belly felt heavy with two Seresin children, a nervous shit, and impending vomit. “Jake’s waking up.”

“No way, who called?” Bradley kicked into fifth gear before your eyes as he ushered you out of the cafe without his coffee or your muffin.

“Rooster, our order?” you protested as he barrelled out of the cafe with your shoulders in his hands. “Hold up!”

“We gotta go, you wanna be there when he wakes up, don’t you?” Rooster asked, thinking the answer you’d give him would be a straight-up “yes”. There shouldn’t have been any other answer. But the longer you stood still not answering, Bradley knew something was eating away at you. “Y/n, why are you being weird about this? He’s okay, everything’s gonna be alright.”

“What if he doesn’t want this?” your eyes welled with tears in the middle of the walkway. “What if he doesn’t want me? What if…what if he doesn’t want the ki–our kids?”

Surgical intervention doesn’t always work when it comes to disease. Sometimes, despite best efforts, the disease wins. It takes over our cells one-by-one…until the damage can no longer be reversed. When that happens, all you can do is take the loss and move on. But when you can change the course of someone’s disease, you can change the course of their life. It’s enough to make you want to come back for more.

“Oh, Y/n, no,” Bradley cooed as he drew you in for a much-needed hug. “Jake’s a lot of things, and he’s done a lot of stupid things, but giving you up all those years ago was his biggest mistake,” Rooster reminded you as the tears you cried stained his T-shirt. Your face was buried in his chest. A chest that had soaked up far too many of your tears these last few weeks. “I know there’s a lot of unknowns, but if there’s one thing I know for sure it’s that Jake’s never gonna let you guys go. I promise you.”

“He didn’t want the baby before he–” You couldn’t finish your sentence without breaking out into an all-out wail. Bradley held you tighter than he ever had before. He didn’t know what you hadn’t told him. And what you hadn’t told him was the whole truth…

The whole truth was that Jake’s accident had been your fault. Or so it felt like it.

“Hey, hey, you’re good,” Rooster tried his best to soothe your soul all the while the lady who’d taken his order before kindly brought it out. He was sure to thank her silently over your shoulder as she placed the muffin in its brown paper bag and his takeaway coffee on the bench. “Whatever happened before all this, I’m sure it’s gonna work out. Jake loves you so much,” Rooster beamed as he rubbed your back. “He’s not letting you or these kiddos go.”

**********************

As the Bronco sped down the rain-slick streets, tires hissing against the wet pavement, Bradley’s hands gripped the steering wheel as tight as possible. His knuckles were white with tension. You sat anxiously in the passenger seat, phone clenched tightly in your hands, replaying the call from Dr. Hughes in your mind over and over again like a broken Rolexes that held only one memory.

"It appears that our dear friend is waking up,” Jensen Hughes, Jake’s primary doctor who had been with him since the first day he was brought into the hospital, had said. The words echoed in your head, filling your mind, body, and soul with equal parts hope and fear.

"We’re almost there," Bradley muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. His best friend was waking up from a coma he never really thought he’d come out of. He’d been looking after you and his unborn children since the accident. Jake had missed so much and nothing all at the same time.

"He’s strong. He’s been fighting this whole time." You reached over, resting a hand on his arm. Bradley nodded in return but didn’t speak. The memories of countless nights spent at Jake’s bedside haunted you both. Each mile seemed endless, stretched by the weight of anticipation.

The hospital's glowing sign finally appeared through the rain-streaked windshield. Bradley exhaled sharply, parking the car with a jerky halt. Without another word, you both dashed toward the entrance, hearts pounding, ready to see Jake — ready to hope again.

**********************

The elevator doors opened with a subdued ding as you and Rooster stepped into the hushed hospital hallway. The dim overhead lights cast a pale glow, reflecting off the sterile white walls. Neither of you spoke as you walked toward Jake’s room. Both too anxious to say anything that could jeopardise this significant moment in Jake’s recovery.

As you approached the familiar door, you hesitated. Your breath hitched in your throat. Bradley gently squeezed your hand, grounding you in the moment. You felt like you were going to be sick. Your twins pressed on every vital organ they had shoved to whatever side they could to make room for themselves. Here you were, Jake Seresin’s pregnant girlfriend, about to see him awake for the first time in what felt like a decade. Rounding the final corner, you saw the familiar door, slightly ajar, light spilling into the hallway. For a moment, neither of you moved, overwhelmed by hope and fear intertwined.

"We’re here," Bradley whispered, his voice steady though his eyes betrayed the weight of his worry.

As you pushed the door open, you were met with the soft beeping of the heart monitor and the steady whoosh of the ventilator. Jake lay still, his face pale but peaceful, lost in the depths of his coma. His mind was a world away, carried off into the subconscious. His body was the only remaining evidence to suggest he was still with you.

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill as you stepped closer. Why were you expecting him to be awake and alert? Wishing thinking once again overcomplicated your usually realistic outlook on how things worked in this world. Perhaps it had been the way Doctor Hughes spoke to you on the phone. Or maybe it was the pregnancy hormones that allowed for more hopeful endings. Either way, neither explanation added up to the expectation you had set.

"Hey, Jake... it’s us," you whispered, voice trembling. Bradley pulled a chair close and ushered you to sit beside the bed.

"We’re not going anywhere," he said firmly. "You hear me? We’re right here." Resting a hand on Jake’s forearm, Rooster was quick to let his wingman know he was there. The room remained silent except for the rhythmic beeping, but neither of you moved, holding onto hope with every passing second.

“We heard what you’ve been up to while we’ve been gone, baby,” you cooed softly as you stroked Jake’s cheek gently, taking in the sight of his peacefully unaware self. “And we don’t plan on going anywhere until we get to see those beautiful eyes of yours.”

“What’s going on here?” The familiar voice made your heart sink into your stomach as you tried to get as comfortable as you could in the world’s most uncomfortable hospital chair. Janeen stood in the doorway with a fresh coffee from the cafe downstairs in her aging hand. Her nails, manicured to perfection, clutched around the paper cup so much so that you swore the scolding hot liquid would burst through the weakened structure. “Did something happen? Why the urgency to not go anywhere?”

“Did–” you paused for a second as you allowed yourself to sink a little further into your chair with a protective hand strewn across your ever-growing baby bump. “Did anyone call you?”

“Why would anyone call me when I’m already here, silly girl.” Janeen scoffed as she walked further into Jake’s room. A room that had been his for weeks. A room that your mother had helped you decorate with Christmas lights and decorations as the season approached with every passing day. A bleak, barren hospital room was no place for a soul full of such joy and fun and high-octane energy. Jake deserved more than white walls and sterile floors.

“Right, my bad for asking,” you sighed as Rooster rolled his eyes discreetly and tried to hide his disdain for his best friend’s mother. A mother he knew Jake wasn’t so fond of either. Especially when it came to you.

“Jane!” Rooster beamed as he broke the tension. “Long time no see. How long has it been?” Bradley smiled as he shot you a cheeky look of mischief. This was who Rooster was at his very core. A shit-stirring moustache-having gold star kid. The best there was. He’d been a rock for you during this whole ordeal. There had never been a moment these past few months where you hadn’t been able to cry on Rooster’s shoulder or vent to him in full confidence that everything you said would stay with him and only him.

“I saw you yesterday, son,” Janeen replied sternly, not a single hint of amusement in her tone. Yet, Rooster continued with his antics. He knew well enough by now to know if he kept going, Janeen would cut you some slack. Rooster had been an on-and-off fixture in the Seresin household for years. Ever since Jake and Bradley met in the academy. And boy did Janeen Seresin have a soft spot for the man who grew up without parents or any sort of guiding light. She saw real potential in the Bradshaw kid. If he just applied himself to God, he could be one of his finest soldiers.

“Really? I’d never forget seeing you! Are you sure it was yesterday? I heard dementia is kinda contagious in these sorts of environments,” Bradley grinned as he pulled the shorter, aging woman with that signature older mother smell into him for a hug. He was sure to send you a wink over her head.

You had to stuff the boisterous laugh that threatened to spill from your mouth right back down into the depths of your stomach before World War Three could erupt right here in Jake’s hospital room. To be perfectly honest though, you wouldn’t be opposed to that diagnosis. Perhaps then you’d have somewhat of a chance at developing some sort of relationship with the grandmother of your children. Even if each and every day brought a new personality and memory bank. Oh, a girl could dream.

“Y/n, be a dear and get me a chair will you?” If you weren’t already sitting down, you would have fallen over with shock.

“Oh, I can do that,” Bradley quickly jumped into action, not wanting you to get up. “I’ll go get you one, I’ll be right back.” He grinned at Janeen before sending you a worrying look of concern. A look that didn’t necessarily look the best on him. “Don’t–just don’t kill each other while I’m gone, alright?”

“Scouts honour,” you held your hand up as if you were swearing on the bible. Something you’d never actually do. But as Janeen looked over at where you were sitting, she nodded in agreement.

“Right, I’ll be right back,” Bradley groaned hesitantly as he left the room. Leaving an unconscious and comatose Jake to fend for himself. “Sorry pal, she’s your mother,” he mumbled to himself as he shook his head and continued out of sight. The second Rooster was gone…it was on for young and old.

“I’ve organised a paternity test for when you have the babies–” Janeen informed you like it wasn’t the worst insult you’d ever heard.

“Excuse me?” you replied rather harshly as you sat up in your chair. In what world would these not be Jake’s children? How was this happening right now? How was she doing this when Jake was slowly waking up from his endless sleep?

“You heard me,” Jeneen smirked. “I need to protect my son,” For a woman who preached about being God’s seeing eye, she really was doing the devil’s work.

“Your son should have listened in sex-ed a little more.” You knew even the mention of sex would have Janeen’s skin crawling. Sex out of wedlock! How dare you, how would you ever be cleansed of your sins? “Are you being serious right now Janeen?”

“I almost lost him once!” Jake’s mother raised her voice as she stepped closer to his bedside, taking in the sight of her grown, adult child. “I’m not losing him again and certainly not to some wannabe writer who wants to live off my son’s achievements.”

“Almost doesn’t matter because almost never happened,” you made sure to say before you went on to unleash a declaration of war against your not-so-mother-in-law. “But I can guarantee if you try and destroy this family before it has a chance to grow, so help whatever God you believe in bitch…I’ll burn your entire life to the ground and smile when I watch the millions of dollars you put into that ranch burn too.”

“You vindictive girl.” Janeen had nothing else to say from the other side of Jake’s hospital bed.

“Don’t threaten my family and I won’t threaten yours.” It was the only warning you were ever going to give.

“He’s my son!” Janeen shouted as Bradley made his wake back down the hall with a chair in hand.

“And he’s my hu–”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. With so many hormones and emotions coursing through your veins, you slipped. Jake wasn’t your husband. He wasn’t your fiance. He was your boyfriend. And for as much as you wanted to marry the man lying in that hospital bed after nearly losing his life, you knew that question was far from being asked. If it were ever to be asked. Jake Seresin had grown up watching his parents hate each other…he’d made it clear marriage was something he wasn’t interested in. Why would he be when he spent his childhood listening to his mother beg his father to fix some stupid faucet that never did get fixed?

Why would Jake ever be interested in marriage when he could remember the intervention his grandfather gave his dad at their wedding, something about it wasn’t too late to back out. Hell, why would Jake be interested in marriage when he watched his father fall out of love so hard with his mother that she never really clued him in on her battle with breast cancer? Jake grew up under the guidance of God and his almighty word…

But the way his father had treated his mother throughout Jake’s life had truly left a sour taste in his mouth. And if Jake, through biological design, was anything like his dad…he was never going to put himself in a position where he could emulate any sort of resemblance to his father.

Trauma am I right? (He’d told you so much about his childhood.)

“Honey, you’re nothing more than an incubator,” Janeen hissed with a wicked smirk plastered across her face. “He’s my son, and my son knows better than to allow himself to stoop as low as ending up with someone like you.”

“I thought I told you two not to kill each other?” Rooster tried to intervene as he placed the chair down beside where Janeen stood. He’s never seen you look so worked up. So angry. So hurt.

“Janeen.” You took a deep breath in and closed your eyes. “When I have these children, Jake’s children, if I have it my way you will never see them. You will never get to know them do you hear me? No God or religion or wackadoodle fucking beliefs you have will ever help you have a relationship with my children because if you can’t look me in the fucking eye and see what your son sees in me then I’m not entertaining any sort of relationship with you.”

“If they’re really my grandbabies then you can’t keep them from seeing their family–”

“She’s their mother, Jane, I don’t think you have much say in the matter,” Rooster sided with you as politely as he could. He wasn’t going to be the one to point out that Jake's fingers were twitching either.

“Better start praying really hard Janeen,” you chuckled, knowing that although you didn’t win this battle, you’d win the war. “Maybe Rooster will bring back a pillow for your knees,” you teased, a little out of line but it was so worth the look of horror on her face. “You’ll be on them for a hell of a long time.”

**********************

The roar of twin afterburners pierced the sky as Jake pushed his F-18 Super Hornet through a steep climb. The clear blue expanse stretched endlessly above, the ground a distant memory. This was his element—a place where skill and instinct defined survival. Still, the only thing on his mind when he should have been focusing on controlling a multimillion-dollar piece of military equipment was you. You were pregnant. Jake was going to be a father.

He should have listened to you when you said the two of you could talk about it after he got home from work. He never should have pressed you for more information. But Jake had and the second the words came out of your mouth, he heard nothing else after the words “I’m pregnant Jake–we’re gonna have a baby.”

He wasn’t ready to be a dad. A father. Being a dad was the last thing Jake thought he should ever be. He wasn’t raised to procreate. He shouldn’t be responsible for another human being. If Jake was even an ounce like his own father, that kid, that poor fetus growing inside you as he raced through the sky, was about to have one hell of a childhood. It wasn’t even just having a baby that terrified him. How was Jake meant to teach this kid right from wrong when he was still learning that himself?

“What if I told you that I wasn’t sure if I wanted kids, but I want you?” Jake knew the second that the question left his lips…that it hadn’t come out the way it should have. But the reality was he had said it, and the look in your hopeful eyes quickly shattered and was replaced with a reluctance to continue with the conversation.

Self-doubt radiated off Jake like his life force was fading. Today's training was a high-intensity combat simulation over the rugged terrain of Redstone Valley. Jake and Rooster were executing advanced dogfighting maneuvers against an elite training squadron. Every turn, every roll, every burst of speed was a calculated dance of power and precision.

"Bandit on your six!" Bradshaw’s urgent voice crackled through Jake's headset.

His wingman had questioned him earlier in the day about what had him so uptight. Jake hadn’t been himself today, he knew that much for sure. But that was because he couldn’t stop thinking about you and the very fact you were pregnant with his child. A child created out of love and endless passion. But that wasn’t enough to make Jake want to be a father after being so sure for so many of his adult years that he wasn’t supposed to be a father. “Hangman! Get your arse into gear man!”

Jake yanked the stick hard left, pulling into a sharp barrel roll. The G-forces slammed him into his seat as he broke away, narrowly avoiding the pursuing jet's simulated missile lock. His pulse raced, his adrenaline surged as his heart beat against his cheat so hard he swore he was having a heart attack…

Suddenly, the cockpit warning system blared—a mechanical shriek of impending doom. "ENGINE FAILURE—LEFT ENGINE!" flashed across the Heads-Up Display.

"Mayday, mayday, this is Viper One, experiencing critical engine failure. Attempting emergency procedures," Jake radioed, his voice steady despite the rising tension. The heart attack he swore he was having was a full-blown panic attack. Jake couldn’t catch his breath long enough to maintain focus. “Fuck, Rooster! I’m going down! Mayday–mayday!” Children’s laughter filled the cockpit as Jake spiralled out of control.

“JAKE! EJECT EJECT EJECT!” Bradley shouted frantically through the coms. He watched on in pure horror as one of the best aviators he knew plummeted to earth without much control. “HANGMAN EJECT!”

“Tell Y/n I love her–” was the last communication that Bradley received before Jake frantically gave up his battle with the controls to pull his chute.

Much like Rooster’s late father, Jake’s emergency exit hadn’t gone according to plan. The roar of the F-18's engines screamed in Jake's ears as the warning lights flashed across the cockpit. Smoke billowed from the right engine, as his aircraft trembled violently.

As Jake pulled his emergency chute, he was propelled into the sky as his F-18 was engulfed in flames so hot the heat melted his uniform into his skin. If he’d waited even one second more he would have been a goner. The emergency exit did little to stop the dramatic fall from grace Jake was experiencing. He plummeted unconscious from the sky towards the burning pile of rubble that was, just a few seconds ago, his Super Hornet.

The ground felt like solid concrete as Jake slammed into the side of the valley, bones shattered on impact as Rooster watched on in utter agony. His helmet did little to cushion the impact, although that was its intended purpose. Emergency services had already been sent out to Jake’s last known location… but there was little that could be done for Jake as he lay in a twisted pile of his emergency parachute. Blood stained his flight suit as his body began to shut down.

He was dying, but the laughter of children filled the silence like sunlight filtering through leaves—light, spontaneous, and full of love.

**********************

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream

@maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional l

@jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog

@a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination

@the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus @emma8895eb @kmc1989 @avengersgirllorianna

#was it over? // jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #tw: cancer #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin whump #jake seresin #maverick top gun

230 notes · View notes