#the leaks for the Pig gave me life

[arealphrooblem]

Kidnapped by the Boss Part 6

Part one here

Synopsis: Civilian is a secretary to the Prime Minster. But when the political summit between the city states goes awry, she finds herself kidnapped by the very boss she tried to protect and nothing is what it seems.

CW: Hunger Strike, disordered eating *summary of chapter will be at the bottom for anyone who wants to skip it.*

Breakfast was delivered via servant a short while after he dropped her off. Her stomach roiled at the sight of all her favorites carefully arranged on the tray. It reminded her, quite forcefully, of how her grandmother used to wrap bitter pills in peanut butter balls or turkey for her ailing dog.

He wanted so badly to preserve the relationship they had before, as if he hadn’t completely obliterated it himself. He must have thought it would keep her complacent when her fear faded out.

He thought he knew her, but he had only ever seen her at her job. And sure, some days were hard and he caught a glimpse of her frustration or anxiety. As the years bled into each other, he learned little things about her, like her favorite foods or the TV shows that she rewatched obsessively.

But he never actually saw her. Even at the height of her newfound crush on him, Val kept a tight lid on any unprofessional slip ups and her personal life rarely leaked over into her job.

He thought patient, reliable, helpful Val was the only facet of her being. He knew nothing of the depths of her rage, her pig-headed stubbornness,

She took a slice of toast and threw the rest in the trash.

“Knock knock, Val. I hope you’re decent.”

The driver’s voice sounded about two seconds before the door opened. Of course, by the afternoon Val had already showered and dressed for the day. Still, it was a little unsettling how little time he’d give her if she wasn’t.

“Does it ever get old, coming here to irritate the shit out of me?” she demands, crossing her arms.

“Angel, it got old the first time.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you think it's my choice to be here?”

“Do you actually have free will or are you just a highly realistic robot?”

“Do you want a tour of the castle or do you want to stay stuck in this room?”

“ . . .What?”

“Apparently the rumor goes that your incredibly lavish and luxurious rooms are not good enough for you. So I’ve been tasked to show you around, let you stretch your legs or whatever.”

“Stretch my legs?” she repeated skeptically. “Where? Over the edge of the roof?”

“Or, you know, to the library. Or the zoo.”

“There’s a zoo here?”

The driver waved his hand dismissively. “Technically a rescue animal sanctuary. He calls it a menagerie because he’s pretentious as hell. But let’s be real — its a glorified petting zoo.”

A zoo and a library. Val had to admit both intrigued her greatly. Staying in this room did her no favors, mentally, with nothing to do but stew in her own fear and frustration.

She opened her mouth to comply and then promptly shut it closed.

Bitter pill. Peanut Butter.

Any kindness from him came with strings, no doubt, so he could yank her around like a little puppet.

“No,” she said instead. “I’m staying here.”

The driver’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’m not going to kill you unless he asks me to — no matter how annoying you are. And if he does, I’ll snap your neck. Quick, efficient. Shoving you off the roof is cowardly and makes too big of a mess.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but it has nothing to do with that. I just don’t want to go. You can tell your king to stick his zoo and his library up his ass.”

The driver gave her a long stare. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a stubborn fucking idiot?”

“Once or twice.”

He shook his head. “If you want to go slowly insane in this room, have at it, I guess.”

Lunch came. Her stomach growled at the sight of her favorite sandwich but she forced herself to throw that away too. (she ate the pickle spear though). He wanted something from her and he wasn’t going to get it just because he plied her with food and entertainment.

 A cage was a cage.

She didn’t even bother to check what dinner was. The tray and lid sat untouched on the table for the servants to whisk away tomorrow.

Hunger woke up her up later that night, her mouth dry. Head dizzy. Her stomach cramped with it, a howling beast. It was so tempting to tear the lid of the dinner off and eat it with her hands that she went and locked herself in the bathroom for a while.

A few handfuls of water from the sink was all she allowed herself. When she felt strong enough, she set the tray in the bathroom floor and shut the door to block the temptation. Sleep claimed her for a long time.

“My lady. You need to wake up.”

A hand kept delicately patting her shoulder, chasing her out of another nightmare. She jerked awake, scrambling to sit up in the bed.

One of the servants, a woman old enough to be her mother with a calm but impassive face, stared down at her. Her uniform was immaculate.

“I’m sorry,” Val found herself saying. “What — what time is it? Has something happened?”

“It is nearly eleven, ma’am. His majesty will be here in roughly ten minutes with breakfast. I advise you to dress.”

“Ten minutes?” she squawked.

“Do you need any assistance?” the woman asked.

God her head was splitting now that sleep started to fall away. “Painkillers?” she asked weakly. “My head hurts.”

To her surprise, the woman gave her a stern look. “I’m sure it does,” she said with a bland tone that did not match the look in her eyes.

The woman swept off through the door without another look in Val’s direction.

What was that about? she wondered as she stumbled to the dresser. But the fogginess in her head lay too thick to figure it out. She felt like complete and utter shit and the last thing she felt ready to deal with was him.

The bed beckoned her with its feather pillows and down comforter and high thread count sheets. She stared longingly back for a moment, debating on how convincingly she could pretend to sleep when he showed up, before sighing and putting on a fresh change of clothes.

She had just tamed her hair into another pony tail when a knock came from the door.

“Rise and shine, princess,” said the driver’s voice.

Goddamn it. She had to deal with both of them.

“Can we reschedule?” she yelled out. “I’m busy.”

“I’m afraid not, love,” said the king’s voice.  “I’d rather not wait.”

She did not like the sound of that. “Fine,” she growled. “Let’s get this over with.”

The door opened, the driver propping it open with his foot as the king stepped in with a large covered tray.

“I don’t know why you bother with knocking,” the driver muttered. “It’s not like her permission matters.”

“Because I have manners,” the king sniffed, setting the tray down on the table. “Unlike some people.”

He looked up and gave her a wink, as if sharing an inside joke.

“You don’t keep me around for manners.” The driver hopped up on her unmade bed, pulling a knife from his belt and setting it on the comforter.

“Make yourself at home,” Val said scathingly.

“How generous of you.” He bared his teeth in a dangerous smile. “I think I will.”

The king made himself busy setting out the spread. Toast and jams and sausage links and cubed cheese and a thermos of coffee with delicate china cups.

“Children, play nice. It’s not even noon. Val, please, heave a seat.”

Just looking at the food made her stomach rebel, even as the rest of her body desperately craved it. The smell invaded her nose, making her swallow back a gag. God, why couldn’t she just sleep all day? It’s not like she had anything else to do.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “What do you want now?”

“I have something for you.” The king lowered himself down in the chair opposite of her and gestured for her to do the same. “But first, we should eat.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You’ll think differently when you see what it is. Now sit.”

He gave her a warning look, the danger of his true self slipping out from behind the mask. Val sat, feeling the presence of the assassin behind her with a knife like a prickle on the back of her neck.

“Which jam would you like on your toast?” he asked. “We have peach, strawberry, lemon chardonnay, and cherry.”

“No thank you,” she said through gritted teeth. Her stomach felt as if it were trying to eat itself.

“I insist you try the lemon chardonnay, it’s phenomenal. I have it every morning.”

He covered a triangle of toast in a thin layer of bright yellow jam before setting it on a tiny plate and handing it to her. The citrus smell washed over her, intoxicating. Any other time she would have devoured it. She loved lemon flavored pastries and he knew it. Which was why it didn’t cost her much to set her plate down off to the side  and ignore it.

The wave of twisted self satisfaction more than made up for her hunger.

Next he poured her a glass of clear water from another thermos and slid it over to her.

“Water?”

“I’m not thirsty.”

She wanted to drown herself in that glass of water, but she’d rather drop dead than give him that satisfaction. He wanted her to eat and drink so badly. He wanted her healthy enough to pretend that her life wasn’t in his hands. To forget how responsible he was for ruining it.

She wouldn’t let him.

“You are thirsty, though,” he said, his stare cutting her from across the table. “Because you haven’t eaten or drank anything in almost three days.”

“That’s not true.”

She had a pickle slice. And a piece of plain toast. And some water from the sink. His gaze narrowed, though, the previous warmth in his gaze clouding over.

“Oh but it is. The servants have found your food in the trash after every meal, save for last night’s dinner, which they found in the bathroom while you were sleeping.”

“I’m still figuring that one out,” muttered the driver from behind her.

“Why does it matter what I do with my food,” she retorted.

Silence answered her. Silence and that unnerving gaze pinning her down like a push pin in a cork board. She fought the urge to squirm under it, to feel like a student confronted by an angry principal. Though only a decade separated them, she felt like a child around him at times. A silly, clueless child.

But of course . . . He wasn’t actually a decade older. He was several decades older. Over a century older, at least in his mind.

“Val.”

He kept using her name like it meant something to him and it pissed her off.

“Eugene,” she said, his old name still feeling like sacrilege to the part of her brain still clinging to her previous professionalism.

If it bothered him, he showed no sign.

“I know what this is,” he said finally. 

Her hackles raised.

“Breakfast” she said, raising a brow.

“Control,” he countered. “Rebellion. Whittling yourself down to spite me.”

She hated how easily he saw through her. How well he could guess what laid under her professional mask when she couldn’t get a read on him at all.

“Maybe I don’t like the food,” she said, purposefully obtuse.

“Nonsense,” he said dismissively. “I know everything you like.”

“You’re not going to get anywhere because of that,” she snapped. “I’m not a kid you can bribe with candy and a trip to the zoo.”

“So that’s what this is.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I’m not trying to bribe you, Val. I’m just trying to feed you.”

“Well I don’t want to eat it.”

“Would you rather I send you food that you hate? French onion soup and pork rinds and spicy curry? Would that make you feel better?”

“I’m not eating anything that you give me.” She crossed her arms, fingers clenching tight at her sides, feeling as if she were digging and digging further into her own grave.

She would rather die than give him any kind of satisfaction and it scared her that that thought could be literal. But she didn’t know how to back down yet she couldn’t stomach the thought of giving him the one thing she could deny him when he had taken everything else.

“For how long? Because I’m not sure if you noticed, Val, but the only food available to you comes from me.”

She shrugged, not having an answer. It’s not like she planned a hunger strike. But refusing to eat fueled the rage simmering inside her and that felt so much better than the fear. It felt like she could do something, even if it only hurt herself.

His gaze flickered over her shoulder for a moment before returning to hers.

“It stops today. I am not leaving this room until you eat something.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time,” she retorted with bravado she didn’t feel.

Especially with the hands that dropped suddenly onto her shoulders. She launched forward, even when she had nowhere to run, but the hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms back behind the chair. Tugging only brought sharp pain in her shoulders, the driver’s hands a shackle around her own. 

The king stood up and stepped towards her. “You will eat today, by your hand or by mine. The choice is yours. And if you make either impossible I will chain you to a hospital bed and an IV drip. To be fair you might be close to that already with your dehydration. So we will start with that glass of water.”

He plopped a glass straw into the cup and held it out for her.

“Why does this matter so much that I live?” she demanded. “That I’m healthy? What does it matter to you what I do to myself?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he set the glass back down on the table and knelt down on one knee beside her chair, hand resting lightly on the arm. It brought him a few inches under her gaze so he had to look up, dark eyes fathomless. She couldn’t tell what emotion shone out of them, but it burned unfiltered.

“I must admit, when I pulled you into the car and onto the plane I didn’t know what I was going to do with you,” he said quietly. “ But I never considered torture or punishment — you’ve done nothing wrong. And yet, it didn’t matter, because you have done nothing but torment yourself since you got here.”

She broke away from his gaze, her stomach twisting uncomfortably, but he didn’t stop. 

“You don’t sleep and then you stop eating. You live in constant fear despite our reassurances that you’re safe. I try to give you comforts, things to make you happy and you reject it all. It’s not meant as a bribe to lull you into complacency or servitude. The reason why you’re here is because you cared about me enough to risk your safety and I refuse to have you punished for it but that’s exactly what will happen when you go back home.” 

Fingers nudged her chin until their gaze met again. 

“I’m trying to give you a life here. Bit by bit. Will you let me?”

He looked so beseeching, so soft. It hurt. She wanted to believe it so bad. 

“You tell me I’m safe but  you’ve threatened my life multiple times since I got in that car,” she pointed out. “You both have. He especially loves to point out how I live on borrowed time and borrowed favor,” she added, jerking her chin back towards the driver. 

Ice settled in those dark eyes as he flickered them over her shoulder. Immediately the driver released her arms, relief following immediately afterwards. She shook them out, then cradled them to her chest. 

“Rook has a penchant for practicality that borders on the sociopathic,” the king said. “And I haven’t threatened you so much as warned.” He took one of her hands in his. “I’ve been building up to this moment for three lifetimes and I cannot allow anyone to stand in my way. Not even you. So long as you don’t actively impede me, you have nothing to fear from me.” 

She swallowed. “You’re a very terrifying person for someone who wants my trust.”

He smiled then, a soft rueful thing. “I was not always so. Will you trust me, anyway, Val?”

And this was why he was elected, she thought with a mental shake of her head, despite his vague past and unknown status. 

“I will . . .consider it,” she said slowly. 

“And will you eat with me? . . . .Please?”

Val sighed deeply, knowing she lost this round. “Yes.”

His smile spread, slow and bright, like the sun coming up over the ridge and butterflies rioted in her chest to meet it. Goddamn it. If kidnapping and captivity and threat of potential murder wouldn't kill this stupid crush, did she have any hope at all of ever being rid of it?

Tag list:

@rivalriotrenegade @sunyside-world @fishtale88 @those-damn-snippets @suspiciousmuffin @thats-alittle-gay @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @tobeornottobeateacher @burningkittypoet @kurai-hono-blog @clover-sage

Summary: Val goes on a spontaneous hunger strike, not really intending it to be one but because she sees serving her favorite foods as a bribe to get her to comply. She compares it to the peanut butter her grandmother wraps medicine in for her dog.

After three days of very little to eat and drink, the king and the driver visit with breakfast. The king tries to force her to eat, Val and the King have a confrontation when she refuses, and he admits that he isn't trying to bribe her, but to help her make a life here since she will be punished if she ever went back home. He doesn't want her punished just because she cared enough about him to look for him in the parking lot. Eventually Val agrees to eat again and she says she will consider trusting his word when he told her he didn't want to hurt or kill her.

#hero x villain #villain x civilian #heroes and villains #writeblr #original fiction #kidnapped by the boss #named characters #enemies to lovers #fantasci tumblr #my writing

[fanficwriterlover]

Undercover

18+ Readers Only

As you guys have voted, this is another series I'll be working on...this one will have a different approach and I want to blossom this relationship with Ghost through harsh trails. We'll see where it'll take us. Don't worry will still work on Safe With A Ghost.

Enjoy ! Thanks for Supporting !

Chapter 1: Last Time

Summary: You're an undercover CIA, your job has always been to extract information from your targets to report back to Laswell. This time, things are different you'll be working with a team called 141, yet everything seemed to fall apart, you've become compromised and endangered. Now you have to have a babysitter to keep you safe, yet, it turns to something else~

Expectations: blood,shooting,cursing,intensity moments,flirting, indication of nudity, slight arousal, and more

Call sign: N/A

══════ ⋆Undercover Masterlist⋆ ══════

════════ ⋆Chapter 2⋆ ═════════

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sighing out, being undercover was hard work, it was never ending. You were always on the move with your next target and constantly dressed differently. This time, you were an assistant which, you've had to portray for months now. Least until Laswell's team got enough of what they needed to take action. That's right, you were the guinea pig they threw into a den of lions to chase after. Some times it'd take you a day to win over your target others took months. It was hard, you couldn't know from one day to the next. One slip up and you could have a bullet in your head. Recently your "boss" had moved into his other mansion feeling his enemies getting under his skin. He was growing agitated now, he couldn't for the life of him figure out how his enemies were getting information. Little did he know his "dorogoy" translation for sweetheart was the heart of the betrayal.

He cursed on the phone slamming his fist down on the table obviously not happy that his warehouse was found by Laswell's team. You of course leaked it out, as his personal assistant you had full access to everything. You eyed him seeing the big man look through the window. He spoke Russian through gritted teeth to whoever was on the other end "vam luchshe ispravit' eto seychas! Mne nuzhno, chtoby eta posylka byla otpravlena zavtra! Sdelay eto !" ( You better fix this now ! I need that shipment sent out tomorrow! Make it happen !) Luckily, you were a multilingual, and understood a variety of languages which gave you the upper hand to infiltrate and go uncover.

He slammed the phone onto the table nearly breaking it as you took the chance standing up walking over to him, speaking in a seductive low voice touching his arm "Gluboko vzdokhnite, lyubov' moya, ya uveren, chto zavtra oni sdelayut eto. chto-nibud', chto ya mogu sdelat', chtoby oblegchit' vashi problemy?" (Deep breaths, my love, I'm sure they'll get it done for tomorrow. anything I can do to ease your troubles ?) He seemed to be composing himself shaking his head. "Net. Ne nuzhno volnovat'sya iz-za chego-to podobnogo, moya dorogaya. Pochemu by tebe ne kupit' mne chego-nibud' v toy bulochnoy." (No. Don't need you stressing over something like this my dear. Why don't you go get me some thing at that bakery shop.) Giving a warm smile. "Of course !" You make your way out of his large office grabbing your coat and leaving his large mansion. It was too fancy for your taste, but all his estates were that way and you’ve lived in almost luxury for 7 months so far. You stride out the door, body guards every where as you take a deep breath, it was cold outside as always as you made your way to the bakery.

Once you felt out of sight you pulled out your phone and called Laswell, "I got something." You can hear Laswell sounding ready to log into the computer and record the phone call. You waited until she told you to speak. "Tonight, his men have to make up a new shipment, he's set on getting it out tomorrow to whoever." Laswell then asked "He hasn't told you who though" you huff "No...that's one thing he hasn't opened up to me about. And Laswell...I think he's catching on. You need to get this done now. My neck is on the line" you bit your lip. It was true, you were the only other person present in the room that would share information to the enemies, he's obviously going to figure it out soon. "I know, hang tight. I'll send a team to extract you. We have things to go over anyways, right now he's not our priority. Until then-" you frowned walking a bit making a right, for a while you felt someone was following you "I think I've already been caught on...." You began panting softly speed walking Laswell hearing this "I'm going to be sending two of my guys to your location. Stay alive until then. ETA extraction team be there at best 2 hours" you cursed under your breath speaking through gritted teeth "I may not be alive by then Laswell." She takes a breath from the line "Then guess you fight like hell" you walked yourself into an alley way the two men were definitely behind you as you put Laswell on hold."Excuse me for a moment" , looking at the men smiling "Good morning gentlemen, to what do I owe this encounter?" They both strided towards you but you were faster grabbing one of the man's arms kneeing him in the chest and grabbing his gun shooting his head. The other one reaching for his, drawing it. You use the man's limp body as a shield taking the shots as you aim his gun to the other man shooting him. Just like that, dead. You pick up your phone "Sorry about that Laswell, where do I rendezvous again ?"

A Couple Hours Later

You were in a jet flying back to base where you'd meet Laswell and her new team, for the first time. You've only heard a little bit about the team otherwise you didn't know what to expect. You had changed into your casual attire, it was tight jeans, boots that reached below your knees and a shirt that only one sleeve went over of your shoulders. You wore one sleeve to mask your other arm, your nails manicured and hair hanged down over your shoulder showing your natural hair color. It's been a long time since you've been back in your home turf. It always felt like you were always on the move dressing differently from head to toe.

When you finally landed you stepped down the stairs however you weren't greeted by Laswell, instead you saw 7 men all seeming to wait for your arrival. You then noticed the laptop on the stand with Laswell on the screen as you knew what this meant. Approaching the laptop you look at the screen seeing her serious face before smiling and nodding her head "Glad to see you still kept your head" you mumble softly "Barely, no thanks to you" she smiled slightly "I know you just got back-" you raised your hand "If you expect me to already go back in the field again you must be joking ?" Giving you an apologetic look as a man with a cup hat walked forward holding his vest "Unfortunately we are not lass, Kate says your the best. And quite frankly we need your skills lass." You wanted to scream, you just got home. You've nearly lost your head twice and already you want to be sent out like a guinea pig. Gritting your teeth "And you are ?" Cocking a brow at him almost glaring. "Captain John Price, I lead the team 141." You studied him for a moment scanning at the men behind him. Before looking back at the screen. "Last one, I mean it, I need a break Laswell" nodding her head "I agree" you frown crossing your arm "I'm going to need more assurance than you agreeing with me Kate" the words came out sharp but you couldn't be blamed, you were rightfully to be pissed. "I promise this will be your last one." You studied her, huffing hands on your hips "Alright, who now ?"

Laswell went on to speak with the Captain shifting the camera view for Laswell to see the interaction "Need you to meet whose going to help with this mission. Los Vaqueros, this is their leader; Colonel Alejandro Vargas and his Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra" you raised a brow before speaking "Los vaqueros eh? México ? que parte ?" Reaching to shake Alejandro hand he was shocked and surprised smiling before responding "Crecí en Las Almas mi amiga, ¿hablas español?" Smiling at his remark "Sí, estudié todos los idiomas para moverme." He laughs softly "Debo decir que estoy impresionada!" You then shake his Sergeant Majors hand nodding your head. Next you were in front of two other men, both wearing UK flags. "Sargent Kyle "Gaz" Garrick and Sargent Johnny Soap McTavish" shaking both their hands Soap seemed a lot more excited to greet you as he spoke with a rough Scottish accent "Nice to meet you lass, you're quite the deal if Laswell hand picked ya" you laugh softly "So I'm told." Next was a person you didn't see before. He blended into the shadows was almost daunting from his size and aura. Laswell spoke "And that is Lieutenant Ghost." You nodded your head as he did the same. Flipping your head in Laswell's direction, "Okay....what do you want me to do"

After the Briefing with Los Vaqueros & 141

You were in your bunker putting on some makeup, was more natural looking and a glue on wig (honestly you hated wearing wigs but was essential to look different) it was blonde of course, they will be of course going back to Russia. You grumbled annoyed you just got back from that place and now you have to go back to find some guy named Gusev. This annoyed you apparently the man was selling illegal weapons and they want to know why. However, you had a feeling they knew more than they shared, it felt like you were out of the loop, just told to get whatever information you can and return. Apparently in two nights, he'll be meeting someone to give some information, a deal so to speak. Whatever was in his briefcase they wanted to know. Your job of course, is to get information out of the man within a night, take the briefcase and bring it to HQ. Sounds almost impossible, but you'll make it happen. This will be different though, you'll be watched over by 141 and Los Vaqueros. You frowned, Los Vaqueros patrolled in Mexico, so why exactly were they involved ? What do they gain from joining 141 ? And why was a team necessary to make 141. All of it confused you. People sell illegal weapons all the time, that's normal but for British,Mexican, and American to work together simply to track down some smuggler, it made you wonder what exactly you'll hear from Gusev that Laswell was withholding. You put in some green eye lenses to look completely different, sometimes you didn't even know who you were. Once ready putting on a dress with heels. Was a tight black dress that hugged around your body with not straps. You walked out of your bunker, the clicking of your heels can be heard through the halls as you made your way to the team.

Captain Price had the laptop up again, obviously talking to Laswell as you made your way closer, everyone else was talking amongst each other. It was the man with the skull balaclava noticing you first, his eyes scanned you from head to toe. You didn't let it bother you though, you were used to having eyes on you. Apparently was enough to make the Scottish man notice with his gaping mouth. You ignored it though approaching the Captain who looked like he was holding stuff for you, he handed you some IDs as Laswell spoke through the screen "You'll be a hooker this time" you raised a brow frowning at her "Really?" Kate laughs a little "Apparently Gusev is known for going to some strip clubs" if you thought your brow were high they went higher "You've got to be joking !" you blinked "I'm afraid not y/n, you'll find what you need in your bags. Ghost and Soap will be inside with you the whole time. With Price, Gaz and the Los Vaqueros guarding the exits and entrances."

You mumbled to yourself "Great....." with that Price spoke up "Alright team, let's move out." He then said a few words to Laswell, which you were able to catch her last words before "Take care of her John " was what you heard before boarding the craft. Finding a spot where the man known as Ghost sat across from you, with of course Soap next to you and Colonel Alejandro. Everyone else sat around. This was going to be a long flight you thought to yourself. Already Soap was asking you a bunch of questions, he seemed almost enamored to finally speak with a women, as you thought Poor guy, he must not go out a lot with women. His voice disrupting your train of thought "Where you from by the way ? You sound American." you nod your head "Spot on, I grew up in Kentucky." His eyes lit up "Country girl ?" You laugh a little covering your mouth "Something like that yes, my parents own property I used to ride horses. Well, kinda still own one but yeah" This really intrigued him, but Alejandro chimed in "Ah, a lass with good taste, no wonder. ¿Eres una vaquera tú mismo?" You smirk at him, he was handsome, he had a nice chisel face and slick hair "Sinceramente, no soy un estilo vaquero, monto al estilo inglés." He nodded his head "Ah, impresionante mi querida, seguro que eres talentosa." smiling from the compliment "gracias" yet this time Ghost caught your attention "How long you've been working undercover ?" The question seemed to surprise everyone as they looked in his direction My god, his presence could be obvious from his size and demeanor yet I forgot he was there. Guess he'd blend in well in the club. "Let's see- give or take maybe....6 years ?" His eyes narrowed in on you almost finding it hard to believe "Awfully young then aren't you ?" Your cheeks were red as you smirked a bit "I am old enough to be in the field, I assure you Lieutenant, I know how to do my job. I've never failed at getting what I want." He huffs "As long as you ain't a burden on my ass. Last thing we need is dead weight" Price looked his way "Ghost, none of that, Laswell and y/n, have worked together for years at the CIA, I trust Kate's judgement therefore I trust her." Price gave you a sympathetic smile "Sorry lass, don't let him intimidate you" you smile back "Not at all sir"

Arrival Somewhere in Russia

Getting off the plane, you were escorted by Ghost and Soap, to take you to a hotel to spend the night. You work at the club (already been given the job after the owner scanned your body from head to toe) Ghost and Soap, got jobs as bodyguards for the club, which the owner seemed delighted because apparently it's known for fights. You're to pretend to be a 21 year old, that gave you an eye roll. Your objective, find the target, seduce him, get the briefcase that contains plans that is needed. Apparently he's supposed to do a trade with someone. Ghost and Soap will stand in proximity to the best of their ability, if it all goes south they'll extract you immediately.

Getting a room card turned out to be more problematic than you thought though, the hotel had only two available rooms, therefore it meant someone would have to share since of course as the concierge said "The room for Mr and Mrs. Jones." You were about to say that must be wrong yet Ghost spoke up "Yeah, that'd be me and my new wife" clearly not trying to make a scene you went along with it. Feeling Ghost lay a hand on your waist. You knew it was for show but his hands were big on your waist, it sent a shiver up your core making you blush deeply. The concierge seemed delighted "Ah newlyweds! Here's your room then." Taking the keys Ghost and you walked side by side, well more like, he pulled you away from the desk with the press of his hand on your hips. Glancing back at Soap, you can see he was pouting about not thinking quick enough to be your fake husband. At the same time, you were somewhat relieved, you felt Ghost would be less obnoxious. And quite frankly less perverted. You hit the elevator button waiting for the doors to slide open as Soap eventually caught up as you all stepped in silently.

Ghost looked at the ceiling of the elevator obviously making sure their was no cameras as he spoke "Johnny, stop pouting" you looked toward Johnny seeing his arms crossed glaring at Ghost "It's not fair LT, besides you didn't even give y/n a chance to decide her husband." You laugh and blush a bit, Ghost looking down at you "Beggers can't be choosers." He says gruffly as you look at him as if he was encouraging you to say something as you look at Johnny who seemed to be fuming "C'mon Johnny, don't be like that. I tell you what- if we survive this mission, next time I need a fake husband I'll ask you" you gave a smirk. He beamed up "Aye, hear that LT, already should be expecting a divorce soon" Ghost snorted, the elevator door dinged as you stepped out walking to the room you'd be staying in. Unlocking it. Wishing Johnny a good night as you and Ghost went into your shared room. It was spacious, rose petals, fragrance smells, soothing lights, just perfect to set the mood...if you were an actual couple.

You look up at Ghost seeing his annoyed stare as he grumbled "Fuckin hell" you laugh softly, holding your stomach as you couldn't help it "Already regretting Lieutenant?" You walk into the room setting down your bag near the bed brushing off the petals. Ghost stood against the wall as you looked at him "You know "husband" if you plan to watch me undress that would ruin the element of surprise." You giggle seeing him become uncomfortable clearing his throat "Don't get any ideas lass, I don't plan on watching" you cock your brow zipping down your dress "Yet you're still staring." He looks immediately away heading into the large bathroom "Hurry up and fuckin change." You giggle seeing him rush into the bathroom shutting the door. You began undressing out of the dress into some shorts and loose shirt. Having to make do, with the dresser and your own mirror to remove your makeup, hair, and lenses. When finished you called out "Alright hubby, you can come out now" you can already hear him grumbling stepping out obviously not thrilled with the new pet name. He was still wearing his mask but in a shirt and sweatpants, cocking your brow at him sightly "You sleep with your mask on too ?" He groans rolling his eyes "You ask a lot of questions" you stand up sitting onto your bed "And yet you dodge every question. You are an unknown book, that I'm dying to read" he snorts "Poetic, don't get your hopes up lovie, best to stay curious and never know."

His eyes lingered on yours then moving down to your shirt, realizing you weren't wearing a bra as he adverted his eyes cursing in his mind. You pulled him out of his mind "Well we should rest. Big day tomorrow. Goodnight hubby" he grunts sitting in the sofa chair, you look at him and scuff "Ghost, there's plenty of room on this god for sake king size bed. Get in now !" Your eyes were sharp, he almost would've taken that as an order with your sharp tone as he grumbled feeling like he'd regret this. Laying on the other side, his back towards you before going to sleep. You lay awake for what seemed like forever unable to close your eyes. You could feel his warm body at the other side of the bed. Hearing his heavy breathing as you lay in silence. You turn to look at his back seeing him breathe. Your curiosity from what's under the mask as you wonder who he was and what he looked like. There was so many questions running through your head you didn't even realize until he spoke "Go to sleep, or I'll knock you out myself" with that you gave a huff but smiling softly, you finally close your eyes and mumble "Shut up..." he gave a low chuckle it surprised you but it made you smile falling into a deep sleep.

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Thanks for Reading !

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod x y/n #cod x you #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #simon ghost x f! reader #simon ghost x you #cod mw ghost #cod x gn!reader

[radskull-69]

thinking about miss delight x orphan reader (platonically!)

warning! Mentions of broken bones? Idk that’s about it.

It would have the same concept as the player being a former employee and coming back because of the letter, but instead you’re a orphan that grew up there ever since your parents left you there.

you were close with the miss delight bot’s, they were so motherly and patient with you no matter how many times you messed up in class.

though one of the Delights stood out to you, it was hard to separate her from the rest since they’re so identical. But you knew it was always her when she would sit down with you when you sat by yourself at play time, or when she’d pat your head whenever she’d past by your desk.

she would call you all kinds of sweet names! ‘Apple’, ‘barbie’, ‘honey’

she was the closest thing to a mother you could get.

Sometimes you’d even call her mom in class- she didn’t seem to mind though. you’re her child after all!

though eventually you were adopted, only a day before the Hour of joy.

You didn’t know it happened, how could you? You were too busy with your disgusting new family!

she missed you, how couldn’t she? The Hour of joy didn’t bring as much joy if you couldn’t be there to watch her kill those pigs

why did you come back? It wasn’t because of a letter, you only went back for the memories the company brought you. For the nostalgia..

for her.

though when you showed up it was horrific, having to go past Huggy wuggy, mommy long legs and so many other toys you once felt so close to. It’s when you went to the school to get that battery did it really fuck you up.

the silence was too loud, not even your own footsteps and heart beat in your ears could fill it enough. This school used to be so loud, so bubbly.. so much more brighter

full of life.

but now…?

the paints that gave this place colour long since chipped off from the walls, trash and littered around (only wrappers, there wasn’t any wasted food?) and lights flickering.

you shivered, you wish you never came back.

holding your bag tighter you continued on, pointedly pushing down those feelings trying to worm themselves up to resurface. It wasn’t the time to get emotional

you wonder if she’s still here, or did she die too? What happened to the other teachers?

you grit your teeth and before you could think anymore the speakers that filled the corners of the school crackled to life, startling you with a jump as you snapped your head up to look up at the closest one.

“Y-you… I know you! You used to be an orphan here!”

that voice…

“You came back! I’d warn you to leave but…”

somewhere in the distance you could hear the schools front doors slam shut with a bang, making you tense up further if it were any possible. You’re locked in

“I always knew it was too early for you to leave the birds nest! I was beginning to think you died”

Your eyes drifted from the worn speaker and to the camera next to it, pointed at right you.

ah.. so that’s how she could see you. Makes sense..

“But barb always gave me hope!” Who the fuck is barb? “And she was right! It gets so lonely here..”

this was a bad idea.. why are you even helping these toys!? You should just run for it while you still can

and you did just that, turning on your heal of your sneakers and running back down the hall you were just walking through. You jumped over lockers that were fallen on the ground and other junk to avoid tripping.

the exit doors were in sight, yes! Maybe you could wedge them open?

Just as you passed a open door leading to a classroom you once attended you felt someone swing something sharp into your shoulder blade

“Ahh! Oh fuck!” You tripped on your own feet at the sudden pain, falling onto your side onto the dirty floor as you grit your teeth. You squeezed your eyes shut as your undamaged arm came up to hold your shoulder while it leaked blood.

“Watch your mouth! I don’t wanna have to stuff your mouth full of soap, especially since there’s barely any down here!”

you blinked your eyes open, tears spilling down as footsteps approached. Looking up you saw her.

her face was torn up so bad you didn’t even recognise her, her dressed ripped and torn like a bear went at her. Golden hair a mess that stupid red bow still in it..

she had what looked like a makeshift weapon in her hand made from a ruler and multiple colouring penciled, stained with blood. Some old and flaking off, and some fresh, yours.

“Mom…?”

you didn’t mean to sound so pathetic and scared, but as you used your feet to push yourself away while she stepped over you couldn’t help but feel like a little kid again. Bruised and hurt as she’d kiss your wounds..

times change..

“Welcome home apple, don’t worry.”

she stopped just short of in front of you, tilting her head with a pleaded smile on her face (or as close as a smile as she can get). A croaky and broken laugh escaping her like you wish you could right now, eyes wide and pupils blown.

this isn’t your mom.. not anymore.

was she ever your mom to begin with? Or just a machine who was always ready to kill

“I’ll make sure you never leave the nest again, who needs wings to fly anyway when you can just stay with me?”

your eyes widened with fear as she brought up her weapon, and you let out a scream as she brought it down.

after all, it’d be harder to run if your legs were broken.

#miss delight #miss delight x reader #x reader #rad writes #Headcannons? #Scenario

[superat626]

No rest in this world.

#dead by daylight #michael myers #laurie strode #dbd #the leaks for the Pig gave me life #pls devs #40 years later #old man mike #old gal laurie #halloween 2018 #pls give me these skins

[immaculatetfs]

The Orc King

A bit of a longer one :P sorry for inactivity!

(Also couldn't find any clothing appropriate images so just imagine that Pate has clothes on <3)

The crisp evening air gave way to a thick smokey haze as Hal entered the 'Pigs. It was the tavern he frequented most often throughout his short career as an adventurer, and he always coming back following a hard day of questing. There were always people around, he recalled, adventurers, magicians and thieves and the like, but around now was when it was busiest. The air was filled with loud drunken chatter and the dull thunks of a tankard hitting wood. When he saw through the crowded room that there was a stool still empty stool right up at the bar he thanked the gods.

“The usual?” asked the barkeep, a squat, pug-nosed woman, when he sat down

“You know it Helga” He gave her a worn smile

As she filled a mug with thick yeasty ale, his attention shifted to the man beside him. Built like a plowhorse, he wore a boiled leather vest a sweat-stained tunic, emphasizing tightly, emphasizing the hefty muscle and sizeable gut that bulged out from his arms and torso. Two wide shoulders framed him, with wide and strong arms that connected to rough hands, calloused and brown from years of hard work. He smelt of leather and sweat, and when he looked over and caught Hal staring, a cheeky smile came across his bearded face.

“You come here often?” was the only thing Hal could think of saying before he felt a red flush come across his cheeks

The stranger gave a chuckle “Nah, I'm new in this area. The names Pate”

Pate shook the Hals hand, crushing fingers under his grip

“you a regular?”

“I’m Hal, and yeah, I do come here often. This is where I come after my quests”

They were interrupted by a sharp clearing of Helga's throat. “two silvers”

Pate dropped a fat golden coin on the counter.

“Will this do for tonight for me and my bud?”

He had never seen Helga move so quickly as he did then.

“Yes Yes, of course” she said, snatching it and giving a cautionary bite, before another customer called he over

Hal must have looked as shocked as he felt because Pate chucked again when his eyes reached him.

“How do you have that kind of money? That coin is worth what I earn in an entire year!”

“Believe it or not, I’m secretly royalty,” he winked.

Hal's jaw dropped

“I'm just jesting," an affectionate hand patted Hal on the back "came across a Wizard that was traveling on his way over here, said he was transporting an ancient artifact. He hired me, called me his “extra muscle" He took a sip of ale "we were ambushed, turns out I wasn't much help. I don't even remember how I was knocked out, but I do remember waking up in the middle of the road with the mother of all headaches and a chest full of treasure, with and this on top.” He held out a small hollow green tube, rubberlike and the width and length of an ear of corn, an inscription along the side reading in an alien script

“Dunno why they left that chest, and everyone was gone, so I took the valuables as payment and decided to complete the mission I had been hired for. Do you know any places here that have anything to do with orcs? the old wizard was talking about them when we were on the road”

“Whoah, that's crazy, You've probably got more money now than i'll ever see in my life as an adventurer” He studied the table “I might've heard some stuff about them as a kid, they say that they live in these local woods. You know, it's kind of dangerous if you would go out searching here… you know..” he looked into Pate’s dark brown eyes and his cheeks were red again, but not off drink

”...without a guide” he quickly distracted himself with his ale, trying to mask his embarrassment with the thick yeasty drink.

“Say, why don't we go on an adventure together then? Might be that I can't go back home now, since the Magician's colleagues would hang me for a thief if they knew I took the gold. You seem as good a partner in crime as any”. A thick hand lightly caressed Hal’s thigh. The younger man's gaze returned to Pate’s eyes, cheeks like raspberries as he tried to ignore the stirring in his nethers.

"What do you say? Partners?”

“Yes!” Hal said, a little too quickly.

“Good.” he spat on his hand and held it out for a shake, a gesture which Hal reciprocated.

A short few hours of talking made Has feel as if he had known Pate for years, and before they knew it the 'pigs were closing for the night.

They found a soft bed of moss out in the woods that surrounded the tavern to set up camp. A cool night breeze blew pleasantly on the pair as they lay down from their first night as partners.

Pate wrapped his bulky arms around Hals's reclining body, moving in for a spooning. Hal could feel hot breath on his neck, and the warmth of Pate’s larger body radiating into him, but most of all he felt a hardness pressing upon his lower back. He felt his own member begin to twitch as rough hands rubbed across his body, absently stroking and folding the mounds and crevices of his lithe body. His own hand moved up to meet one of Pate’s as it folded his pecs.

“You like this?” he heard Pate murmur

Hal turned around to gaze into his green eyes, illuminated by the starlight

“Do you?”

They plunged their lips together, the taste sweet on each other's mouths. Hal tore Pate’s tunic over his head and tossed it, revealing a sturdy chest, pelted with the same dark wiry hairs that scratched Hal's face. His nipples were two dark diamonds in the starlight, his body smelling of sweat and leather and dirt. Hal’s lips moved down, taking his right nipple into his mouth and teased it with his tongue. Pate gave a soft moan and pressed his right hand into Hal’s fluffy brown curls.

Suddenly, A voice came into Hal's head. Deep and rumbling it told him, commanded him. His hand reached into the satchel that lay beside them, fingers securing around the thick green pipe that Pate had shown him earlier that night, only now it was softer and slightly moist.

Like he had done it a hundred times, Hal tore down Pate’s britches, revealing a long mast that stood proudly in the night. Before he could say anything, Pate was overwhelmed by a sense of otherworldly pleasure as his cock pushed into the soft green material, pulsing madly in the warm cocoon.

Hal’s member was next, sliding in to meet his partner’s cock within the strange object, their pre intermingling as they did. They embraced again for another long kiss. Where the skin of the two men met, It seemed stuck together, seeming as though Hal was sinking into Pate's embrace. From these points, a dark green shade overtook their previous skin tones. Hal's torso sank blissfully into the warmth of Pate’s huge chest, his own body losing form as their insides homogenized. Where their two cocks had once come together, a fat green monster, long and thick as a beer bottle now stood, leaking warm wetness across its engorged mushroom head. Their arms and legs merged, becoming engorged with muscle and fat with the same evergreen hue as their member. From where Hal’s ass and back had been, pushed out an imposing muscle gut, covered with long wiry red hairs that grew into a Forrest as down to his crotch. framing this impressive green orb were two meaty pecs that pushed out of his chest like fat hairy cones. A massive green hand reached down to stroke the tower of flesh between his thighs, sending tidal waves of pleasure that broke the two men’s brains. Their faces merged together, individuality melting away like butter in a pan, features rearranged to create something new and exciting. His nose became bulbous, pushing out from a wild tangle of long red hairs that grew across the new creature's face, forming a wild untamed beard. His eyes darkened to black, lower canine teeth pushing out to form two intimidating tusks. The hair remaining from the heads of Pate and Hal fell away, leaving a shiny scalp dripped with rivulets of perspiration. Memories appeared to the creature that had been Hal and Pate, slow simple messages that even an orc-like him could understand

“I Ugrull”

“Orc king”

“Must make kingdom”

He climaxed, a torrent of potent hot green cum blasting in a torrent across his mountainous torso, leaking down across his back. Deep down, Ugrull knew that all a man had to do was smell his seed to become overcome with lust, to submit to him. They would want nothing else but to take his hot thick Warhammer of a cock down their puny human throats, for their king to make them his orc slaves. “Humans submit, become sons”, he thought as his fingers glided across his slick belly, grinning wildly. He would be the greatest incarnation of the orc king this world had ever seen before.

#weight gain transformation #male transformation #merging #gay male tf #orc tf #orc transformation #male tf #wg tf

[thetfchangingroom]

Smooth Sailing

This is a terrible idea, James thought to himself, the “idea” here being a body swap with the captain of his parent’s prized yacht. Then again, if he hadn’t lied to that smokin’ hot chick from the party about knowing how to drive a boat, he wouldn’t have had to swap bodies with the old fart in the first place.

Conversely, captain McFadden was having the time of his life. He’d always had a soft spot for the Thurston’s incredibly dumb — and incredibly hot 27-year-old son, though “soft” wasn’t exactly a good word to describe the captain’s feelings for James, since it was difficult to stay “soft” whenever James would stumble into the bridge, drunk, half-naked and asking for some stupid shit like “can I snap a pic with the big wheel for my insta?”

But what James has asked for that day exceeded even the wildest expectations of the horny, middle-aged captain. “It’ll only be for an hour,” James pleaded (as if McFadden needed convincing) “just make it look like I know how to sail, and then we can swap back. I promise!” James spoke as if he were getting the better end of the bargain. This girl must be really hot, the captain thought, though he might not be the best person to judge that. He was very, very gay, and getting to spend some time in the young man’s photo-ready body had been a fantasy he’d jerked off to many-a-time.

So they came to an agreement: one hour in each other’s bodies. The cap would show off his “legendary” sailing skills, while James would stand back, and wait until his girl was properly impressed. They’d swap back, and it would be as if nothing had ever happened.

But things rarely go according to plan when it comes to swapping bodies. Because who’s to say which parts of you get swapped… and which parts stick around?

Everything seemed normal at first. Well, as “normal” as things could be after a body swap. McFadden felt incredible: the first thing he noticed was how much lighter he was. He’d jumped from 270 pounds to 185 — and lost all of the body fat he’d been accumulating from sitting behind the wheel for the last forty years. He must have spent five full minutes just posing in the mirror, running his hands over James’ muscles.

“Stop that!” James pleaded in the captain’s raspy old voice. He, on the other hand, felt weird as fuck. He gripped his fatty, flabby new body with a mix of wonder and disgust. The captain had really let himself go, and now James was paying the price. He also had to keep itching and adjusting McFadden’s package; turns out his body wasn’t the only thing about him that was “big.”

Jesus, James thought, I didn’t need to know how big this guy’s dick is. Gross! He kept reminding himself that this was a means to an end, that in less than an hour, he’d be back in his cabin, back with is girl, and balls deep inside her.

And that’s when James began to notice something was wrong. Because all of the sudden, the thought of fucking his girl made his dick shrivel and shrink (which, thankfully, made it easier to walk around). But every time he looked at his own body behind the wheel, sweaty and smiling and shirtless, he had to struggle to hide his erection. Maybe I’m just a little obsessed with myself, James reasoned. But this was no ordinary narcissism; James and the captain hadn’t just swapped bodies…

They’d swapped sexualities.

“Where’s the horn?” Jame’s girl asked in a dumb, airy voice. They were all three in the bridge now: McFadden at the helm, his girl on his lap, and James standing awkwardly behind the E.O.T. in an attempt to hide his criminally large boner.

“You wanna hear it?” McFadden said seductively. Never in a million years would he have expected to be turned on by such a ditsy, feminine presence. But the way she studied his body with those “fuck me” eyes made a tent in James’ $100 board shorts. As he reached up to blare the fog horn, he let his erect cock brush against the side of her thigh. With one hand, he honked the horn, forcing James to jump back in surprise. With the other, he slipped a finger under her hot pink bikini. Just as he suspected: she was wet as the ocean.

“Thanks a bunch cap,” McFadden said as he hoisted the giggling girl over his shoulder and made for the door, “I’ll be in my cabin if you need me.” He gave her ass a hearty slap, causing her to squeal.

“W—wait!” James stammered, sweating like a stuck pig. “Y—you said—“

“Said what?” The captain smiled. Then, he leaned in and whispered: “it’s only been twenty minutes, son. I’ve still got forty. That was the deal, right? One hour?”

As much as James hated to admit it, the old fart was right. McFadden pointed down at his former crotch. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun taking care of that.”

And with that, they were gone, leaving James alone, frustrated, and horny as all hell. Just as the captain had been every day sailing on the Thurston’s yacht.

He spun around and dropped his pants. McFadden’s dick was even bigger than it felt, near the size of a beer can and leaking fresh pre all over the spotless deck. James wanted to feel disgusted. He wanted to gag at the sight of the fat old captain’s hairy bear cock — his cock.

But more than anything, he wanted to stroke it. He wanted his own, hot muscular body to get down on all fours and suck it dry. He wanted to bend over the radar and let his own body take him from behind. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted to be used. He wanted… to… oh no…

“GAGHHH!” James growled as he soaked the bridge with his cum. Turns out McFadden was a grower, a shower, and a shooter. James would never look at the salty sea captain the same way again, not now that he knew what the poor guy had to endure watching him strut around the boat half-naked all the time. Sometimes, it takes walking around in someone else’s shoes to learn some decency and respect. James had to learn that the hard way.

The very, very hard way.

#male transformation #transformation #tf #body sawp #male body swap #straight to gay #gay to straight #bear transformation #bear tf #jock transformation #jock tf #straight #age progression #Age Regression

[blossom-hwa]

Time and Time Again - CHANGBIN

I cannot believe this is finished??? I feel like I say this every time but genuinely I didn’t think this would get done until maybe bin’s birthday in August but I somehow finished it the second day of January?? Anyway, I really loved this (the concept LITERALLY came to me in a dream), and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

(The idea that prompted this response to a @quillstarters​ challenge is the same one that inspired this story :D)

Pairing: Changbin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

Triggers: death, mentions of suicide, blood (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 10.8k

A vengeful god curses one hundred lifetimes of your love.

SKZ Masterlist

In your first life, the life that starts it all, your mother knows magic.

She’s a healer, one whose patients come from all walks of life, all over the world. From that first lifetime, you remember the heavy, comforting smell of dried herbs, the softness of her hair tickling your face, the shimmers of magic emanating from her practiced fingers into bubbling pots.

You sort of remember a father, hazy memories of a smiling man who wasn’t home very often but when he was, liked to pick you up and swing you around the room. He isn’t around by the time you’re six, maybe seven, though.

You know not to ask about it. The first time you did, your mother’s face just turned sad, an awful sort of sad that looked more like regret and repentance and anger and desolation. It takes a few more slip ups, but eventually you learn to ignore your curiosities. For though your mother never outright dismisses them, they upset her, and you never get a straight response.

Until the god arrives.

They appear in a shower of blinding light. Cold, white sparks burst into brilliant rainbows that fade in the air. You watch, mesmerized, even as your mother drags you away.

The god is beautiful. Fine, androgynous features, red eyes as soulful as song, lush locks of hair that tumble around their shoulders. But it is the severity in their face, as well as the bloodred bow and the bone-tipped arrow nocked in their hands that tell you who they are.

“You hid yourself well, disciple of Hekate.” Cupid’s beautiful lips curl in a mocking smile that doesn’t even attempt to disguise the anger in their eyes. “Eight years. I applaud you.”

Three slow, ominous claps echo loudly in the room.

You look up at your mother, heart about to leap out of your chest. Her face has gone pale, devoid of color. It only scares you more.

Cupid’s eyes flicker to you, clutching your mother’s skirts like a toddler. They freeze you in place. “So she never told you.”

Told me what?

“You never wondered where your father was, child?”

All the breath stops in your throat.

My father?

The god shakes his head disapprovingly. “It’s the least you could have done, sorceress.”

“What would you have me do?” Your mother’s voice brims with desperation and anger – though aimed at whom, you aren’t sure. “How could a child ever understand?”

“You should never have made the mistake in the first place.”

Understood what? Your eyes flit between the god and your mother. “Mother?” you whisper, tugging at her sleeve. “Mother, what do they mean?”

The story spills out in broken fragments. Your father had a liaison with your mother and she found she was pregnant with you. She loved him, but he didn’t want to stay. So she dabbled in forbidden magic. Gave a love potion to a man who did not care for her.

You were born. He realized, eventually, what she had done. Then he left, leaving you without a father.

You can’t even try to speak when the story is over. It feels as though you can’t breathe, can’t feel, can’t see anything beyond the god’s blood red eyes. Fingers cling to your mother’s skirts numbly as you attempt to process the flow of words that just passed through your ears.

Dimly, you register your mother pulling free from your hands to kneel on the floor. “Do with me as you see fit,” she whispers.

“With you?” Cupid laughs. The sound tears at the silence in the room. “What use would that be? No, I think your child will pay for your crimes.” They pin you under their gaze. “Yes, I see many lifetimes of pain in these eyes that would suffice.”

You don’t understand. You can’t understand. What does the god want with you? What have you done to anger them? It was your mother who committed the error, not you. Why must you pay for it? Your heart pounds faster and faster as their eyes refuse to waver.

“Yes.” They nod, finally satisfied. “A heart broken one hundred times will pay for your crime.” Cupid lifts their bow and arrow, aiming at your heart.

Your mother’s head snaps up. “You would condemn my child’s love to centuries of turmoil?” Her voice shakes with barely controlled anger. “You would punish my child for my mistakes? Take me instead!”

Cupid’s cruel eyes flicker between you and her. “Love is hardly fair, as you should well know,” they snarl. “By meddling in my affairs, you have secured your child’s fate.”

Their gaze fixes on you with the intensity of a thousand suns. You shrink under their glare, even as their eyes gain some semblance of softness. For a moment, it seems as though the god will take pity on you.

Then the arrow sinks into your chest, exploding into a shower of the god’s cold sparks. No blood flows but your chest throbs.

Through a dim haze of pain, as though they speak through water, you hear the god speak their final words.

“A hundred lifetimes will pass before I will allow your love to rest.”

. . . . .

It takes years, really, for the information to sink in. You don’t fault your mother entirely for her actions – raising a child alone is hard, you come to know as you grow older. But at the same time, you can’t find respect for a man who would abandon a woman he had a relationship with over the birth of a child. You can’t understand why your mother would love such a person, can’t quite understand love in general. You know you love your mother, of course, but what does such an emotion really mean?

You learn the meaning at age twenty in your first life when you meet Seo Changbin.

Your mother rushes into the house that day, almost collapsing under his unconscious weight. You immediately zero in on the huge gash on his leg that’s still leaking blood, despite the makeshift bandage, and start pulling down the necessary salves and potions.

He doesn’t wake up for a week. Other patients filter in and out of the little hut as the days go by and you dutifully do your best to treat them all, gently treating scrapes and brewing tonics. There’s something about the man lying unconscious and feverish at the back of the hut, though, that draws you in like a moth to a flame. Day by day, you sit by him when you can, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with cool cloths, forcing brews down his throat and dabbing creams onto his leg to fight the infection.

He doesn’t look like one of the gentlemen that sometimes come to town. He doesn’t seem like he has the stately grace of Hwang Hyunjin, the lord’s heir, nor does he exude the cold elegance of Choi Chanhee, the magistrate’s son.

So this man is probably a commoner, if your deductions are correct. But you know almost everyone in the village – they’ve all come to the healer’s hut at some point and met you – and this boy’s face is new. You don’t recognize him, not at all.

You wake up to a soft crash in the middle of the night, then the sound of a loud curse. For a moment, you lie back down on your pillow. Probably Mother.

Then you sit bolt upright. That was a man’s voice. Not your mother’s.

Thieves?

Then you realize.

He’s woken up!

Large, terrified eyes glow in the flickering light of your candle when you enter the healing ward, carefully holding your hands in a purposeful gesture of surrender. “Hello,” you say, trying not to fixate on the beauty of the boy’s eyes. “My name is Y/N. My mother found you in the forest with an infected wound and brought you to our home for treatment.”

He glares at you, still distrustful, but speaks. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost a week.”

The boy visibly tenses. “One week?”

“Yes.” You step forward. “And I would advise you not to leave for at least another two, given the condition of your leg. Wherever you’re going, if you go now, the infection will kill you before you get far.”

“How long will I have?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you suicidal?”

For several tense seconds, you stare at each other, neither backing down. Finally, the boy lowers his gaze. “Fine,” he says, the fight leaving his voice. He smiles a little, apologetically. “I’ll stay. Thank you for treating me.”

“You’re welcome.” You help him back onto the cot. “Now try to sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in the morning.”

Just before you fall asleep, you think of large, brown eyes and petulant lips. For some reason, they make you smile.

. . .

His name is Changbin, you come to learn after several days of pained grunts, spilled salve, and muted conversation. He won’t tell you where he comes from, but a name is far better than nothing. At least you have confirmation that he isn’t a local, and he smiles too much for you to suspect him as a murderer.

That would be unpleasant.

And Changbin is the opposite of unpleasant. He has this smile, a smile that no matter how small, is bright enough to light up the room. He’s so smart when it comes to life but he’s also a little dumb, really, telling bad jokes that make you roll your eyes but laugh anyway. He snorts when you tell your own stupid stories and insulting jokes and as a result, you think of more and more for him, more tall tales and bad puns just so you can hear that beautiful laugh that sounds like a cross between wedding bells and a pig’s snort.

He stays for your recommended two weeks, then another, and another. Your mother doesn’t mind, only smiles at him like he was her own son. Changbin isn’t useless, after all – he helps you tend to the herb garden, chops wood for the fire, and is receptive to the eventual lessons you give him on the basics of healing.

(And if you stare at his muscles when he lifts heavy pots over the fire, what of it?)

The boy your mother found so many weeks ago in the woods lights up your life in a way you’ve never experienced before. Even though it makes you feel guilty, sometimes you’re glad that Changbin injured himself in the forest. Otherwise, you might never have met the boy who sits with you shoulder to shoulder on the bank of the river that runs through the woods, laughs ringing through the trees.

“Y/N,” he says on one of those quiet days by the river. When you look up from your feet dangling feet in the swift current and when you look up, you find Changbin staring at you with something so soft, so deep in his gaze that you can’t decipher it.

(It makes your heart thump.)

“Hm?” You pull your feet out of the water, feeling almost shy as you meet his eyes.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

When Changbin kisses you that afternoon under a green canopy of leaves, golden light showering his dark hair and tanned skin, you can’t think. There are no thoughts of anything in your head (and certainly none of Cupid’s curse) except the euphoria of his lips against yours. With his mouth pressed softly to yours, you feel like you’re flying, drifting on the breeze without a care in the world. It’s bliss, pure bliss.

Your mother knows when you walk back into the hut, suppressing an uncontrollable smile. Her gaze remains carefully neutral for the rest of the day, but when Changbin has gone outside to chop wood, she speaks. “You know about the curse.”

Dread mixes with the bliss in your heart. Your head hangs over the herbs you’re grinding. “Yes, Mother.”

“Darling, look at me.” She turns you around, and you see the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

There’s bitterness in your chest and mouth, tingeing the tip of your tongue, but this is your mother, the woman who bore you and cared for you alone for so much of your life. Though angry words rise in your throat, they never make it past your lips.

“It’s okay, Mother.” You brush the tears away, valiantly holding your own back. “I can’t blame you for a mistake you made in the name of love.” Blind, blind hope rises in your chest. “Maybe the god forgot. Maybe they will have mercy.”

Your mother just looks at you with dreadful eyes, eyes haunted by the knowledge that your words will prove false. But Changbin’s already coming back inside and the fluttering happiness in your heart from seeing him expels all negative thoughts from your mind.

One year passes in domestic bliss. Your mother never brings up the curse again, and you push any thought of it to the back of your mind. Changbin’s kisses do much to dispel any worries of yours, anyway.

Late one night, curled in a blanket next to the fire, Changbin tells you the reason he came. “I left because of a family dispute,” he says, almost ashamedly, staring into the flickering flames. “I had a falling out with my father, and he told me to leave. Even though I knew he really didn’t mean it, even though my mother pleaded with me to stay, I… I left anyway.”

You hold him closer under the blanket, comforting him with your warmth. In the light of the fire, his eyes look ghostly against the dark.

“I’m telling you this now because I want to go back.”

Your heart freezes.

Back? He wants to go back to his village, go back home… and leave you behind?

But Changbin’s smiling now, slightly. It settles your heart a little – he couldn’t speak of leaving you forever and smile in the same sentence, could he? You look at him, eyes pleading with him to continue.

“I want to go back to apologize,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I want to go back to make amends. But I’ll come back to the home I have here.”

“Can I come with you?” you can’t help but ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer.

He shakes his head, and your heart sinks. “No, I think this is something I have to do myself. But I won’t stay, I promise you that. I’ll come back home.”

“Promise?” you ask, voice barely a whisper over the crackling flames. Your fingers clutch his desperately. He has to come back, or you’ll go with him.

“I promise.” He lifts a thin silver chain from his neck, a necklace he’s never taken off since he arrived, and loops it around your throat. “That’s my promise, all right? I’m leaving this with you because I know I’ll return. And when I do…” He sweeps one of your hands out of the blanket and places a gentle kiss on it. “I’m going to marry you.” A note of uncertainty enters his gaze. “Unless you… uh, unless you don’t want to?”

You tug your hand out of his and punch him in the arm. “Are you stupid, Seo Changbin?” you ask over his yelps of mock pain. Eyes turning shy, you smile. “Of course I do.”

Your heart explodes in bliss when he kisses you, the fire’s warmth dancing on his lips.

. . .

“No more than two months,” he promises you the day he leaves. “I’ll come home.”

He keeps looking back and you keep waving as he starts out into the forest, green leaves beginning to shroud his path. The last you see of him is his bright smile as he disappears between the trees, the gentle pressure of his lips still a memory against yours.

One month passes, then two. You wait outside the hut eagerly every day, waiting for a sign of his returns.

Then another month goes by. And another. Winter settles in, heavy snow coating the forest in cold, white blankets.

“Perhaps he was held up,” your mother says, guiding your shivering body back inside the house. “He couldn’t travel in the winter, so he’s probably staying somewhere for the time being.”

You want to believe her. You really do, with all your heart and soul. But Cupid’s curse remains in the back of your mind, twisting and turning in its depths, whispering to you that Changbin is gone, that he will never return.

Winter has passed and a month of spring gone by before you decide to find Changbin’s family yourself. It takes several months because really, you don’t have any guide other than the name of his old village, but eventually, exhausted and almost losing hope, you find them.

A stooped woman answers the door with a confused smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Um, hello.” You swallow. “Is this the Seo residence?”

“Yes, can I help you with anything?”

You pull the necklace from under the collar of your shirt. “Did Changbin come visit some months ago?”

For a single moment charged with hope, you see the widening of the woman’s eyes and believe that she will say yes, that Changbin came and is just having a hard time returning.

Then she shakes her head, and the world begins to crumble at the edges.

. . .

You stay just long enough to tell Changbin’s family who you are and what he set out to do, then flee back home as fast as you can. Tears stain the forest floor and when your mother opens the door to the hut so many months later, it only takes one look for her to fold you into her arms as you begin to cry on her shoulder.

He could be alive, you desperately hope. He could be somewhere, lost, unable to find his way back home. You know your Changbin would never break a promise to you, not if he could help it.

One year. Two years. Then three. The months pass with no sign of his return.

And you know, dead or not, he isn’t coming back.

It hurts. Everything reminds you of him, of Changbin, of what could have been and what should have been. You curse Cupid, cry for the god to come down so you can scream obscenities at them face to face, but they never answer your pleas.

The silver chain Changbin left you burns around your neck, but you can’t bring yourself to take it off. It’s the last thing you have of him, the only thing you have of him. You clutch it on your worst days, imprinting the tiny chain links into your palm when you fall sick, wasting away without a desire to live.

This is what it feels like, you think, delirious with fever, to have lost your entire world.

Your crying mother stays by your side as you wither, sponging your forehead, feeding you soup, whispering apologies into the blankets she covers you with. In moments of lucidity, you clutch her hand and tell her it’s not her fault. That you understand, now, what it means to love someone with the force of the universe.

Weeks pass in a feverish daze until winter seizes control of the earth. Numb with cold and sweating with warmth, you pray to the heavens above to release you from this pain.

The day you drift away is bitterly cold. You’re wrapped in at least five blankets, your mother shivering beside you as she grips your hands, trying desperately to warm them.

There is one brief moment of absolute clarity. You sit up, eyes wide, and cup your mother’s cheeks between cold, cold hands. “I love you, Mother.”

She kisses your forehead. “I love you too, my darling child.”

Her tears drip onto your cheeks. You don’t remember anything more.

In your first life, in the dead of winter, you die of a broken heart.

. . . . .

Your second life begins in a poor family, though happy. Sixteen years of life pass in ignorant bliss, with no knowledge of soulmates or vengeful gods. A week after your birthday, hope filling every step, you set off for the nearby village to try your skills at sewing. Luck paves your path and you find a kind mistress who values your quick fingers and eye for color. The village is bright and cheerful, you’re making money to send back to your family, and life is peaceful.

Then the dreams come.

The first vision is barely there, just a quick glimpse of green trees and a disappearing smile wedged between the scenes of your mind’s musings. You wake up, an uneasy feeling in your chest, but the image is already fading. You shake the discomfort away and get to work.

The second dream is longer, more vivid. You hear a voice, feel a gentle touch, see a mop of dark hair and a pair of gleaming eyes. In the moment, you feel happy, so happy in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure, this happiness, something so deep that your entire body feels warm when you wake, even as a chilling breeze seeps in through a crack in the window.

The dreams continue for several days, and each morning, you only grow more curious about the strange man who keeps wandering into your mind. Who is this man? you wonder as you sew, poking your fingers with the needle more times than you’d like to admit. Who is he, and why does he make me so happy?

Why does it feel like I should know him?

After a week of lovely, warm, but deeply unsettling dreams, it hits you all at once.

Needle in hand, you’re about to push the sliver of metal through a silk shirt, ready to begin embroidering the next leaf on a flowering vine. Taking a second glance at the embroidery you’ve already done, you blink in confusion.

This kind of vine doesn’t exist in your little village. In fact, you’ve never seen it before. But each leaf, each flower is so perfectly stitched that it doesn’t seem possible that you just made this up on the spot.

Oh.

Green leaves, sturdy trunks, water rushing down a river. Firm muscle, a flowering vine curled into a crown, fingers placing the circlet upon your head. A brilliant smile, bright as the sun, and a peal of snorting laughter that sounds like wedding bells.

One name hurtles through your mind, the name of the dark-haired, lovely-eyed boy who, by now, is a frequent visitor in your dreams.

Seo Changbin.

The needle embeds itself in your palm.

. . .

It’s hard to explain away your frazzled state when your mistress comes into the room to see you staring at the embroidered silk, palm dripping blood onto your clothes. Voice trembling only slightly (and you’re proud of yourself for that), you tell her that you just made a mistake, really.

Never mind the fact that the needle stuck itself far enough into your hand that you really have to pull it out, releasing a small spurt of blood that raises your mistress’s eyebrows so far they look like they’re about to jump off her forehead.

Shakily, you get back to work. Years of practice have steadied your fingers so that the stitches remain even, but as you sew, your mind races with memories. Memories of a trembling mother, a red-eyed god, a gaping leg wound festering on an apothecary table. Memories of boys you’ve never met in this life, a Hwang Hyunjin and a Choi Chanhee, but most importantly, a strong young man with sweet lips and a raspy, whining voice named Seo Changbin.

“Seo Changbin,” you murmur, testing the words between your lips. Just saying his name sends a rush of warmth through your chest and brings a small smile to your face.

The smile disappears, though, when you remember how the story ends.

Night brings dreams again, full, vivid scenes that begin with joy and happiness and warmth. You see your mother from another life, smell the comforting scent of herbs wafting through the air in the hut. You see your love, Changbin, feel his arms wrapped around your body, see the flush in his cheeks when you press your lips to his in a kiss.

The day he leaves is vivid, too. Sharp greens against a bright blue sky devoid of clouds, his smile disappearing into the forest as he begins his journey home.

A journey that you know he will never finish.

You know what will happen next and you don’t want to see it. You beg yourself to wake up, to stop these visions before your heart breaks, but sleep pins down your limbs and forces you to watch, to experience, to live the turmoil of emotions that flooded your heart those last few years of your life.

The next morning, you look so ill that your mistress forces you to take the day off, despite your pleas that you can work, you really can. The last thing you need is more sleep, after all, more time for vengeful gods to replay past lives for their leisure.

So after sixteen years of blissful ignorance, you know. You know of your love, you know of the curse, you know of the life that began it all. Sick emotions mix in your heart, syrupy and viscous and heavy, hope for a love as deep as your life before and terror for the heartbreak that will inevitably come.

And this time, you don’t have a loving mother who knows of your predicament.

You imagine Cupid laughing in the heavens as you face his wrath once more.

. . .

It happens by chance, purely by chance. On your days off, you sometimes like to visit the marketplace, see if you can find some fun trinket to send back to your family or to keep for yourself. Today is no exception.

Something makes you pause in front of a jewelry stand, a stand you don’t usually visit because your apprentice’s pay, though enough to support your family, doesn’t allow for expenses on jewels. However, a thin chain necklace catches your eye as you walk past.

It’s silver, shiny, not a hint of rust on the metal. A small black stone hangs as a pendant and you’ve never seen it before, but you can’t shake the suspicion that this is a necklace you wore in a past life.

A necklace Changbin gave you in a past life.

Uneasiness grows in your mind the longer you look at the chain. How did the jeweler even get this chain? Who took it away? You’re pretty sure you wore it until your death, and you don’t believe your previous mother, based on your dreams, would have taken it away.

You think you want it back.

Pointing at the chain, you look up at the jeweler. “How much is this?”

“Eight gold pieces.”

Your heart sinks. A day’s work gives you five silver pieces, and there are twenty silvers to a gold. Most of your money goes back home, leaving you with only a little pocket money of your own – certainly not enough for a piece of jewelry worth eight golds. Lips pressed thinly together, you nod before beginning to walk away.

A voice stops you, a familiar voice you’ve never heard before. Not in this life, at least.

“Wait!”

You turn around, slowly, slowly, as Changbin’s voice asks the jeweler, “Eight gold pieces, you said?”

It’s him, you think faintly. It’s really him. Different hair, skin a shade lighter, but his eyes… his eyes are the same. The absolute same.

He doesn’t look at you with any recognition, though, and he’s dressed in silk, indicating high status – at least, higher than yours. So you politely avert your gaze, trying to calm the pounding in your heart.

Eight golds appear on the counter, exchanged for a small silk pouch with the necklace inside. You’re about to walk away – why did Changbin stop you, anyway? There’s not a single chance he would give it to you – when the pouch appears in your line of vision, held by a familiar hand.

You blink once, twice, then look up from the pouch to the man holding it in his palm.

Only one thought runs through your mind.

There is no way, in two consecutive lives, that Seo Changbin would offer me the same necklace.

Your confusion must show, because he laughs. “It’s for you,” he says (and oh, gods, his voice makes you want to just sit and listen to it forever). “It looked like you wanted it, no?”

Thankfully, your vocal cords remember how to speak, even if your mind doesn’t. “I couldn’t possibly take such a gift, sir,” you say, stepping backward slightly. “You paid for it – it’s yours.”

“Then it is also mine to give. And I believe you would appreciate this much more than I.” He unstrings the pouch, slips the chain into his fingers. “May I?”

For any other person, you would have said a polite no before speed walking into the crowd, hoping to disappear between the stalls. Now, though, you stay in place, rooted to the ground under Changbin’s steady gaze.

You nod.

His hands are gentle in their feather-light touch against your skin, clasping the chain around your neck. The pendant hangs at the base of your throat, cold at first, but slowly warming with the afternoon sun.

It feels right.

“Thank you,” you whisper when he’s finished, sinking into a low bow. “Thank you so much.”

Changbin smiles, loosely taking your hand. He drops a butterfly kiss to your knuckles and you physically have to restrain yourself from gasping too loudly, because – oh, because –

The spot where his lips touch your skin sends warmth spreading throughout your body.

“It was my pleasure,” he says, still smiling. “My name is Changbin.”

I know.

“May I know yours?”

“Oh.” You smile, hoping your lips don’t tremble too much. “I’m Y/N.”

His smile widens at your words, making your heart flutter in shy embarrassment. “I hope to see you around once more, Y/N,” he says.

A sudden burst of courage turns your smile a little teasing. “Just once?”

Changbin’s laugh – it’s shy, it’s a shy laugh, your heart can’t take it – makes you want to melt into the ground. “Maybe not,” he finally says, ears red. “Maybe many times more.”

. . .

He keeps his promise of many times more, appearing again on your next day off, then again, and again. If possible, you seem to fall in love with him even more than you did in your previous life, his laughs tickling your heart, his smiles like sunshine against your skin.

Deep down, you know this won’t last. If Cupid took your love away so harshly in your last life, he won’t hesitate to do it again, possibly with even more malice. But Changbin is intoxicating, pulling you toward him like a leaf on the wind, forever fluttering in the breeze, only resting when the air does.

It’s not even just Cupid. At least before, you and Changbin were on equal footing – one a healer, the other a poor runaway. There was no status difference. Now, though, Changbin wears silk while you clothe yourself in homespun fabric, finer perhaps than a peasant’s, but homespun nonetheless. No matter how daintily you embroider the cloth with leftover threads from your work, it will never match up to the rich, gorgeous clothing of the nobles with whom Changbin must walk.

Such differences inevitably drive a wedge into a love that could have been.

It starts after you go to the market once, twice, three times, and Changbin doesn’t meet you at any of the stalls. It feels empty, walking around with no one by your side, and you’re just wondering if something’s happened when you receive a note written in your love’s handwriting, asking you to meet him at midnight where you first met.

He arrives a bit later than you, footsteps softly padding across the empty market. For a moment, you only stare at each other, faces lit just barely by the light of the moon.

Changbin breaks the silence. “I’m getting married.”

The words send a knife into your heart, but you try to ignore the pain. It was expected, you tell yourself, expected of someone with Changbin’s high status. The two of you could never end up together, not a sewing apprentice and a member of nobility. “I see,” is all you say.

For the first time since you’ve met, Changbin looks broken. It hurts your heart and you want nothing more than to hold him close until that expression disappears, but you can’t. You’ve barely even touched – you don’t have a right to hold him the way you’d like.

“I don’t want to be,” he says.

Your hands shake slightly with your reply. “Why?”

“Because…” Changbin’s voice almost fades into the silence. “I think I love you.”

His words should make you feel happy, should make fireworks burst in your heart the way they did when Changbin kissed you in your past life. And yes, a small part of you jumps for joy. But a larger part withers with disappointment, with pain, with the knowledge that none of this will come to good.

“Y/N.” His voice turns insistent. “Don’t you… don’t you feel the same?”

You swallow. Take a breath. “I do.”

A lovely brightness enters Changbin’s eyes, hope filling his face. You hate yourself for having to crush it. “But you have a duty to your family.”

“We can run away,” Changbin says, taking your hand. You want to melt yourself into his touch, rest in his warmth forever. “We can run, Y/N. We don’t have to stay.”

Only the greatest force of will allows you to pull your hand away. “I have a family, Changbin,” you say, trying not to focus on the light that’s fading out of his face with every second. “I have to support them. And you… you have a duty to the village.” You swallow. “We can’t run. It’s too selfish.”

He doesn’t blame you, you know. He understands what you’re saying, has probably already thought of it himself. Still, it doesn’t stop pain from breaking the glass in his eyes, gaze becoming fragmented as he nods once, twice. “I know. I just thought…”

Changbin never finishes his sentence. In fact, you never speak again. He walks you back to your mistress’s house that night, squeezes your hand once under the moonlight, then disappears back into the darkness.

And with that disappearance, he leaves your life forever.

Over the years, you hear stories of Changbin’s lovely partner, her flowing hair and vibrant face and pretty smile. You hear stories of how much they love each other, the children they have, how well they watch over the village together.

It doesn’t matter how much your heart hurts, you tell yourself every time you hear one of those stories. It doesn’t matter at all, not even when his wife commissions a dress from the shop you now own, years later. It doesn’t matter when Changbin comes with her and stands in the main room silently as you take her for fitting, and it doesn’t matter when his eyes linger slightly on you when you lead her back out.

You exchange no words that day, but you’re certain Changbin sees the black gemstone still resting at the base of your throat. He makes no obvious expression, but when his eyes flicker over it, their light dims the slightest bit.

In this life, there are no kisses, no hugs, none of the passion you shared in your first life. Instead, you love through vivid conversations, knowing smiles, and in the end, the barest brush of his hand against yours before he leads his wife out of your shop.

In the end, you never marry. Instead, you spend the rest of your life sewing until your eyes go blind, leaving you all too much time to contemplate everything you’ve lost.

Which is worse, you wonder, losing your love to death or to societal pressures and another woman? Which is worse, never knowing how Changbin suffered as he died, or knowing that he’s doing well without you?

Which is worse, having your love die in a land unknown, or having him live so close, yet so far away?

. . . . .

It continues, over and over again, endless cycles of living, remembering, loving. He’s a thief and you’re a merchant. You’re a shop owner and he’s a soldier. Both of you are orphans, living on the street. None of it matters, not gender, not occupation, not social status – no matter what, you end up apart.

With every lifetime, the dreams grow more vivid, as though to make sure you don’t forget a single instant of the love you experienced, the love you could never see to the end. You’d think that the lines between each life would grow blurred as each one passes, but they only grow sharper, more defined. It’s impossible to forget how many lives you’ve lived, not when Cupid forces each one to remain in your mind, endlessly playing in your dreams time and time again.

On your twenty-ninth reincarnation, you experience a month’s worth of dreams in your silken bed, the bed of a noble heir who can have nothing to do with the boy who stays by their side day and night as a bodyguard and nothing more. You wake up every night stifling screams resulting from twenty-eight lifetimes of broken hearts, muffled cries and tears that bring Changbin running into your room, asking if you’re all right, reminding you that you’re safe.

Physically, you agree. You trust Changbin entirely – he’s proven more than capable of protecting you after multiple attempts on your life – but mentally? Emotionally?

How can he protect you from a god’s wrath, a wrath he doesn’t know of, when you can’t even protect yourself from that same wrath you’ve known of for twenty-eight, soon to be twenty-nine lifetimes?

You try to harden your heart, speak to Changbin a little less, spend more time focused on your lesson books and less on Changbin’s lovely face, but it’s impossible, you find after several months of this forced silence. It’s impossible to ignore the allure of your guard’s lips, his entrancing eyes, impossible to ignore the gentleness of his strong, roughened hands guiding you through life.

But with every chaste kiss, with every stolen hug or brush of skin, you know, deep in your heart, that something will befall your love. Something will tear you two apart.

When he dies, stabbed in the chest by a traitor to your family, rage drives you to take the knife that fell out of your love’s hand and shove the blade into the attacker’s heart. It drives you to cry, to weep, to wail to the sky as Changbin’s skin grows cold, the remnants of his last “I love you” still hanging on his lips.

Watching your love die in front of you, you decide, is the worst punishment of all. Nothing, absolutely nothing could be worse than this, knowing that Changbin died because of you, for you, without a singular doubt in his mind as he did it because he knew you would do the same for him.

Moonlight streams through the windows, illuminating Changbin’s blank face and the blood on his chest. As people begin entering the room, pausing at the carnage next to your bed, you raise your head, tears still flowing down your face.

“YOU SELFISH GOD!” you scream at the cold moon, resisting the arms tugging you away from the body of your love. “YOU SELFISH GOD! I GAVE YOU TWENTY-EIGHT LIFETIMES OF MY LOVE, AND YOU WANT MORE?”

Someone’s speaking, trying to make you hear their words over the raging of your voice. You don’t care, violently wrenching yourself out of their grip to stay thrown over Changbin’s body, tears mixing with his blood. “COME DOWN AND FACE ME!” you gasp. “COME DOWN AND TAKE MY LIFE, DO ANYTHING, I DON'T CARE! FACE ME, YOU COWARD!”

Strong hands, too strong, containing none of the gentility Changbin used to show you, begin pulling you away. You thrash in their grip, still staring at the moon. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME!” you scream as they drag you out of the room. Blood stains your nightclothes, sticky against your skin. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME, NEVER DIED FOR ME, DO YOU HEAR?”

. . . . .

The god grants your wish.

. . .

You regret it more than anything in all of your now-thirty lives.

. . .

To know of your love, but to never experience any semblance of it in your entire life? To know of a certain Seo Changbin, but to never meet him, never know how he is, never see him once in over fifty years of living?

Torture.

. . .

From your sixteenth birthday, when you begin having the dreams, until your death well into your fifties, there’s only pain, endless pain, marred by a piece of disgusting hope that rests in your chest, a piece of hope that keeps you praying that you will see him just once in this lifetime, that you’ll know his face and he’ll know yours.

. . .

It becomes so clear as you grow older that you will never know the Changbin of this lifetime, if he even exists. You will never touch his skin, see his smile, bathe in the glory of his laugh. You’ll never kiss, never experience even the briefest joy of seeing his face.

But your heart hopes, anyway, even though your mind sees reason. It prays, refuses to accept the truth.

. . .

Hope, you decide, is a weapon. A weapon far deadlier than the sharpest sword or the heaviest club, a weapon wielded by only the most intelligent of tyrants.

. . .

Apparently, you go mad towards the end of this life. You can’t blame those who eventually put you in an institution, over fifty years old and withering away. They don’t know who Changbin is. They never will.

You never will.

. . .

You blame the dreams. If you didn’t know of your previous lives, if you didn’t know Changbin existed, you might have lived happily – well, maybe not happily, but you’d be content, at least. You wouldn’t be wishing you were dead every minute of your existence.

. . .

You die in that institution, supposedly of a wasting disease, but more accurately of a broken heart, a heart even more broken than the one Changbin left behind that first life when he never came back.

. . . . .

Your forty-sixth life is first one in which you end the love with death, not Changbin. Looking back, it was probably better for you, you suppose, because you didn’t have to feel the pain of losing your love. Maybe this was Cupid’s laughable attempt at some sort of mercy.

You loathe it anyway, loathe it almost as much as the lives – yes, plural by now, which automatically cancel anything Cupid tries to do to make up for it (if the god is even trying) – where you dreamt of certain sparkling eyes and a lovely smile but never met them face to face. It’s not quite as horrible, but nearly.

To know that your love had to deal with any measure of the pain you’ve felt for so long, the pain you wouldn’t impart on even your worst enemy, is unimaginable.

It’s ironic, too, considering your occupations in life. You’re a healer on the battlefield, wearing the strip of blue silk on your arm that denotes your immunity to the opposite forces. He’s a soldier on the same side, though he has no protection other than his skill from enemy swords.

You are sworn to heal. He is sworn to kill.

Isn’t it strange, then, that fate wills you to die first while forcing Changbin to live?

You weren’t supposed to be killed in war. Your healer status, that piece of blue silk tied around your arm, was supposed to protect you from enemy blades. But some unsuspecting enemy soldier, perhaps not seeing the blue amidst the dust of the battlefield or genuinely just not caring for the rules of war, drove their blade into your back as you knelt over a fallen man of your side.

Within minutes, you had succumbed to darkness. The pain of dying, the blade in your back wasn’t even the worst part.

All you could think, after all, as you lay there gasping, was that he would have to learn of your death from finding your body, that you wouldn’t even get to say a proper goodbye.

. . . . .

It’s a pitiful, desolate figure who sits on a clifftop fifteen lifetimes later, blankly staring at an expanse of open ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below, contemplating every single one of the sixty-one lives you’ve lived so far.

You married Changbin in this one, this sixty-first life. You married him for the first time in sixty-one lives, made your vows with him, kissed him under a shower of flower petals.

It didn’t change your fate, not even when, unable to have a baby of your own, you adopted your first, then your second child. It didn’t change anything, not when Changbin had a duty to this village that you couldn’t interfere with. It didn’t change anything, not when pirates came ashore and massacred the village population, killing your two children and half of the rest of your family.

Changbin threw himself from this very cliff, you remember, threw himself to a watery death rather than die at the hands of the pirates who came to raid the town so many years ago. He was brave to the last, fending off invaders even when countless others had thrown down their swords, and he never lived to see the defeat of the pirates whom he died fighting.

You hug your shoulders tightly, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocks. With all that’s happened to you over sixty-one lifetimes, who would blame you for tipping off the edge the same way Changbin died, albeit much less heroically? Who would blame you for giving up in this life, giving up in every life if you knew just how badly it would end every time?

“You’re right,” a rich voice sounds behind you, a voice that you once heard in person, many centuries ago. “Who would blame you? Not even I would.”

Your eyes slam shut, refusing to gaze into blood red. You don’t speak.

A sigh passes from the god’s lips, breath puffing softly. Where the air hits your neck, you feel your skin curdle with disgust.

“It’s no use not speaking,” he continues, a hint of amusement tinging his voice that makes your hands curl into fists. “I can hear your thoughts.”

A snarl twists your lips. “They must be very loud,” you snap, words dripping acid.

More silence.

“You hate me,” he finally says.

You breathe in, out, in, out. Calm, you tell yourself.

“Why wouldn’t I.”

A pause.

“Perhaps you can elaborate.”

For the first time since they appeared, you turn around, eyes blazing, to stare into the red gaze of the wrathful god who cursed you. “I would rather throw myself off this cliff,” you seethe, “than relive my lifetimes in front of you.”

Is it remorse that glitters in ruby eyes, pity that rests in their shadows? Whatever it is, it makes you smirk without mirth, lips curling without cheer as you turn back around to watch gray waves crash against the cliff. It doesn’t matter how a vengeful god feels after lifetimes of revenge. Apologies from the curser mean nothing to the spite of the cursed.

“I made mistakes,” the god says simply. “I acted rashly. I should not have taken my anger out on you, and certainly not with so harsh a punishment.”

You want to snort. “I am ever grateful you realize after sixty-one lifetimes of wrath,” you say, acid practically burning a hole in your tongue. “Now quit with the blather.” You don’t care that you’re staring at a god who could smite you down a thousand times over with a single flick of their finger – they’ve already hurt you too much for it to matter anymore. “After so many years of never answering my calls, you finally come, unbidden. Tell me why you’re here, or I will jump off this cliff.”

“I’ve come to offer an exchange,” they say. “It is impossible to erase a curse, but I can impart it on someone else.”

In a flash, you’re standing, staring the god dead in the center of their bright red eyes. “You said you could read my thoughts,” you snarl. “Tell me, God of Love, what I’m thinking right now.”

They raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want it,” they say calmly, though surprise coats their words. “You have no one, then, on whom you would impart this curse?”

“When I tell you,” you snap, “that I would not wish this curse on my worst enemy in all of my sixty-one lives, I do not lie. That –” you take a breath – “that is how much you have hurt me.”

Astonishment shows itself in the god’s gaze. “I don’t understand,” they say, for the first time looking bemused. “I have given you everything, dying first, dying last, watching him die in front of you, never seeing him in a lifetime –”

“You don’t need to remind me,” you cut him off. “I know it very well.”

“Then you would not even give this curse to me?” they ask. “Not to the god who has shown you so much pain?”

That almost gets you, almost. The desire for revenge claws its way through your chest, begging to be released in a monstrous cry of pain, but you rein it in with a scoff. “For a god of love,” you say, turning back around, “you really understand nothing of it.”

More silence.

“I will leave you with two gifts,” the god finally says. “Two gifts to try and make up for what you have lost.”

You suppress another snort.

“Your love will remember you on your one hundred and first lifetime,” they continue. “When the curse is over, your love will remember you, will know how you have lived one hundred lifetimes without him.”

The words, acerbic with derision, fall from your lips without missing a beat. “Will I remember him, then, or will you take that away from me too?”

A short pause. The air seems to grow slightly warmer, as though the god has been angered, but it cools quickly. “You will remember him,” they reply, voice thinner with a tinge of frustration.

You smirk.

They clear their throat. “The second gift you will find when you return home.”

You give no response to that, only stare resolutely at gray waves, feeling the ocean spray tickle your skin. The god must disappear at some point, because when you finally turn around to return home, they’re gone. But once you enter your empty house, there’s something on your table, something that sparkles in the last glimmers of sunlight peeking through the window.

You pick it up, eyes narrowed, and almost immediately drop it.

A thin silver necklace, polished to shine, with a small black gem as the pendant.

Though there’s no way to prove it, you’re sure this is the very same piece of jewelry that Changbin gifted you so many centuries ago, two lifetimes in a row.

The chain trembles on your shaking fingers as you place it back down, carefully, so carefully, like it’ll explode any second. You go to bed that night wondering if the necklace will have disappeared by morning, but when you wake up after a fitful rest, it’s still there, glittering on the table.

You wear it for the rest of this lifetime, hiding it beneath your clothing so no questions are asked. And when you feel you will die soon, you carefully place the chain in a small box and bury it just outside your home.

You’ll find it in your next life. You’ll find it in the next, then the next, time and time again until the end of your hundred-lifetime punishment.

It’s a small comfort, that simple silver chain with the little black jewel, but it’s a comfort nonetheless, a piece of your love to carry with you until the end of your times. Even if it was given back by the god who cursed you.

. . . . .

Years trudge along, years of waiting and waiting and more waiting for the torture to end. More death, more illness, more societal pressure to drive you two apart. In five lifetimes, you die first. In the others, Changbin either leaves you to face the world on your own, or you never know him at all.

It seems that even though Cupid may have felt some remorse for your curse, that didn’t stop the god from finding new ways to hurt you.

At some point, the lives finally begin to blur together. There have just been too many. If you tried, you could probably piece them all together, work out the details of how the two of you lived and how you were ripped apart, but after seventy, then eighty, then finally ninety lifetimes of broken hearts, it becomes too painful to relive.

(As you near the ninetieth lifetime, if you’re lucky enough to be born to a family who cares, someone always comes running in for months to the tears that stain your cheeks through dream-filled nights. You must have helped send so many people to an early grave with the endless screaming they would wake up to on the nights you dreamed of particularly painful lives.)

There are two saving graces to this pain, and as much as you hate to admit it, they came from Cupid. The god never deigns to meet you again (something you’re grateful for), but their gifts keep you from losing all hope as you near the end, the blissful end of your punishment.

One, the necklace. In every lifetime, no matter how painful, no matter whether or not you find Changbin, you find the thin silver necklace from your previous life. And no matter how rusty the chain gets, how dull the jewel becomes after years of wear, it shows up shiny and polished the next time you find it.

Two, the knowledge that Changbin will recognize you that first lifetime your punishment is over. You don’t have to keep track of your lifetimes, don’t have to count them until the hundredth has come and gone, don’t have to live any unnecessary lives with the fear that Changbin will be taken away from you suddenly and horribly.

As much as you loathe saying it, these gifts give you the slightest bit of hope that keeps you going.

So you trudge through lives, living as a tailor falling for a shoemaker, a nurse who comes to love a bedridden patient, a rich socialite who wants to marry the son of your family’s sworn enemy (this one’s interesting, quite like Romeo and Juliet, really. In your next life, when you dream of it, you wonder if Cupid met Shakespeare after the playwright’s death and decided to have a sick laugh at your expense). Seventy passes at some point, then eighty, then ninety.

By your hundredth life, you aren’t entirely sure what number you’re on. You think it must be ending soon, what with all the dreams your seventeen-year-old self had to suffer through, but it hurts too much to pick them apart and count. When Changbin doesn’t recognize you, though, a student at the same university as you, you resign yourself to several more lifetimes of heartbreak. It’s too much to hope for at this point, too much to hope that you’re on your last cycle of punishment, that the next time you live, you will be able to love Changbin wildly, freely, without a care in the world.

The dreams come once more in your hundredth and first life. It makes you despair that your punishment isn’t over, not even now (because though you don’t dare to freely pray, hope still buries itself deep in your chest, allowing Cupid to wield it like the monster he is).

Cupid assured you on his second and last visit that you would remember Changbin when you met him, though. You don’t like it, but hope only grows when you recall his words. Blind, blind hope.

It’s a cold morning, bitterly cold, when you roll out of bed to go to work. Eyes blinking blearily, you fumble around the cabinets for a package of coffee before remembering you ran out yesterday.

Just my luck, you think, scribbling “coffee” onto the grocery list on your refrigerator. You shove the piece of paper into your pocket, hoping you remember to go shopping later for whatever’s on the list. Your roommates are out of town, so you can’t rely on them to get anything this time.

Bitter wind slashes at your face as you walk to the small café just down the street for your daily fix of caffeine. By the time you’ve reached the shop, your nose is already stiff with cold, and the steaming cup of coffee the barista presses into your chilled hands only briefly warms your skin before you have to step back into the cold.

The bus will be coming soon, you note, checking your phone for the time. Steps quickening, you bend your head into the wind and set off for the stop.

So focused on your destination are you that you don’t notice the person until it’s too late. You smack right into them, sending them lurching into a nearby pole. They fall to the sidewalk as you spew apologies from freezing lips, holding out a hand to help them up.

They take your hand, squeezing with a grip that seems a little too familiar to be coincidental. A familiar sensation of warmth, a lovely, dreadful warmth, spreads through your body, emanating from where the stranger’s hand touches yours.

You freeze, eyes hardly daring to look up and gaze into someone who might be Changbin, who might be the love of one hundred of your lifetimes. You don’t even know whether to hope it is him, because if it is, will he finally recognize you after so many cycles of pain? Or will this just be another love that ends in heartbreak?

Slowly, slowly, your gazes meet.

It’s him.

It’s him.

It’s him.

Lovely brown eyes, eyes that throughout twenty, fifty, ninety years of pain, have remain unchanged in their depth and gentleness, stare into yours. Your breath catches. The coffee in your hand drops to the ground.  

It’s really him.

Belatedly, you realize he’s still on the ground and give a quick yank to pull him up. You try to apologize, both for hitting him and for the coffee that’s spattered onto his shoes, but your vocal cords won’t work. All you can do right now is stare.

He doesn’t recognize you. He hasn’t reacted to your touch, hasn’t given any indication that this is anything more than a chance meeting, an everyday occurrence where a stranger bumps into him (albeit a little harder than normal). You’re about to retract your hand, to force your vocal cords into giving an apology for smacking into him, but then he opens his mouth and speaks words you never dared to believe you would hear.

“It’s you,” he breathes, gripping your hand even more tightly, almost involuntarily, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded to the earth. His eyes, now wide with confusion and awe, search your face greedily. For what, you don’t know, but you’re doing the same, even though you’ve seen his face millions of times by now over a hundred lifetimes.

“It’s you,” he repeats once more, raspy voice breathless with emotion. “It’s really you.”

Finally, your throat manages to choke something out. “Changbin?” you try, words small and soft, conveying all of your disbelief in that one single word, that one single name. “Changbin?”

He says your name, then, says it once, twice, as he keeps staring into your eyes. It sounds like honey on his lips, sweet in a way that makes you heady with bliss, and only the biting wind keeps you rooted to the present, reminding you that this is real, this is not a dream, that this is real, completely real.

Slowly, naturally, one of your arms curls around his waist, just as his hands rise to cup your cheek. His fingers are cold against your bare skin but you lean into his touch, pulling him closer, closer, until your faces are only inches apart.

“It’s you,” Changbin murmurs, still as though he can barely believe it. “It’s really you.”

A strangled sound escapes your throat, something between a sob and a laugh all at once. “You remember,” you choke, eyes beginning to fill with warm, salty tears. “You remember, Changbin.”

He cups your cheek with an ungloved hand, cold skin brushing against yours with a gentleness that makes you want to melt. “I do,” he replies, voice almost cracking with emotion. “I’m only sorry I didn’t remember before.”

In your previous lives, time and time again, you kissed Changbin’s lips. It was always lovely, absolutely lovely, lovely in a way that made it feel like a field of flowers blooming in your chest, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. But there was always a lingering desolation on your part, a despair born of the knowledge that this love would not last, that Cupid would not allow you to see it to its natural end.

Today, Changbin’s lips taste of sunshine and honey, dew on green grass on a summer morning, the excitement of a first snow, nothing reminding you of a lingering heartbreak to come. You can’t even feel the bitter wind with him pressed so closely to you, lips molding against yours as his hands cup your cheeks.

The last walls on your heart crack down, walls formed with the knowledge of your hundred lifetimes of punishment. From the broken walls springs a new warmth, a sparkling warmth that you can’t even find the words to explain, a warmth that spills through your body and makes you feel full, happy, joyous in a way you’ve never felt, not once before in your hundred lifetimes of heartbroken love.

When you break away, tears are streaking down your cheeks. Changbin’s eyes glitter, too, but the smile on his face is radiant as he gazes at you.

Cupid’s punishment was cruel, you know, crueler than it had to be. It was harsh, evil, almost wicked in the pain he inflicted on you. But even though the vestiges of that pain still line the edges of your heart, it’s easy to ignore it in favor of staring at your love standing in front of you as a wobbly smile of the purest joy finally begins to curve your lips.

Is this real? you wonder to yourself. Is this truly real, your punishment finally ending, Changbin remembering who you are and the lifetimes you’ve shared? This bliss, this love, this warmth… it all seems too good to be true.

As though he can read your thoughts (and perhaps he can – a hundred lifetimes of love have probably given him a window into your soul, the same way it’s given you one into his), Changbin grins, vibrant, radiant, warm even in the bitter cold. “This is real,” he says, lovely lips curved into a brilliant smile.

“It is?” you ask, soft, wondrous, childlike, hardly daring to believe.

He brushes away a tear on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with the gentlest touch. “It is,” he whispers. “As real as your love for me, and mine for you.”

Time and time again, you burned your heart for Changbin, burned it with the love you felt for him over one hundred lifetimes of a curse. Time and time again, you swore at love, swore at the god who inflicted the curse on you without so much as an afterthought until sixty-one lives had passed.

But now, as you crush Changbin close, fitting your lips to his once more, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind and lose yourself in a kiss finally free of pain.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 slap in the face for Cupid fuck them)

#inkidz #destinyverse #districtninewriters #kpopscape #skz #stray kids #stray kids changbin #skz changbin #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids oneshots #stray kids imagines #stray kids changbin scenarios #skz changbin scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids changbin x reader #skz changbin x reader #seo changbin x reader #fluff #angst #tw death #tw blood #tw suicide #reincarnation!au #soulmate!au #time and time again #scriptura-delirus

[yan-purgatory]

yandere! ateez: you’re talking to another man

request: Yandere mafia ateez reaction to seeing you with another man and being too touchy with them?

admin: ღ

warning: contains graphic content. reader discretion is advised.

Hongjoong:

(Y/N) was sighing and swirling the remnants of red wine in their glass, enjoying their peace and quiet that came with the rare moment of solitude, when they felt someone slide beside them in the booth.

“You shouldn’t be in here. This is for VIPs only.” They warned the person quietly, worried of the consequences that could come with what this man was attempting.

“I’m so out of your league I can’t even buy you a drink?” The man pressed, slinging a hand around (Y/N)’s neck and trying to catch the eye of a waitress. 

“This is for your sake. Please get out of here, before he sees anything.” The man scoffed at their warning, the alcohol in his system trumping all fear.

His pride wasn’t to last long, as a hand snagged his collar and threw him to the ground before a foot pressed into his chest and several guns were held to his face.

“I need to have a talk to Mr Choi. Clearly he’s incomopetent at keeping my possessions safe.” The man of the hour, Hongjoong, seated himself next to (Y/N) who felt a shiver of fear run down their spine upon his arrival.

He pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s head before turning his attention back to the offender.

“Get rid of him. But do it out of our sight. I don’t want him near my (Y/N) for another second, understood?”

Seonghwa:

“Oh, I should get going.” (Y/N) had guts of steel, to say the least. To have an affair, behind the back of an obsessive mafia leader no less and with one of his men.

“You can’t stay any longer?” Hoseok’s arms hooked around (Y/N)’s waist, pulling them back down onto the bed as they struggled to get dressed.

“Please. I can’t risk anythi-” There was a pounding of footsteps outside the door, before a strong force knocked into it and a group of men burst in.

(Y/N) heart fell to their stomach seeing the guns pointed towards Hoseok before their attention was stolen by Seonghwa striding into the room. 

“You’ve wounded me, my darling. No worries, we’ll fix this.” He pressed their face into his chest before raising his hand, silently giving the order. (Y/N) let out a scream of fear as they headr the gunshots and cry of pain.

“You don’t think I love you enough, right? That’s why you did this?” Seonghwa whispered into their ear. “Let me prove you wrong, darling.”

Yunho:

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” Tears were in (Y/N)’s eyes as the bandage applied to their finger was removed, letting the papercut bleed again. “You don’t talk to anyone else, no matter what.”

“But it was hurting, and you said that you trust Mingi-”

“You always come to me first.” Yunho interrupted them. “You know I don’t like it when you talk to other men, and I don’t care who it is.”

His grip was tightening, causing (Y/N) to wince at the pressure. Yunho ignored their pain, too red with anger. In fact, he pulled out his pocket knife with a grimace and held it up to their arm.

(Y/N) tried to struggle, but his grip was cast iron.

“You’re gonna be more hurt than before, baby. And I’ll be the one to pick up the pieces, okay?”

Yeosang:

Yeosang was waiting for them outside the lecture theatre, as always. Tapping his foot, his patience clearly having been worn thin.

It was when the clock hit quarter past four that (Y/N) finally emerged with their notes tucked under their arm.

“What took you so long?” He asked, his tone endearing but with a sharp edge.

“I’m sorry, I really need some guidance on this topic and professor Park is the expert on the topic.” (Y/N) sighed, taking his hand in their own. Yeosang didn’t smile as he usually did when (Y/N) initiated contact. His mind was plagued with the jealousy rising up - this was the third time this week they’d been late because they needed to talk with their professor.

“You seem to be struggling with this course, my love. Maybe you should drop out?” (Y/N) visibly tensed up.

“I-I-I don’t think that’s necessary-”

“You know that I’ll take care of you. Why do you need a job, when you have me?”

(Y/N) looked hesitant, but seeing the intense look in Yeosang’s eyes they knew he was not in the mood to argue, and slowly they nodded.

It was a very thankful situation that (Y/N) accepted his suggestion. His other solution to his jealousy would be much more savoury.

San:

An array of pictures were splayed out on San’s desk. Each one showing (Y/N) heinous crime of communicating with their cousin. 

“You know I don’t like sharing, baby. I thought I told you not to do this.” He growled.

“I’m sorry.” San smiled, pulling them down to sit on his lap. 

“I can forgive you, baby. Here.” He pressed a lighter into (Y/N)’s hand whilst pushing all the photos into his wastebin. His message was clear enough for them.

They flicked the lighter to life and held it to the photographs, watching as the film warped and crumpled. 

San’s grin only grew as he peppered kisses over (Y/N)’s neck.

“That’s it, baby. And you know what will happen if I see this happen again?” They nodded, fingers still gripping the lighter so tightly that the plastic was starting to crack.

“I’ll slaughter him like a pig. I’ll set him alight and you’ll have to watch him burn to death. And it’ll be all your fault. So you won’t talk to him anymore, right?

Mingi:

There was silence in the small cafe, as everyone took in the scene. The barista, a bullet lodged in his head and blood leaking out from the wound. And Mingi, standing over the poor man with the smoking pistol still in his hand.

“Do you have their order?” His attention was diverted to the other barista, who had a coffee cup clutched in her hands that were trembling so badly the liquid was starting to spill onto her hands.

“Y-y-yes sir.” She placed it down into front of the shell-shocked (Y/N). They’d known that Mingi has savoury reactions to them talking to other men, but this was a whole other level.

“Good. We’re leaving.” Mingi snatched (Y/N)’s hand up in a huff. “I hope this coffee was worth more than that vermin’s life to you.”

He turned to address the rest of the witnesses.

“If anyone squeals, you’ll be next.”

Wooyoung:

“A beautiful angel like yourself shouldn’t be all alone in such a scary place.” A deep voice shocked (Y/N) out of their daze. Wooyoung had gone off to speak with one of his partners in private, unintentionally leaving (Y/N) all alone.

“Oh! I’m with Jung Woo Young.”

The stranger frowned, stepping closer and taking ahold of their face to admire it.

“And how did he secure such a treasure?”

“I’d appreciate it if you stepped away from my spouse, Mr Kim.” Wooyoung had returned and instantly attached himself to (Y/N)’s side. “Unless you want to be dragged away, that is.”

His eyes flickered to (Y/N).

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long, but I was thinking about you for every second of it.” 

Wooyoung pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s hungrily, his gaze sliding over to stare down the other man triumphantly as he deepened it.

As soon as he broke away, he moved to whisper in (Y/N)’s ear.

“I’m not leaving your side again for even a second, baby. No one else can claim what is mine, right?”

Jongho:

(Y/N) rarely got to see family, not with Jongho breathing down their neck nearly every day of the week. Luckily, he was occupied for the day and (Y/N) had seemingly escaped the watchful gaze of his right hand man, enabling them to visit their brother for the first time in months. 

All they did was take a walk in the nearby park, chatting about how life was going although (Y/N) tactfully chose to leave Jongho out of all conversations. Finally they gave their brother a hug as they said goodbye, the first time they’d done that with a man who wasn’t Jongho for goodness knows how long.

They decided to take a detour before returning home, hoping that if they had been caught sneaking out by Jongho they would have a valid excuse of buying some chocolate. But it wasn’t enough.

(Y/N) returned home, only to find the door unlocked. They let out a breath, rehearsing their lines in their head. ‘I just wanted a snack, I’m sorry.’

They found him in the kitchen. Stood above the brother they’d seen only an hour ago, tied to a chair and missing a few of his fingers.

“You thought you could pull the wool over my eyes?” Jongho growled. “You know damn well what happens to anyone who touches you without my permission.”

#yandere #yandere ateez #yandere kpop #kpop yandere #yandere ateez x reader #yandere hongjoong #yandere seonghwa #yandere yunho #yandere yeosang #yandere san #yandere mingi #yandere wooyoung #yandere jongho #mafia au #yandere au #mafia kpop #mafia ateez #ateez reaction #ateez mafia au #ateez yandere au #ateez yandere

[sugawara-sweetheart]

concept: yaku babytrapping you (m)

❥yaku morisuke x fem!reader

❥warnings: yandere, controlling behaviour, financial abuse, mentions of murder/murderous thoughts, consensual sex, sexual assault (removal of condom), babytrapping, pregnancy, miscarriage mentions

❣︎anon: aight! can i officially request yan yaku poking holes in his condoms as a means to knock you up and stop you from ever leaving him? and maybe the aftermath of it(only if you want to though ^^) - yan anon

he didn’t understand why you wanted a job. sure, you’d spent years studying for a degree, paying tuition fees and working hard but you didn’t need one, not when you had yaku as your boyfriend. he’s so committed to you, so loving and captivated by your existence he didn’t think you’d ever want to work a day in your life when he’s here for you. he wants to care for you- he wants to be the one to buy you beautiful clothes and gifts, to keep you happy and stable in your wonderful shared home, to keep you safe from the pigs outside.

men are dangerous. he knows how they’d look at a beautiful person like you and want you all for themselves. they’d become enthralled by you, obsessed and stop at nothing to have you. they could hurt you, steal you away and force their love onto you, ripping you away from your one place of happiness, your one true love that’s yaku. but he can’t have that.

there’s been a few close calls- the guy who’d asked for your number once when yaku left alone in public for just a moment. if he hadn’t returned to the table just in time maybe you would’ve given it- you’d have been stolen away by another man not even worthy of you, gone from yaku forever. his world would be dark without you- and he couldn’t control the surge of anger that rushed through him seeing you look so flustered from another man.

“what the hell’s going on here?”

“morisuke-” you looked startled, your eyes widening as you look at the man. that’s when yaku’s eyes fall on the hand he’s placed on your forearm, and all he saw was red when he lunged for the man, grabbing whatever he could off the table. you’d cried when the police and paramedics came, the stranger’s hand impaled with a steak knife and blood oozing all over the white tablecloth. you’d told yaku he was lucky he didn’t press charges, but yaku simply didn’t care. he’d kill for you, do anything for you, just as long as it meant you were with him forever.

there’d been plenty of other times. bar fights and broken glass bottles, screaming matches till your throat was red raw and you were sobbing, just begging yaku to be normal. but this is normal, he’s utterly in love with you and what sort of man would he be if he didn’t protect you, if he didn’t show his love for you and keep you safe, keep you happy with him? he doesn’t have a life without you, and you don’t have a life without him.

that’s why it’s a slap in the face when you finally get a job after so long. first yaku feels betrayed- how did you leave the house without him to go for your interview? when did you even apply- he hadn’t seen it on your search history or any calls or emails? how were you hiding these things from him- what else were you hiding?

“i’ll be gaining independence.” you smile the first day of work. yaku watches darkly, eyes piercing into you as he watches you adjust your shirt. it’s too tight, too revealing of your wonderful body- another asset that’ll just lure in men. is this what you want?

“you know i can take care of you.” you meet his eyes in the mirror but you don’t respond except for a small, wry smile before you’re reaching for your bag and leaving, the door snapping shut behind. why do you want independence? what money do you need when yaku can provide for you? why do you need other friends when you have him? why do you need a life when your entire world should be him?

seeing you at work is hard. the first few times you’d been sweet, beaming as you introduced him to your coworkers, putting the bouquet of flowers he’d bring you on your desk. it gave him a thrill to see the framed photograph of the two of you on holiday you have in your cubicle too, giggling that everyone can see who you belong to. but then it starts to become sour.

you don’t greet yaku with a smile anymore when he’s coming up to your office floor, instead looking scandalised as you stare at him carrying the bouquet of flowers and teddies across the workspace.

“morisuke,” you hiss, lowering your head as your colleagues peer at you. you even turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, his lips narrowly missing yours and pressing against your cheek instead. “you can’t keep coming, i have work to do.” why do you seem so embarrassed? where’s the photo frame on your desk? you think he doesn’t know but he’s smarter than he lets on.

yaku sees the fallen petals withering by the dustbin. there’s no vase ready for the new flowers and you start to come home from work later, sometimes rosy-cheeked and eyes sparkling with the scent of alcohol lingering on your breath. once you’d even pulled up in an unfamiliar car, a bright laugh apparent on your face as you glanced back at the stranger, waving. he knows what you’re planning- he knows you’re saving your salary, that soon you may not even need him and the worries keeps yaku awake at night, his eyes piercing into your sleeping form beside him on the bed. you look so happy as you sleep, eyelids twitching and chest rising with calm breaths. but it’d be easy to keep you with him forever, to make sure he’s all you know for eternity before it’s too late. he could get his pillow and hold it over your face, pressing it down and you wouldn’t even struggle- you’d slowly breathe your last, forever being his.

but then you’d be gone forever, and yaku would be lost. his world would cease to exist and the idea of that fills him with more dread, his stomach churning with nausea. there has to be a better way, a way where you’d be forever his, forever bound to him with no way to escape. simply locking you up wouldn’t help- you have a life now and there’d be questions. what if you grew to resent him? and marriage was breakable, easily nullified the moment you decided you simply didn’t love him anymore.

this was a better way.

you’re too fucked out to notice the thin little holes disrupting the foil packet. you clearly don’t care, not when you’re whining and bucking your hips up desperately, drooling with your lustful eyes hazy. you’re sopping wet, slick dribbling down between your thighs and leaking a puddle on the bedsheets below you from being edged to the point of tears.

“morisuke,” you whine, squirming below him with your eyes fixated on his painfully hard cock. “want you now- please!”

“don’t worry, i’ll fuck you good, baby.” you’re too fucked out to notice the smile that stretches across yaku’s face is too cold, too unnerving as he slides the condom onto his cock. “don’t worry, i’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”

there’s a thrill running through him as he slides his sheathed cock into your hole, your warm walls tightening around him with little resistance and your loud moans filling the room as he thrusts into you. you’re so oblivious, your eyes hazy and lust-filled with sinful means falling freely as he fucks his cock against your spongy walls, drool spilling from your open mouth as he pounds into you.

“m-morisuke! fuck- feels so good!” your hips buck up to meet his, your hands gripping your tits as your walls tighten around him.

“you like that? you like me fucking you like this?” his hand trails up your chest, gripping your throat and the lewd moan that you release is so beautiful. he fucks you harder, cock throbbing between your sensitive walls and you’re whining when the coil in your stomach tightens.

“g-gonna cum!” your back arches off the bed, chest pressing against yaku’s and wetness gushes from you, tight walls convulsing around him as he moans. he fucks you through your high, your orgasm triggering his and heavy moans fall from his lips, heart thumping as cum floods the condom.

you’re panting, eyes fluttering shut with drowsiness that you don’t notice the icy smile creeping on yaku’s face as his fingers loosen around your throat, but he doesn’t let go. maybe if you’d have opened your eyes you’d have seen how utterly wrong this was.

he isn’t sure how long it’d take but he doesn’t stop. it isn’t hard to prick a needle through the foil packets, permeating it with tiny little holes that you’d never notice. there’s some days when you’re so fucked out, mind so clouded and so desperate to cum that you don’t even realise when he slips the entire condom off, sheathing himself in you and fucking you till he’s spilling his seed in you. and poor, oblivious you who drifts off into sleep the moment you’re falling from the high of your orgasm, you never really realise.

“you okay?” a deep frown is etched on your face when you look up at yaku from where you’re sat at the edge of the bed, leg bouncing nervously. he can see your bottom lip trembling, the tears swimming in your eyes as you nervously twist your hands together. is this it? hope is rising in his chest, his heart thumping as he forces himself to keep a straight face when he sits beside you, reaching out to take your hand into his. “hey, what’s up? you can speak to me.”

“m-morisuke.” a tear rolls down your cheek and your voice cracks slightly. “i’m pregnant.”

it’s hard for him to feign shock. his mouth falls open as he stares at you, watching you cry softly, but instead nothing but pure joy is filling him. his heart thumps with happiness and he feels so warm with the knowledge that you’re his forever.

“oh y/n,” he sighs, pulling you into his arms. “it’s okay, we’ll do this together.”

“but i don’t want-” his grip tightens on you, nails piercing into the flesh of your back as he holds you.

“we’ll do this together.”

it’s not a question. it’s not a suggestion. it’s a decision. 

it’s hard to feel resentful about the growing child in your slowly swelling stomach. it’s not the child’s fault. it’s not your fault. it’s not Yaku’s fault- you’d always used protection almost religiously, but you can’t help but feel suffocated. 

this child binds you to him forever. no matter how much you want to pull away from him, the man who sends a cold chill running down your spine, the man you wished you’d never met. but now there’s no escape, especially when you’re carrying his child. the unborn child he already loves. 

it’s like there’s no escape. yaku dotes on you and the child festering in you too much you feel like you can’t breathe- he’s pressuring you to quit your job, claiming the stress of a workplace is no environment for a pregnant person. you can’t do anything at home- all the cleaning, cooking, household chores is controlled by yaku and he refuses to let you out of his sight, claiming what if something happens to you. it’s frustrating and stressful, and although the guilt eats at you from the inside out, you don’t stop yourself from wishing that you can wake up in a pool of blood. 

#yandere!yaku #darkconfectionery #tw.yandere #tw.abuse #tw.sexual assault #tw.babytrapping #tw.pregnancy #yandere yaku x reader #yandere yaku imagines #yandere #tw.infantilisation #tw.miscarriage #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu imagines #yandere haikyuu x reader #neems’ queueueuuee :3

[slutforadamdriverxoxo]

trapped in your spider-webs - peter parker.

you’ve been distancing yourself from peter because you think you’re not good enough. peter has had enough.

warnings: morally grey peter parker, smut, uh curses, peter parker being a clingy bitch, teeny bit of angst, harassment from flash.

   peter was done. you had been avoiding him for weeks! weeks! every time he tried to get near you, you ran away. just like you just did, he watched as you retreated to the art room. was he not good enough for you? did you want  to break up? well he wouldn't let you, you were his, you were always his. so he was going to find out what the fuck was wrong with you, as soon as school ended though, he couldn't afford to lose his straight a’s.

   he swung building to building trying to not break down crying. the thought of losing you made him sick to his stomach. he couldn't even fathom losing you. but first of all, he was angry. he was fucking furious. how could you do this to him? he loved you with all of his heart, you were his everything and for you to just act like you had no problem with leaving him, made him absolutely livid. 

   he got to your apartment building and stood at the window sill. you were with flash thompson. flash fucking thompson. what the fuck. what the fuck?!!? if peter was furious before he couldn't even describe what he is feeling right now. he wanted to barge in and beat the fucking axe body spray off of flash’s ‘manly’ body. but he knew that he couldn't blow his cover, his friendly neighborhood spider-man needed to stay friendly. he watched as you and flash worked on homework. well, as you worked on homework, flash couldn't solve a fucking chemistry equation if he tried.

  he had always admired that about you. you were so very intelligent. you always understood him when he talked about whatever science project he made or whenever he listed off all the mechanical parts he needed for his suit. always so eager to listen and learn. his obedient little pet.

  an hour passed before flash finally left. he could see flash grope you at the doorway and watched as you pushed him out of your apartment. when the front door shut peter barged in from the fire escape, making you scream.

  “what the hell peter?! where the fuck did you just come from?” peter didn't really like the attitude you gave him. not one bit.

  “you've been ignoring me. you know it and I know it. I’ll give you some time to explain before I have you tied up and fucked out on that bed.” your eyes widened and peter could tell that his words had affected you in the right way.

   “peter.. you know how much I love you, I just feel that i’m not good enough for you. everybody knows it! they look at us and whisper to their friends. no one thinks we should be together! and its unfair to you if I keep you tethered to me! there's so many better people out there for you!” peter had stopped listening to you after the first few sentences. he couldn't believe that you thought about yourself that way.

  ever since the day he met you he had worshipped you. he thought about you day and night, you were practically all he fucking thought about. your eyes, hair, skin all flashed through his mind every minute. the way your face scrunched up when you were frustrated and the way your voice would waver when he was in between your beautiful legs. if he could he would keep you chained to his bed and never let you leave.

   he thought about the ways he would make those gossiping pigs pay for the way they tore down your confidence, but first he needed to remind you that you were never gonna leave him. he would take all day if he needed to.

  “i’m going to need you to sit the fuck down and listen to me. you are EVRYTHING to me. there would be no me without you. you are everything I think about. its all about you, everything is about you. you. you. you. you make me whole. if I didn't have you I would have nothing. my life would be meaningless, so shut your fucking mouth and never ever talk bad about yourself ever again. now i’m going to show you how much you mean to me.” you looked at him with tears in your eyes and kissed him. hard.

 his hands made their way into your hair, pulling you down on to the bed. he kissed around your jaw, biting leaving marks for everyone to see. the purple-red marks already showing. he gripped the back of your neck and kissed you so hard your teeth clanked together. it wasn't a passionate kiss, one made of love, it was a kiss of anger of desire. of power. 

  you tried to pull him closer but you suddenly found your hands stuck to your headboard. you glanced up and saw his webs engulfing your hands. you tested them and you found that you couldn't move your upper body at all. you looked at peter as he smirked at you limp appearance. 

  “peter, undo these things, I need to feel you.” you begged but he just laughed and ignored you.

  his hands made their way down your body, unbuttoning your jeans and pulling off your cringy science shirt, he smiled at that, the way that you looked good in everything. he could feel himself straining in his jeans. it was almost painful how much he wanted to be in you, wanted to be surrounded by you. his hands made their way into your underwear. he heard you moan his name as he grazed your slit with the tips of his fingers.

  he could feel how wet you were. how wet you were for him. only him. he pushed a finger through and drew light circles around your clit, teasing you. you tired to grind down on his fingers, trying to pry more pleasure out of him. he stopped suddenly.

  “nuh-uh, you take what I give you, slut. I am in control.” he smirked as you whined his name. 

 he went back to lightly circling your clit and kissing your stomach. sucking on your thighs and neck. even more marks you were going to have to try and hide with your shitty drugstore foundation. you were drawn out of your thoughts as he slid a finger in your pussy. slowly pushing in and out, you could hear his fingers gliding in and out lewdly. 

  “peter! please, please!” you moaned, trying to get more friction in the places you needed it most. 

  he started to slow down his fingers again, deciding not to take pity on you. his fingers pinched your clit and your hips jerked up trying to escape his cruel torture. his hands went up to your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingertips. your back arched off the bed pushing you closer to peter.

  “beg. beg me to make you come. tell me how bad you want it.” you were close to tears as he started going faster with his fingers, hitting all the right nerves.

  “please peter, I need you so bad. oh my god, please. I need you inside me, I need you! god please, I can’t peter.” peter didn't know if he wanted to make you keep begging or if he wanted to be inside you. the latter won.

  he tore his fingers out of your pussy and slammed his cock into you. you screamed and dragged your nails down his back. you tried to crawl up the bed and escape the intense pleasure, it almost being too much for you to handle.  his hand went up and wrapped around your neck, squeezing, letting you know that you weren't going anywhere.

  his mouth wrapped around one of your breasts as he went harder and deeper into your cunt. you could feel every inch of him in you, pushing you to the edge. he covered your entire body with his own, every inch of you covered by him. trapped. you loved it. loved the feeling of his arms circling you, the feeling of his curls brushing against your chest.

  you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to euphoria. you knew peter was also close to being pushed over the edge. his thrusts started getting choppy and faster than before. his hands made their way back to your hair and started pulling on the strands. you moaned at the combined pain and pleasure. tears started to leak out more and more as you couldn't take anymore.

  “please peter! please I need to come, please!” you cried out.

  “I know baby, I know. It’s okay my love. let go.” peter said lovingly.

  you let out a scream as you came, the orgasm blinding you. you could feel that he came as well. he was still thrusting into you, prolonging your orgasms'. you could feel a second one coming, you pleaded with him as he continued to thrust. he was gripping your hair and pulling so hard. your vision went white, you couldn't feel anything except for the pounding that peter was doing. 

  he finally slowed down as he came. you tried catching your breath, your vision coming back in spots. he collapsed on top of you. once again covering your body with his. you held him in your arms as you both came down from your highs. you tried to push him off because you felt fucking disgusting but he wouldn't budge.

  “peter?” you said as you felt something wet drip down on you.

  “please don’t leave me. please. I’m so sorry, I’ll do better. I’ll do anything! please don’t leave.” peter begged as he looked down at you with tears coming out of his eyes.

  “oh peter, baby no! I won't ever leave you, i’m so sorry my love! I was just worried that you would hate me for smothering you!” you said, feeling ashamed as peter looked at you with his puppy eyes.

 “I love you so much, nobody can ever make me feel different. you’re all I need. don’t ever think about leaving me again, please.” peter said looking into your eyes, pleading with you.

  “I love you more peter.” you said as he clung to you, not letting you move.

  peter knew that he would have to deal with those people later, but right now all he wanted was so lay here with you. he never wanted to let go. he tightened his arms around you, hearing your heartbeat slow to a lull, signaling you were asleep. he slowly started to fall into the sweet caress of sleep, thinking about how he was going to tell you that he may have accidently dented your window frame.

I am absolutely horrified. this is the first ever smut I have written. oh my god.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #smut #peter parker smut #i love peter parker #peter parker x y/n #peter parker is a major simp #clingy peter parker

[love-toxin]

a/n: in which twice gets a taste of that sweet, sweet marital bliss. 

warnings: gn! reader, established relationship, wedding night sex, gangbang, quirk kink, clones, reader is slightly unhinged, bukkake, dirty talk, both of you are poor, jin is a huge simp

word count: 1.7k

When he thought about sharing his life with someone as a child, he never imagined that the sight before him would be what came to mind. 

Your wedding attire hung in loose scraps about your limbs, totally torn to shreds but the loss long unlamented. You couldn't care less when you were sprawled out on some cheap motel bed that he'd rented for the night, both your hands occupied and every available hole being used. 

God, you were such a slut, and he loved you more than life itself. 

"How do you feel?" 

Jin purred from his place at the foot of the bed, his clones busy with satiating the lust that he had been holding within him since early this morning. He had wanted to do this from the moment he saw you in your outfit, your eyes gleaming so brightly as he helped you dress, and as you did up his tie and smoothed out the creases in his suit for him. No family and no friends were present for the ceremony, your wedding held in a cheap, dingy chapel by a man that smelled heavy of cigarettes in a room that hadn't been redecorated since the seventies. It was all Jin could afford, even though he wanted to give you the wedding of your dreams--but you reassured him that you didn't mind with those sparkling eyes of yours, just as they did right now with a mouthful of your husband's cock muffling your voice. 

Another one laid a heavy slap into your ass from below, your flesh hot and bruised from the death grip it had on your hips as it reamed your little butt from its place beneath you. Someone a little more sane would have found the thought appalling, might have thought his quirk itself was chaotic and perverted, but you were special. You loved every second of it, as was evident by the way you threw your hips back and stared at him through half-lidded eyes as his clones made use of every avenue of pleasure that you offered. 

Stupid cow. Absolute filth.

"You look even cuter than I imagined,"

He couldn't hold it back, his pants tented so tightly that you could see it from a mile away, and his grin twice as bright. You'd already made two of his clones cum with your hands alone, and they had been rearing to go for more, though it seemed as though their stamina was puttering out as you jerked them off again with a feverish pace at work. You had no mercy when it came to this, even for himself--you always worshipped his cock until his mind went white and it felt like it was leaking out his ears at how good he felt. He always tried to do the same for you, only to feel like he was coming up short...but you rescued his confidence every time you reminded him of how much you loved him, and that you would never want anyone else's except for his. 

"Hah, who knew my hubby had such a nice cock? Hangs so low and heavy...so do these, huh?"

You flashed him a wink, your tongue flicking over his clone's leaky slit--if you had any hands available, he was sure you would be fondling its' package in the hopes that it would turn him on even more, and maybe even make him pop a button off of those pants that felt impossibly tight by now. 

"You knew what you were getting into--such a disgusting pig for my cock.."

The comment just slipped right out, and yet that sudden pang of fear at offending you was not nearly as strong as it had been in the past, the feeling muted by the years he had spent with you and the reassurance that you loved him anyways, including all his less savoury quirks. 

"Oink," 

You grinned over your shoulder at him, his clone trying to edge its dick back into your smiling mouth. And the one that had been spreading you open on its cock had started to tremble and spasm quite frantically, its thrusts desperate as it chased its pleasure right up until he watched it burst inside your poor, twitching hole. Each wave of its orgasm pumped another load inside you, to the point that it leaked down its cock and left a thick, creamy mess behind once it pulled out. The moment he made it disappear, you would have fallen from your place and landed on the sheets beneath--but he grabbed you by the hips and slotted himself up against your ass, cock begging to be released as he fumbled with his zipper to yank it out and line it up with where his clone had left you waiting for more. 

"Mnh...Juh.."

Your throat occupied with another clone, you struggled to moan out his name as he eased himself inside--but he wouldn't have heard you anyways, his head blanking out completely at how hot you were inside, and how lovingly you clamped down on his cock like your body already knew that it was all yours. This was one of the only times he could be so raw with you, both regarding his dick and the fact that he could leave his mask off and look down on you properly, and he already felt the moment slipping through his fingers as he struggled to keep himself composed in your presence. While he was losing himself in your near-smothering heat, he barely even took notice to his two other clones blowing their loads all over your hands and your face, before disappearing into thin air and leaving one left. And that one seemed to struggle the same way as he did, its face screwing up in pleasure as you forced yourself down on its cock until you buried your nose in a tuft of its wiry, untrimmed bush. If he wasn't sunk so deep inside you, he would've wished that was him you were drooling all over, and not just a puppet. 

"Mnh!" 

Jin's fingers fumbled over the curves of your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin to try and get some sort of hold--but you moved of your own accord and threw your hips back against him with so much vigor, he could barely keep himself upright at this point while you were so intent on making him cum. 

"Slutty cumbucket...stupid cow can't get enough, can you?"

He growled beneath his breath and you heard it anyways, your giggle smothered by a sloppy release into your mouth by his overextended clone. It disappeared within moments and left the two of you alone, and only then could you turn your head properly and watch him struggle to keep himself in his own head, his hips rocking so wildly that you wouldn't be able to tell which bruises were which tomorrow morning. Speaking didn't come easily either when you had thick globs of cream spilling from your tongue, though the sight in itself earned you a desperate moan as Jin pitched forwards and pressed his forehead between your aching shoulder blades. 

"I love you, love you, love you…"

He mumbled into your back, his lips brushing by your sweat-slickened skin before his tongue darted out to sneak a taste. You gave him little shivers up his spine, warmth in his chest, a spike of energy into his veins...everything good he had ever felt he was certain had come from you, and you were his now! He could scarcely believe it….how could he believe that the person underneath him was all his? Forever?

"So cute...are you gonna cum, honey?"

His movements stuttered and he grabbed at you even rougher, the glint in your precious eyes sending him into the throes of his pleasure as you licked his cum off of your fingers. 

"Y-Yes! Yes, yes yes yes-!" 

What remained of his energy drained out of him and into you within moments of his sweet babbling into your skin, veins twitching in his forehead and his eyes rolling back in a way that most would find obscene. All that had been pulsating and vibrating inside him became numb in those few moments, and a string of abhorrent whispers spilled out of him to the point that you wouldn’t be able to log them all. The world was bleak outside this room, but inside the haze of lust and lovemaking you had whipped up, he couldn’t imagine a more pleasing sight than the one he had of you underneath him. 

"Babe, you're crushing me!" 

The feeling of you pinned beneath him hadn't registered quite yet, but once it did he hurried to relieve you from it, his body still heavy enough that he could only muster the strength to lift himself off and collapse next to you instead. The bliss of finishing overrode everything else that circled round his thoughts--the weird smell of the room, the sounds of people arguing a floor below, the cheapness of the sheets and the absence of any coming plans once the morning arrived….you smothered those thoughts for him just by existing, and a goofy smile etched itself into his face as he dozed off immediately, his arm laid across you so you wouldn't be more than a few inches away. Where you belonged.

"...Jin? Did you fall asleep?"

Aside from him, you were still recovering, and tested your question by poking his cheek that wasn't buried face-first in his pillow. 

"Dumbass."

Your husband was dead to the world, already snoring, and seemingly unawares of the fact that you hadn't exactly gotten the same glorious end that he had. If it was anyone else you would be pissed. But for him, you just laughed with a croak in your throat and kissed his temple, before snuggling into his side and letting your nerves settle and return back to normal. It didn't matter anymore, you were married, and you had all the time in the world to do all that you wanted--and guaranteed that when he woke up for a cigarette and you teased him about it, he would bury his head between your thighs and make it up to you until management kicked you back out into the world outside. 

#jin bubaigawara #jin x reader #jin bubaigawara x reader #bnha #kinktober 2020 #love-toxin kinktober #love-toxin #1k

[dumb-little-trans-writer]

Rust and Black Thorn Trees. Chapter 1.

TW: religious themes, religious abuse, reality alteration, dissociation triggers, abusive parents

Dasha. Her parents chose this name because it implied purity. A gift from God, or Mother Miranda. And they wanted their girl to be devoted only to Mother, as a pure virgin girl. Her days consisted of being a housekeeper, always making sure her family’s house was as clean as possible, for the blessing of Mother. She hated this life. But the one time she spoke up, she was forced to pray to Mother Miranda on hot coals. At eight years old. “Please, Mama it hurts-” she begged her mother, hiccuping as her Mother forced her down on the coal. She screamed, “You will make our situation worse if you keep doing this, Mother is an all-loving being, and you dare to speak ill of her likeness?” her mother cried, fingers in her daughters long, dark brown hair. The child’s hands shook as they were in a prayer position, she sobbed, unable to think straight. However, in this child’s mind, she deserves it. I dared to speak against my creator, i deserve it, she thought. When she was nine, she decided to make offerings herself of flower crowns and rose stems. When her parents came home to their daughter praying at the altar, and a house that was cleaner than when they left it, they gave her love. And validation. This repeated cycle from birth taught Dasha that her only source of affection was from being devoted to a false God. Until she got chosen to come with Mother Miranda, on her tenth birthday. She pointed at the girl, staring in awe at her presence. “I want her.” she said. The girl was nervous. But she felt a pull to get up, almost like she was hypnotized. She turned around, and caught a glimpse of her parents for the last time. They were crying. They were happy. That was the last she saw of them when the blindfold was gently placed on her, making her blind. She felt Miranda’s cold hand touch the middle of the girl’s back, through the white calf-length dress. She walked forward, and felt so cold. It pierced through the skin and confused the girl. She heard the maternal voice of Miranda, “Take the blindfold off, my child.” she gently ordered. “Yes, Mother.” she obediently replied, fumbling with the soft fabric. The girl noticed the sterile smell in the air as she took the blindfold off. She was in a doctor’s room. The lights were uninviting and made her uneasy. Miranda sat on a stool next to what looked like a dentist’s chair, but it had straps. “I have chosen you to bear a gift, but for me to give it to you,” she paused, gesturing at the chair now wearing doctor’s attire, “you need to sit in that chair for me, can you do that, love?” Miranda asked, lovingly. “Yes, Mother.” she said, sitting in the chair. Miranda started closing the straps. first around her legs, then her torso, and then her upper body. All the girl could think about was how excited she was, A gift? What did I do to deserve a gift from Miranda? She thought. Mother pulled in a tray, with a syringe and a small jar filled with a pitch black liquid. “Mother, I hate to ask this of you, as you know what you’re doing, but what is the gift?” The girl innocently asked. When she didn’t respond, and instead cut the girls dress, revealing her stomach, she thought she had done something wrong now. “Did-Did i do something wrong, Mother?” the girl asked, slightly frantic as Miranda used a cotton ball soaked in some kind of orange liquid, and dabbed it on a specific area. It was freezing, and she started to panic. Thoughts running wild as she filled the syringe with the viscous, black liquid. Miranda paused before injecting the liquid into her abdomen, and put a hand on the child’s cheek. Gently rubbing her cheek with a thumb. She moved a lock of hair out of the girl’s face, exactly like how Mama would do to calm you down. The girl immediately relaxed, her mind going blank, looking into Mother. A small pinch on the girl’s abdomen didn’t faze her. Then the feeling of dread started as Miranda coldly injected what she knew wasn’t a gift, else she was too delusional to realize how sick this was. She finished the injection, and took out a pen and clipboard.

What..?

The girl was confused. She had complied. Why did this hurt so much..? Why was she so weak..? She started hyperventilating. She couldn’t control her body as it started convulsing. The girl’s frail body and mind went unconscious as her eyes and nose started leaking the same viscous black liquid that was injected. Miranda was quickly confused and took a sample. She smiled, for this one had potential. Normally, they don’t go unconscious, and usually the limited mental capacity starts first, along with the slight greying of the skin. She would’ve started to look like a corpse, normally. But it seems the alterations to the Cadou worked. A sample of Miranda’s DNA mixed with the Cadou seemed to change the progression in only female individuals. Miranda wondered how this would affect cross-species organ implantation. She knew that at the least, this would make the passed out girl in front of her infertile. It could eat away at her organs too. She decided to use fresh organs from a female wolf, and implant them into the girl. She only used the reproductive organs and the entirety of the digestive system from the wolf. Everything else was...unethically harvested. It was long, but successful. Dasha woke, confused, and in pain. She was now in a hospital room. It was uninviting and made a poor attempt to look comforting. Miranda walked in, seemingly proud and with her chin high when she realized the child was awake. “Mother, what did you do to me..?” she groggily whined through the throbbing pain throughout her body. “I gave you a gift. The Cadou, mixed with a part of me,” she paused, stepping closer, “you are a part of me.” she said, delusion plaguing her mind. She seemed so excited. The girl was scared. Being scared of God was a horrifying thought for a child. After the child healed, Miranda let her stay in her house. Unsettling. After Dasha settled into her new home, she would be subjected to horrifying psychological torture. The first time Miranda got in Dasha’s head, she created small illusions. She would reach out to touch a vase and it would go through her hands. Small things, to make her rely on Mother for her sense of reality. Eventually it grew to Miranda making her see her parents. Then came the reason for these tests. Miranda was priming the child for this. The child thought she was with her parents again. In the forest, at the place she loved to let her imagination run. She heard multiple growls, they overlapped each other, and she looked around, attempting to find the source. They seemed to be coming from all directions. As she turned to face her parents again, she saw three lycans mauling them. Her Mama’s arm was being torn from it’s socket. The girl felt herself growing taller, hair sprouting rapidly everywhere, and her body changed from that of a human girl, to a tall, lycan-like monstrosity. She became mindless, tearing the flesh from the lycan’s fragile bones, tearing their heads from one of their bodies, the spine with it. She tried to scream, but the only thing that came out of her was a gutteral croaking sound. Once she had used all of her rage, she felt so tired. She felt herself floating, the tall, muscular form she once had dissipating into a black mist, absorbing back into her body. She fell, with no one to catch her. Once she had regained her balance and composure, Mother would come running. The girl leaked the same viscous black liquid from every facial orifice. She started puking this liquid, and these symptoms, along with intense abdominal pain, as well as emotional mood swings, was the cost of this transformation. This cycle persisted for seven years. Until her parents were taken by Lady Dimitrescu. Presumably for feeding, and maidwork. Miranda realized she would never be able to be useful. The conditions for the transformation to occur, as well as the recovery, were unable to be used properly. So, assuming she would be dead in the forest, she told her the truth about the illusions, as well as the truth about her parents being taken, and drained of blood like pigs. And she cast her out into the wilderness at seventeen. God had now abandoned her. At first, she had the drive to attempt to save her parents. But then she realized this was done to her by the same person her parents deified. Made her do all the chores, primed her for being a nun of Mother Miranda. The people who beat her for questioning Mother’s decisions.

The God who abandoned her.

She had suffered for nothing.

A/N: i changed a bit of the canon because i really wanted to stick with my idea, dont worry, there will be spice and karl heisenberg content

#resident evil #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenburg x reader #daddy heisenberg #self insert #oc x canon

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 28: Withering

Chapter 27

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September 14th, 1749

Jenny had indeed been pregnant. She was about six-and-a-half months along now.

But she was far too thin.

The potato crop was doing just fine, it always did. The famine touched them, of course, but so far it hadn’t directly affected Lallybroch apart from being unable to obtain certain fruits or vegetables. This year, however, that had all changed.

The barley wouldn’t ripen. It had apparently been overwatered and there was no saving it. No barley meant no whisky, which meant no direct income, nothing to trade with. Every scrap of food became precious; there wasn’t enough to feed the animals. Pigs and goats were going hungry, and the only option was to slaughter them before they lost all the meat on their bones and became useless when they wasted away. And even once they’d reached that point, there wasn’t much meat to be had.

The potatoes kept them alive. Even the turnips in Jenny’s garden had failed this year, so that starchy vegetable was all they had left. Even the game from Fergus’s traps were scarce of late. The grain harvest was not much better off than the barley, so bread and bannocks were a rare commodity for the first time ever.

Claire was terrified.

Janet and Michael always seemed to be hungry, and Jenny always seemed to be trying to feed them, but more often than not, there was nothing coming out of her to give them. She was not eating enough to produce milk. Claire knew her body could still produce some milk from the way her breasts occasionally still leaked at Brianna's cries, but it had been so long since her body had needed to nourish her child, she, too, was useless. The goats were hardly producing any milk, being as starved as they were.

And Jenny was much too thin.

Claire had never seen a gaunt pregnant woman in her life. And now that she had, she wished she could burn it out of her memory.

She noticed it for the first time during supper one night. They were eating potato stew -- again -- and Claire watched as Jenny emptied some of the contents of her bowl into Jamie’s, then Maggie’s, then Kitty’s, hardly leaving any for herself. Claire paused her own eating to really look at Jenny, wondering how long she’d been doing that. She noticed then that her arms were much smaller than she remembered them being, her cheekbones much sharper, her eyes more sunken in. Her pallor was gray.

How did I miss this?

Claire had declared at once that she did not feel well, and had foisted her stew upon Jenny and excused herself.

“Make sure she finishes that,” she’d whispered to Ian. He vowed he would.

Claire made sure from that night on to sneak just that little bit of extra stew into Jenny’s bowl, leaving less for herself. She noticed eventually that Ian was doing the same.

But even with the extra helpings, Jenny was hardly eating enough food for one, let alone two.

Claire was terrified.

Maggie started knocking on Claire’s door almost nightly, whimpering, horrible, sad little noises.

“My tummy hurts, Auntie.”

“Please heal me, Auntie.”

Claire gave her peppermint tea and held her by the fire until she fell into a fitful sleep, and Claire wept.

Peppermint tea was all well and good, but there was no real cure for hunger.

In late September, Fergus put his foot down. He knew there was a gun being hidden somewhere on the grounds, and he demanded to be told where it was so he could shoot some game with it.

“The traps are useless! We need to hunt, Uncle!”

They’d argued for a long while, and Ian and Jenny had almost won out, until Maggie wandered up to Claire and asked for more peppermint for her tummy.

That was enough for them to allow it.

He and Rabbie left for two days, returning with a small doe and a basket of fish. It kept them afloat for a few more weeks.

Then, on December second, the Redcoats came back.

Even they, high and mighty as they were, were apparently not immune to famine.

“Good afternoon, Master Murray,” The Captain greeted from atop his horse. For a moment, Claire was terrified they’d found out about Fergus’s hunting trip with a firearm, but it was soon abundantly clear why they were here.

“Many of our men are going hungry as we speak. Game has been scarce of late. We are requiring all farms near the patrol to offer rations.”

Jenny went paler than she already was.

“Captain, I’m sure ye know we are all loyal subjects to His Majesty,” Ian began carefully. “And if we had anything to spare, ye ken that we would. But, ye see — ”

“I’m quite aware that it’s been a difficult harvest. You are not the only farmers to have said so.” He dismounted and stood tall in front of Ian. “Unfortunately, we are not in a position to argue. Our men are starving.”

“Sir...my children are starving.” Ian gestured helplessly behind him to Jenny in the garden, Jamie and Maggie hiding behind her skirts. Claire stood near with bated breath.

“A pity indeed,” The Captain said flippantly. “Though I’m afraid you aren’t in a position to argue either.”

“How d’ye mean?”

“Come now, we’ve visited with you lot quite a bit, haven’t we? Surely you must realize you’re in a bit of hot water, what with Mistress Fraser as suspicious a character as she is. And you...suspiciously the wrong pegleg that night. Astonishing, isn’t it?”

“Sir...I dinna ken what ye mean about my wife’s cousin, and the matter about the grave robbing was resolved — ”

“Was it indeed?” He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. “Funny that you see it that way.”

That was when it all clicked in Claire’s head.

Perhaps the men were starving; it was more than likely. But they couldn’t possibly have been nearly as destitute as they were claiming, couldn’t be so lacking in supplies that taking from Lallybroch was a necessity.

He knew they were hiding things, keeping secrets. And he was using that knowledge to taunt them, holding their starvation over their heads.

It’s a fucking game to him.

He intended to take from the Murrays because he wanted to, and because he could.

“Two bags of grain, and three bags of potato, Master Murray,” The Captain said, stepping toward him. “Now.”

Claire saw red as she watched Fergus and Rabbie load their wagon with the requested supplies. She very much thought that Fergus would launch himself at them any minute, and she prayed fervently in her head that he would do no such thing.

“No!” someone suddenly cried, their voice much smaller and nearer than Fergus’s.

“Jamie, no — ” Jenny tried to grab for him, but he slipped past her, dashing out of the garden and straight toward the Captain.

“Ye canna take it!” He stood his ground, dodging Ian’s attempts to swipe at him. “My Mam is gonnae have a bairn, and she needs to eat! Ye canna take our food!”

“Is that so, young man?” The Captain peered down at him over the bridge of his nose.

“Aye!”

“You know who that is, don’t you, Captain?” One of the others piped up. “That’s the future Laird of this land.”

“Is it, indeed?” The Captain sneered. “I suppose we ought to listen to what he has to say, then.”

“Aye! Ye should!” Jamie gave an indignant stomp of his foot.

Before anyone could blink, the butt of his gun collided with Jamie’s little head, and he collapsed in the dirt. Jenny shrieked inhumanly, a sound Claire hadn’t even thought her capable of. Claire’s stomach lurched, and she rushed to his side, turning his head over to check for bleeding.

Jenny suddenly cried out again, and Claire looked up to see her staring in horror between her feet.

Her waters have broken.

Ian got to her as fast as he could, catching her in his arms, holding her up.

“The midwife, Fergus. Quickly,” Ian called, and Fergus was off like a shot toward the stable.

“Quite the eventful day for the Murrays.” The Captain chuckled, watching as Ian helped Jenny inside. 

Maggie was wailing, tears streaming down her red cheeks. Claire gathered Jamie in her arms, cradling him to her chest, and struggled to stand. Her chin jutted out, her eyes burning hatefully into the Captain.

“I’ll leave you to it, then, Mistress Elizabeth.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. He mounted his horse, and the other men took their positions in the wagon. “My best wishes to the child on its way.”

Claire did not watch them go; she turned on her heel, cradling Jamie, and rushed into the house. 

“It’s alright, darling, come inside,” she crooned to Maggie as she crossed over the threshold. “I’m going to make him all better. Don’t worry.”

Laura was standing in the parlor frozen in fear, and Claire beckoned her to retrieve a cold compress for Jamie’s head. She laid him down on the sofa and checked his pulse, his pupils. There was no bleeding, thank God. They were likely looking at bruising or a concussion in the worst case.

“Maggie, love,” Claire said gently, taking her into her arms. “I promise everything will be alright. Can you do me a favor, since you’re such a big girl?”

“Aye, Auntie,” she sputtered.

“Can you go and check on all the babies? Kitty, Brianna, the twins? I think they need you very much right now.”

“Aye, Auntie. I can.” She sniffled and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, putting on a brave face.

“That’s my brave wee lass.” Claire kissed her cheek. “Go on, now. It’ll be alright.”

A ragged cry suddenly echoed through the house, coming from the Laird’s room. Maggie looked back at Claire fretfully.

“It’s alright. It’s just the same as when Michael and Janet were born. Remember? It hurts a little. Don’t worry.”

Maggie nodded before turning back to the stairs and trudging up them. Jamie suddenly groaned, and Claire turned back to him.

“Jamie?” Claire said, stroking his hair away from his face. “Can you hear me, darling?”

“Aye,” he said groggily. “My head hurts.”

“I know, love. It’s alright, I’m here. Can you see? Is anything blurry?”

“No...but it hurts.”

“Alright, it’s alright. Laura is coming back with something cold to put where it hurts. It will make you feel better.”

Jenny cried out again, and Jamie’s eyes popped open despite their previous lethargy.

“Mam? Is it the bairn?”

“Yes, she’s having the baby a bit early. Don’t worry. Babies come early all the time. They’ll be just fine.”

Laura returned just then with a bucket of cold water, and it was a struggle to keep the little boy still long enough to keep the wet rag on his head.

“Jamie, you mustn’t ever directly address a Redcoat again, do you understand me?” Claire said firmly, yet softly as she pressed the rag into his head.

“But Mam needs the food.”

“I know, darling. But you could get hurt a lot worse next time. And we all need you. Lallybroch needs you.” She stroked his cheek, her throat tightening. “Your uncle left you this land; It was the last thing he ever did. And you need to honor that by being smart, and brave. And being brave doesn’t always mean getting into trouble like that. Do you understand?”

He looked very thoughtful for a moment, an expression that combated oddly with his youthful face. “Aye. I understand, Auntie.”

“Good boy.” Jenny cried out again, and Claire’s stomach flipped. “Alright, can you hold this for me, Jamie?” He nodded, and took her place holding the cold compress on his head. “Laura will stay with you while I see to your mother. Alright?”

“Aye, Auntie.”

Claire pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, sliding past Laura as she settled beside Jamie with the bucket of water. Claire hurried up the stairs and into the Laird’s room.

“Claire!” Jenny choked out her name before she could even cross the threshold. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine, Jenny.” Claire sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped Jenny’s hand between hers. “He’s awake, and he’s got a cold compress on his head. He’ll be fine.”

Jenny nodded tearfully, biting down on her lip. “Christ, I’d never been so scairt in all my life.”

Claire squeezed her hand. “I know. It’s alright now. They’re gone, and everyone is safe.”

“Go to him, Ian,” Jenny said. “Claire’s got me, now. Tell him I’m alright.”

Ian pressed a kiss to the top of Jenny’s head before departing. Mrs. Donnelly was flitting about, adjusting pillows and the fire, and filling pitchers and bowls with water.

“It’s alright, isn’t it?” Jenny said fretfully. “That it’s so early?”

“It should be,” Claire answered. “It’s very common for babies to come earlier and earlier the more you have. In fact, he should even come out in no time, considering how many times you’ve given birth.”

“Aye, ye’ve said that before,” Jenny said, nodding. “Ye’d better be right, or I may throttle ye.”

#outlander #outlander au #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jenny murray #claire fraser #jamie fraser #brianna randall #brianna fraser #ian murray #fergus fraser