#Puncture Strength Testing

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[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

James Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x Reader

* Includes primal, breeding, and scent kink • Logan’s dick is so big Reader struggles to take it 🫦 • oral sex (f receiving) • fingering • vaginal sex • Logan’s in beast mode but the fluff is definitely fluffing 💗 *

Tears bubbled in the corners of your eyes, your lips pressed into a frustrated pout. “It won’t fit,” you whimpered, your voice trembling in defeat. Logan’s broad shoulders curved over you like a shield, every muscle in his body tensed as he demanded restraint of himself.

In spite of how tightly your cunt was sucking at his tip, Logan knew he had to be gentle with you. If he forced himself any deeper, he’d absolutely cause you pain. And that was the last thing he wanted, especially since this was your first time with him…

It was something Logan had anticipated already. He knew he was big, with a thick girth that matched his length. Despite playing with your pussy through your clothes for the last ten minutes and getting you sopping wet, he was still met with resistance the moment he pushed his tip inside you.

“Shh, it’s okay honey,” Logan soothed you. “S’not your fault, alright?” He eased his hips back slowly, carefully removing his tip from your entrance. Logan swiped the pad of his thumb across your cheek, drying a frustrated tear before it could fall. “A tight little pussy’s nothing to cry about, angel,” he grinned reassuringly down at you, pulling you into his arms. “Just means we need to help her relax a little.”

Logan gently guided your back against the couch, sliding down to his knees beside you. One of his hands slid under your ass and down your left thigh, lifting your leg till it was draped over his broad shoulder. The smell of your cunt was intoxicating, stirring every animal instinct inside Logan that he knew he must keep in check. If he lost control, even for a moment, he might hurt you, or worse.

Logan’s self control was immaculate, a skill he’d been forced to acquire through generations of fucking women who didn’t share his strength, and certainly not his ability to heal from whatever consequences a rough fuck could cause.

“You smell like honey,” Logan murmured, nuzzling his nose into the soft warmth of your inner thigh. He used his fingers to delicately spread your lips apart, watching the slick collected there spread between them. Your scent grew stronger as Logan opened you up for himself, his primal need to claim you testing his sense of control. His eyes honed in on the wet cunt just inches from his mouth, dripping with copious, slippery cum. Logan could smell your fertility, the pheromones emitting from your body sending his animal instinct to breed into overdrive.

Logan nestled his head deeper between your thighs, his nose pressed against your bush. He breathed deeply the delicious cocktail of your sweat and cum gathered inside the coarse hair framing your pussy. Logan’s hands were now at his sides in fists, clenching so hard that his fingernails punctured the skin of his palms. He nuzzled into your bush, drawing another breath of your scent inside his nose. Parting his lips, Logan let his tongue dip between your labia, spreading them apart just as his fingers had before. Your thighs trembled around his head, breathy moans leaving your lips as Logan’s mouth explored you. Your fingers went to his hair, lacing in the thick brown strands and holding him in place.

Logan was in absolute bliss, delving his tongue between your folds, slurping loudly as he ate your cum. The animal inside him was finally being sated, fed well at the meal between your thighs, his teeth sinking ever-so-lightly into the plump pout of your lips, wide tongue padding soft against your clit.

Logan’s fingers joined his tongue, entering you easily as he continued to lap at your clit. Watching him work between your thighs, you felt your climax building. Logan pumped his fingers inside you at a brutal pace, the force of his hand meeting your cunt each time his fingers disappeared inside you making you wince. It hurt so good, too good, a feeling of absolute overwhelm that had fresh tears springing to your eyes. As the pressure inside you gave way to climax, tears cascaded down your burning cheeks, your features contorted in ecstasy. A carnal groan of relief poured from your lips as hot slick gushed over Logan’s tongue. He lapped and sucked your juices like a thirsty animal as they dripped down your thighs, chasing every drop as your cum soaked into the cushion beneath you.

His cock was leaking precum onto the floor, his tip red and aching, every instinct in Logan’s body silently screaming at him to fuck a baby into the nearest fertile womb. He slid your thigh off his shoulder but remained between your legs, rising to kneel on one knee as he tugged your hips forward to meet his. Logan’s face and chest were glistening with cum and sweat. He reached for the back of your neck, holding your head in place so your eyes would be on his when he entered you. You felt Logan’s tip press just inside your entrance, his forehead creasing as he willed himself not to selfishly take you as roughly as he wanted. “Alright, baby?” he asked, his voice a choked groan. You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip as Logan sank three inches inside you.

Your cunt accepted him with minimal resistance, till a slight sting caused you to wince and brought Logan to a pause. “Too much?” he panted down at you, and you quickly replied with a forceful “NO. Keep going Logan, please…”

He was trembling all over, the fight between his care for you and his animal need raging. With extreme effort to be gentle, Logan sank another three inches deeper inside you. The breath in your lungs burst out of you as Logan filled you, his hips stilling as he felt the smooth mound of your cervix against his tip. “Look at you, baby,” he murmured proudly. “Takin’ me so deep…I knew you could.”

Your heart skipped at his praise. Knowing Logan was pleased with you was addictive; you needed more. “I want to make you happy,” you uttered softly, your voice timid and small, needy tears gathering on your lashes. Logan grinned down at you, his voice a heady drug as he assured you “sweetheart, you already have…”

He drew his hips backward slowly, then carefully thrust just once inside you. Your whole body jerked at the impact, your eyes squeezed shut, a breathy gasp punched out of you. Logan pulled back and thrust forward again, growling through his teeth. Your pillowy walls were milking him, his heavy balls aching to be drained, eager to breed the fertile womb his tip was wedged against.

Logan exhaled deeply, the scent of your cunt washing over you on his breath. “Can I get you pregnant?” he asked, his eyes boring deep into yours as his cock rested thick and throbbing inside you. Maybe his question would have been too much from anyone else. It was a request that held massive implications…the consequences unavoidable. But coming from Logan, a request to claim your womb as his was…deliciously tempting.

You nodded, watching the tension in Logan’s face soften as he confirmed your consent. It was all so much, so beautiful, his body over yours and inside you, the security you felt wrapped up in his warmth. Your lips quivered into a confident smile, fresh tears of submission and love trickling down your cheeks. “Fill me up,” you gently begged. “Make me yours, Logan. I already am…”

He closed his eyes a moment, the gnawing hunger inside him ready to tear both of you in half if he gave himself over to it. With his hands firmly clutching your shoulders, Logan leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. A low growl left his lips as he surrendered to his need to breed you. Logan buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent as his hips propelled forward. He took you as gently as he could, big hands pressing your shoulders back as you arched against the couch. Your legs wrapped around Logan’s waist, ankles crossing behind his back. He rut his hips into yours, smearing the sweat along his happy trail against your belly. Logan’s cock disappeared inside you, his bush matted with your juices, squelching as your crotches met with each punch of his hips. He stroked you as deeply as you could take him, dragging his heavy cock back and forth within the snug grip of your cunt.

Logan growled your name against your ear as his hips stilled against you, the words on his lips fading into a breathy moan as he emptied his sperm between your walls. A metallic sound issued beside your shoulders where Logan held you. Tilting your head, you saw Logan’s claws extended, burrowed into the couch cushions beneath you. His breath punched from his lungs in bursts, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your tits.

Logan collapsed forward, taking care not to crush you beneath him. He held you close, swallowing you up in the curve of his chest, refusing to let go till he was certain the last of his seed had drained from his tip. Logan carefully removed his softening cock from inside you, a thick stream of semen leaking creamy and white from between your lips. He lifted you into his arms, letting you rest and recover, your ear pressed to his heartbeat. As your breathing slowed, Logan looked down to see you peacefully asleep. He placed a soft kiss in your hair, smiling contentedly, grateful to hold you as long as you rested, allowing Nature to take its course as his sperm made its way to your womb…

[r3starttt]

KISS ME

PAIRING: Jackson! ellie x reader

CW: request. outbreak | tlou universe.

SUMMARY: Ellie takes care of you after patrol.

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST | - ellie taglist: @ilovetaylorrr @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages

The night sky stretches above you, a deep canvas of blue-black, with only a few stubborn stars daring to puncture its vastness. The moon, however, shone with an almost ethereal glow, casting a silvery light that softened the edges of the night. It illuminated your path home. Yet, its light did little to ease the weariness clinging to your body. Every muscle ached, each movement sending a fresh wave of pain through your tired limbs.

The ground beneath your feet felt distant, as if you were walking on shattered glass, each step a jagged reminder of the day’s relentless toll. It felt as though the very bones in your feet might shatter with the weight of the exhaustion that clung to you, heavy and unyielding.

From the moment you left the safety of yours and Ellie's shared walls, it was a relentless march through the wilderness, every mile weighing down on you like a stone.

The hours went by in a haze of heat and sweat, the sun’s unforgiving rays beating down on you until you felt as though your very essence was melting away. The memory of that heat still lingered, a phantom pain that sapped what little strength you had left.

Your legs had carried you far beyond what should have been your limit. Every patrol was a test, pushing you to the edge, but it was always the final stretch—the steps that brought you back home—that hurt the most. The pain of a long day wasn’t truly felt until you stood on the threshold of safety, when the body, sensing the nearness of rest, began to unravel, finally allowed to release.

The night was quiet, the crickets were quieter tonight, their usual chorus subdued, as if they, too, were tired. Instead, the usual symphony had been replaced by the distant air, a murmur of voices- the sound of the town coming alive in the evening.

People greeted the returning patrols, their voices carrying a mix of relief and fatigue, like echoes of a world that still held onto some semblance of normalcy. Your own group had been particularly weary tonight, the day’s struggles etched into the lines of their faces as they shared tired smiles and half-hearted jokes. Last voices you heard were tinged with exhaustion, drifted to you, words that blended together in a chorus of shared fatigue.

But the sounds of the night could not drown out the ghosts that clung to your mind—the groans and cries of the infected, the hollow echoes of what once were human beings. Their twisted forms a grim reminder of what awaited those who let their guard down.

A smear of dried blood clung to your cheek, the crimson stark against your sweat-streaked skin. Every inch of you was covered in the grime of the day, the sun having left its mark in the form of a relentless burn that sapped your energy and left you feeling hollowed out.

The bruises and cuts scattered across your body throbbed with a dull ache, a heavy weight that seemed to settle in your stomach, twisting it into tight knots. It felt like you’d been running on empty, forcing yourself through sheer willpower, and now that you were so close to rest, the pain was finally catching up to you.

Your fingers brushed against the rough wood of Ellie’s porch door, the familiar texture grounding you for just a moment before it was pulled open. The door swung inward with surprising ease, and there she was—Ellie. The first thing you saw was her eyes, green orbs filled with worry as they drank in the sight of you. She had been waiting, her anxiety palpable in the way her fingers fidgeted nervously, tangling together as if she could knit away her fear.

Without a word, she reached for you, guiding you inside with a gentle hand on your arm. You stumbled through the doorway, the weight of your body dragging you down, but before you could even think to shrug it off, Ellie was there, the moth tattoo peeking out from beneath her sleeve as she motioned for you to turn around. Your body moved on autopilot, dragging itself to obay her command, sluggishly.

Ellie had barely waited for you to move before she was easing the heavy backpack from your shoulders, her fingers deftly undoing the straps as if they were second nature. Too enveloped in the warmth, in the soft glow of the Christmas lights adorning the room and adding to the feeling of safety that she always manages to create around you- barely registering the weight of your backpack being lifted from your shoulders.

“Hey, you okay?” Her voice was soft, a quiet melody tinged with concern, though you could only manage a nod, your throat too tight to form words. The day had stolen your voice, leaving you with nothing but the heaviness in your chest. But Ellie’s voice wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing in its familiarity.

The space enlightened in a gentle, golden hue. It felt like a safe haven, a sanctuary where the world outside could not reach you.

You stumbled toward the couch, your hands fumbling with the laces of your boots. On your ears echoed the faint rustle of fabric as Ellie hung up your—her—jacket on the hook by the door, the simple act somehow grounding you even further.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she murmured, her gaze lifting to meet yours, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. Despite the exhaustion pulling at your very soul, you found comfort in that smile, in the way she always knew how to take care of you when you couldn’t take care of yourself.

Yet the calm faded with a frustrated groan that escaped your lips as you encountered a stubborn knot, the simple task suddenly insurmountable in your current state. Ellie noticed immediately, her eyes softening with sympathy as she was already there, kneeling down in front of you, "Stop, you’re gonna make it worse,” she chided gently, her hands brushing yours aside with that lopsided smile you knew so well.

“Let me,” her whisper insisting once again, preventing you from even thinking on fighting her back. Ellie's tone low and husky, a sound that always sent a shiver down your spine. Her fingers worked deftly at the knot, untying it with ease, her touch careful and deliberate. As she did, she glanced up, her voice dropping to a softer, more husky tone, as if trying to coax a response out of you. “Did you hear what I said?”

You managed a half-hearted reply, more of a mumble than anything else. “Get me cleaned, yes.” her fingers finally loosening the stubborn knot, helping you out of your boots. It felt as if the weight of the day begin to lift, replaced by the comfort of knowing that you had her with you, in this very moment to finally provide you safeness.

She would never say it, but you could see the relief in her expression, the way her worry eased just a fraction realizing the same thing. After a long day, she had you there, safe.

"Come on," you groaned, tilting your head back as you sighed deeply. Inside your mind, you counted down from five before finally taking her hand and standing up.

The stiffness in your feet began to ease as you pressed your feet against the cold, hard concrete floor. Its coolness and firmness, in contrast to the warm flesh, added just enough pressure to make you feel better.

Ellie led you into the bathroom—it was only a few steps, really. Her hand was a steadying presence, her fingers resting gently on your opposite arm with each step you took. The small space was dimly lit, a single candle flickering and casting soft, dancing shadows on the walls. Ellie’s bathroom was simple but functional—a small tub, a sink, and a water system. A barrel of water sat near the ceiling, connected to a series of tubes that fed into the showerhead, sink, and toilet. It wasn’t much, but it worked, and in this world, that was everything.

The absence of her touch contrasted with the tender atmosphere. From your viewpoint, you could see her hair, messily tidied into a bun, with a few baby hairs and stray strands adorning her neck and the area behind her ears. You wanted to kiss them.

She knelt by the tub, her movements loud as she filled a bucket with water. The sound of the water splashing into the bucket was soothing, a gentle reminder that you were finally safe—finally home.

Ellie set the bucket down next to the tub and looked up at you, only then realizing you were already looking back. It was quiet, aside from the sound of the water, but everything felt blurry in her presence.

You shifted slightly, resting the back of your arms and elbows against the sink to keep your composure, making enough space for both of you and allowing her to stand up.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, wiping away the dried blood that clung stubbornly to your skin. "Arms up," she said with quiet determination, an unspoken promise that she wouldn’t let anything else be a struggle tonight.

You nodded, too tired to do much else, and let her help you out of your clothes. Each piece of fabric that left your body and fell to the floor felt like another layer of the day’s grime and exhaustion being peeled away. By the time you stood there, bare and vulnerable, you felt lighter—still weary, but no longer weighed down.

The tub was cold and stiff, making your bones ache. But it was all easily forgotten. Ellie dipped a sponge into the bucket and began to gently cleanse your skin. She worked in silence, her touch tender and methodical as she wiped away the dirt, blood, and sweat that clung to you. The water was cool against your overheated skin, soothing the burns left by the sun and the aches buried deep in your muscles. The sponge moved across your body with a kind of reverence, as if she were handling something precious. In that moment, you were—precious to her, and safe in her care.

When the sponge had done its work, Ellie carefully poured the dirty water over you, rinsing away the last remnants of the day and ensuring your hair was thoroughly wet. The water cascaded down your body, carrying away the grime and blood, leaving you feeling half-clean—both physically and emotionally.

You let out a soft sigh, feeling as though the water was rinsing away more than just dirt. It was washing away the tension, the fear, and the exhaustion, leaving you with nothing but the comfort of being home, of being with her.

Ellie reached for the soap, lathering it between her hands before gently running them over your skin. The smell of it—something mild and earthy, a scent she had traded for a few weeks back—filled the small bathroom. The soap felt comforting against your battered skin, and Ellie’s hands moved with the kind of care that came from knowing just how fragile you felt in that moment.

She repeated those same motions later, with the soap on your body, her fingers careful not to apply too much pressure whenever there was a cut, bruise, or anything that could cause pain.

“Let me know if it hurts,” Ellie murmured, her voice a low, comforting hum that resonated in your chest. You managed a weak nod, closing your eyes as you surrendered fully to her care. The world outside ceased to exist, reduced to the sound of water splashing against porcelain and the feeling of Ellie’s hands moving over your body in a slow, rhythmic dance.

Finally, she reached up and pulled the chain that controlled the flow of water from the barrel, letting a gentle stream of water fall over you from the showerhead. It wasn’t much—she had to be careful with how much water was used—but it was enough.

"Here," she whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead as she handed you a small towel. It was barely enough to properly dry your hair, but you always managed to make it work.

Too focused on the wet sounds in your ears coming from your hair being dried, you barely noticed the commotion Ellie made while searching for a proper towel for you. She swore she had a clean one left—or maybe she had just convinced herself earlier to avoid doing laundry today. But you didn't know that, so she had to hurry.

When she finally appeared in the doorway, you tilted your chin up, meeting her hands first and then the towel she held. "Come here," she murmured. In a matter of seconds, she had the towel wrapped around your shoulders and was guiding you out of the bathroom and, much to your relief, into the very desirable bed.

She knelt in front of you again, her hands busy with the towel, drying you off with the same care she’d shown throughout. As she worked, her eyes kept flicking up to meet yours, as if she needed to reassure herself that you were really safe, here.

"Can I?" she asked, her fingers lightly grazing the skin of your thighs. Her hazel eyes, dilated pupils, focused on all the bruises, all the wounds. And again, you didn't reply verbally but simply moved the towel aside, exposing yourself before her and allowing her to reach every inch of skin that needed the tenderness of her touch.

It took some pain, hisses, and a kiss here and there. The needle was probably something no human could ever get used to, nor the sensation of the thread between your skin. But you made it work; you had to.

Ellie was gentle, helping you into a clean set of clothes—something soft and warm that smelled faintly of her. You could barely keep your eyes open by this point, the weight of the day catching up with you now that you were finally clean and comfortable.

"Hey," Ellie called softly, taking your hand and gripping it just enough to reassure you. You turned your chin up, meeting her pretty eyes and that sheepish smile. "Let's go eat, come on."

As you did every morning, you forced yourself out of bed. Just as you had done with the couch when you first came in, you took a deep breath, counted to three, and stood up.

Dinner most nights was something she threw together while you were out on patrol. Today, the aroma of a hearty stew filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of herbs.

Usually you’d joke about her cooking, mocking her “chef talents”—she wasn't the best. But tonight, the words stuck in your throat, weighed down by exhaustion and the thought of simply touching the bed again, it looked so inviting.

You slid into your seat at the table, the day's exhaustion making your limbs heavy. Ellie chuckled, her usual dorky grin present but softened by concern. "It's not fancy, but—" she said, sliding a plate in front of you. "It's edible."

She watched as you took tentative bites, her hand resting on your back, offering silent encouragement. As usual, she didn’t touch her own food until she saw you eat.

The silence between you was comfortable, the warmth of the stew seeping into your bones, grounding you after the chaos of the day. Yet, as the meal progressed, your appetite remained low. You gave small glances at Ellie, considering your usual reluctance to eat her cooking.

"I know you’re tired, but you haven't had proper food since breakfast."

You knew that if you refused again, she’d let it slide, waiting until you were sound asleep before eating anything herself just to avoid an argument.

But after all she’d done to take care of you tonight, you couldn’t bring yourself to fight her on this. "I’ll wait with you. We can eat together.” With a quiet nod, you picked up your spoon again and took another bite.

Relief. Ellie could only stare at you with relief. The adrenaline of every time you went out on patrol never really fading until next day- for her, it wasn't only the thoughts of you getting hurt, but killed, taken by anyone and being hurt. She feared humans mostly.

And then, seeing you in front of her- yes, hurt, but nothing else- it was like all the anxiety finally made any sense. What would it be if any day you didn't come back, how could she ever manage to eat dinner herself, alone.

Having you in front of her, so close. Feeling the warmth of your skin under her hoodie- the fact that you're the one on her clothes, right next to her. The fact that she's having to force you to eat. It's always a relief, to know you're here, with her, that she has you.

It wasn't until her brain finally realized it was all good that she started to eat.

You always finished first. Only waiting for your stomach to feel full enough, with a gentle move, you pushed the plate away slightly to let her know you were done. Ellie always replied with a nod and a quick glance. Her hand on your thigh as she finished the last few bites of her meal.

The usual banter and teasing were absent, replaced by a quiet understanding—a silent agreement that tonight was about more than just food or sleep. It was about taking care of each other, about finding comfort in the little things. Like—no dishes to be washed tonight. That's future you both's problem.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she whispered, her voice a soothing balm to your tired mind.

You didn’t argue, letting her lead you to the small bed you shared. The sheets cool against your skin as you slipped under them, Ellie sliding in beside you. She pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you in a comfortable and tight enough embrace that felt like the safest place in the world. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your back lulled you.

You could feel the rhythm of her breathing against your neck. It all creating the most desirable sanctuary. And after hours that felt endless, you could close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of normalcy—the simple, precious moment of being held by someone who cares deeply, knowing that no matter what tomorrow brings, you'd wake up next to her, ready to face it together.

[corrugated-case]

If you shifted to a corrugated packaging system a while ago and had a disappointing experience, it simply means you didn’t implement it correctly. Checking the quality of a corrugated box is as important as ensuring that a particular product finds the right packaging unit for it. If you are looking for a reliable name for corrugated packaging services, you should immediately contact Corrugated Case Company.

[cdragons]

I'm Yours, But You Can't Be Mine | Dark!Robb Stark x fem Knight!Reader

Summary: The Freys and the Boltons were so close in their attempt to assassinate Robb Stark and switch the tides in favor of the Lannisters. But a knight's devotion to her king should never be tested. Her loyalty always remains true, even if she breaks the heart of the man she loves in order to protect him.

Trigger Warning(s): MDNI 18+, blood, gore, graphic violence, forced abortion, violence against women, canon character deaths (not Robb or Starks), graphic smut, more hurt than comfort, Talisa is a spy (and a ho), Reader has post-murder clarity and guilt

A/N: A couple of days ago, I woke up and chose violence (emotionally and "literature"-ally) ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ. Also, Theon Greyjoy never betrayed Robb in this fic bc I said so - HOORAY! Also, if anyone can tell me how I can use different fonts in my posts, that would be great.

Walking out from the tent where the emergency council meeting was held, you steeled yourself for the information you would have to discuss with your king. With each step falling to the ground, bringing you closer to his tent, the boulder in your stomach grew more and more heavy.

“This is a bad idea,” you thought to yourself. “This is a bad idea and a mistake; he will never forgive you if you go through this.”

But you made a promise – and as Ned Stark taught you, you would keep it because it was right and honorable. Because when choosing between what is right and what is easy…you must always choose what is right.

You stopped before the two Northmen who stood outside your king’s tent as guardsmen. Their postures straightened and appeared as imposing as possible when facing you.

“Turn back, Ser (Y/N),” one guard said. “No matter how familiar with King Robb, we are on strict orders from Lady Catelyn that no one but her and Princess Arya are permitted to enter His Grace’s tent.”

“I need to speak with the King,” you spoke in your best militant and authoritative tone. “His lords and I just held an emergency council meeting to discuss House Frey’s betrayal. I need to ensure that no information is held from him.”

“Perhaps it be best you let His Grace rest,” the other guard spat out. “He had just lost his queen and future heir at the hands of Walder Frey – even if his wife was a spying, traitorous cunt sent by Tywin Lannister. We could all use some time to mourn.”

You snarled and grabbed your dagger when you saw the sigil sewn on her sheath. He belonged to House Blackwood. Your eyes softened as you recognized him as Bywin Blackwood, cousin to Lucas Blackwood, one of the four hundred casualties slain by Hosteen Frey. Taking a deep breath, you tried to appeal to their sympathetic natures.

“I concur, Ser Bywin,” you said. “But you cannot deny that time is of the essence. Three days have passed since the failed Red Wedding, and word has surely reached Tywin Lannister and the rest of the Red Keep of their failure. I fear for Princess Sansa’s life if we do not take action soon. Her well-being is entirely dependent on King Joffery and his bitch mother’s whims and wishes. The faster I can bring our king up to speed, the faster we can retaliate and bring our former liege lord’s daughter back.”

You watched them glance at one another before delivering the final blow. “And then we can all go home so that we may finally properly mourn and honor the lives lost in this war.”

They let you through, and you entered your king’s tent. Seeing your friend lying so still on his cot broke your heart. His chest was wrapped entirely in gauze and bandages, and the memory of seeing the arrows puncture his body swept chills down your back. Grey Wind sat beside him as dutifully as ever and did not even turn his head to look at you when you entered. Like his master, Grey Wind was a beast of discipline and strength. He and Robb shared the same qualities of holding the stoic appearance of a leader – even when the world around them came crumbling down. But here, at this moment, Grey Wind was neither a beast nor a leader. At this moment, he was simply the pet whose mind was running rampant with worry from fear of his dearest friend never waking up.

You held out your hand and called out his name. “Grey Wind.”

His head finally turned to face you. You often wondered if he was more man than beast, sometimes based on how soulful his eyes looked alone. You crouched on the ground and beckoned him to you.

“Come here, boy. Are you thirsty? I brought you water.”

He immediately trotted to you and showed his joy in seeing you were alive by licking your face and nudging you with his wet nose. You softly laughed at his eagerness to shower you in love while also inspecting your body to see if you were injured or carrying weapons. His body stilled, and his fur stood as he stopped to sniff the sword resting on your hip. He took a sniff and bared his teeth to let out a low growl when he recognized the scent of Talisa’s blood soaking the metal of your blade underneath the leather sheath.

You petted him and spoke in low whispers to calm him down. “It’s alright, boy. She met her end – you and I both ensured that.”

A pained voice rasped out. “I don’t suppose you got any information out of it?”

Your eyes widened at the only other voice in the room, and Grey Wind immediately returned to Robb’s side.

Tears filled your eyes as relief flooded your body. “Robb,” you sobbed out.

Before you could stop yourself, you flung yourself to hug him. “You’re alive! Oh gods – you’re alive!”

Returning your embrace, Robb held you close. “I am, and so are my mother and most of our men—all thanks to you.”

But the happy atmosphere became sour and somber when he looked down at your sword. The memory of your hands covered in his wife’s blood as you stormed into Frey’s Great Hall with the rest of his men was fresh in his mind. Fury swirled and thundered inside him as he learned he had been played as a fool by Tywin Lannister. Using one of his vassal house’s daughters as a spy while disguised as a healer so that she could seduce him was a low he never thought those fucking lions would stoop down to, but they had, and he will have their heads on spikes.

His grip on your arms grew harder. “Did she suffer?” he asked.

You looked him straight in the eyes. “Every second until she had her last breath.”

“Good,” was his only response.

“Robb,” you started. What you were about to tell him was cruel, but he needed to know. “I tore her child out from her womb…it had blonde hair.”

Robb let out a bitter laugh and clenched his fists. “So not only was she a spy, but she was also a whore.” He shook his head. “I was a fool.”

You took his hand in yours. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She had us all fooled.”

Robb shook his head. “Not you. She never fooled you. You hated her the minute you saw her, and you were right, too.”

You never once hid your distrust and dislike for her from the moment she and Robb locked eyes, a distrust that only grew more intense when Robb decided to marry her, thus breaking the vow he made with Walder Frey. But despite your skepticism of Talisa Maegyr, you never suspected she was a spy under Tywin Lannister. Eventually, though, you began to trust her after observing her for countless hours.

She wasn’t a Frey girl, but she might be good to Robb. Maybe she would make him happy.

Robb tucked in a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Who would’ve thought that your natural hatred and distrust for anything pretty would come in so handy?”

“I do not hate all things ‘pretty,’” you scoffed. “I just have a natural distrust for things that seem too good to be true that happen to be pretty. Why do you think I ran away from you for so long?”

Robb smirked. “But you always trusted my father?” he chuckled.

"Ned Stark was someone who was born into privilege and knew it," you shrugged. “Besides, he was old and fat when he found me. And I didn’t think it would be useful until now.”

You thought it strange to see her leave the feast so early, claiming that she felt ill, and one of Bolton’s soldiers escorted her to her chambers. You whispered to Theon that you needed some air before quietly following them. You found them discussing how everything was set and how House Stark would fall that night. Talisa’s true name was Joy Marband, one of House Lannister’s vassal houses in the Westerlands. Tal- Joy ensured Lord Bolton that House Lannister would reward him for his loyalty to the crown. Horrified by this revelation, you rushed to where Grey Wind was locked up and freed him after slaying the guards that stood in front of his kennel.

“Grey Wind, gather the men,” you ordered. “Gather as many as possible and lead them to the Great Hall! We don’t have much time!” Grey Wind howled before doing exactly as you ordered. When he parted, you set off to find the spying whore. On your way to find her, you slew every son, guard, knight, squire, and steward that came across you.

You found her all right – found her in her chambers getting fucked from behind by one of Lord Frey’s many bastard sons. You took out your dagger and gutted him from balls to the chest before cutting off his pathetic cock. It gave you a sick amount of pleasure to see how his blood sprayed across the room – from the walls to the bed, on the traitorous cunt’s back he was fucking to on your clothes. His body went limp as a massive puddle of blood surrounded him. After watching him die, you turned your attention to her.

“Please,” she cried while clutching a blood-splattered sheet close to her chest. “Please, I am with child – Robb’s child!”

You reached out, and your hand squeezed around her throat as she tried to claw her way out of your grasp. Anger being your drive, you slammed her head against the headboard of the bed and watched as her lips turned blue from lack of air.

“Don’t you say his name,” you growled. “Don’t you EVER say his name!”

You flung her like she was a simple ragdoll as her body slammed against the stone wall adjacent to the bed. She coughed and gasped for air while rubbing her throat – the bruises were already forming. You stalked towards her before she could crawl away.

“Robb trusted you!” you thundered. “Lady Stark trusted you! The North trusted you – I TRUSTED YOU!”

You towered over her, grabbed a fistful of her umber-shaded locks, and forcefully yanked it until her face was only inches from yours. “AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU TOOK THAT TRUST AND REPAID IT WITH BETRAYAL!”

She tried to crawl away before you stomped on her hand and felt it being crushed underneath the sole of your boot. Your former queen wailed in agony from the pain that almost hid the sound of her bones cracking. The dagger you used to fill the bleeding corpse was still in your other hand, and you knelt to trace Lady Marband’s pretty face with its tip.

“W-w-what are you going to do to me?” she pathetically sniffled.

“I have – STOP CRYING! I have only one question for you,” you harshly whispered. “Did my king truly sire the child in your womb?”

“YES!” she cried out quickly…too quickly. Your jaw clenched so hard you thought your teeth would break from all the pressure.

“…Liar,” you hissed.

With nothing left to stop you, you took your dagger and stabbed it into her body. Dragging the blade until her insides were spilling out into your hands, you dug your find to find the child. Her screams howled louder than any beast at night, and you were almost worried that her wails would give away your position. But all those worries went away when you tore the fetus from her womb. Pouring water on it, you found tiny wisps of hair…straight, blond wisps of hair that more resembled the color of golden wheat than Robb’s dark, russet curls.

Hearing Grey Wind’s howl outside the window, you knew it was time. Still holding the whore’s limb and bloodied bastard in your hand, you raced to find Grey Wind. If your suspicions were true, most of the archers for House Frey were already inside the Great Hall while the feast was happening. If you didn’t hurry, you and the men Grey Wind gathered would be too late. You managed to locate him quickly and were relieved to find thousands of men behind him as he immediately trotted to your side.

“Queen Talisa Maegyr is a traitor working for the Lannisters!” you loudly roared. “She belongs to House Marband—one of their vassal houses! Tywin Lannister had sent her to spy on and seduce your king!”

You raised the dead babe high above your head for all the men to see. “The babe in her stomach is not even Robb’s! If you wish for proof, see for yourself!”

You flung its body to the nearest man. He picked it up, and you can see his eyes widen and fill with rage before confirming your words as truth.

“BLONDE!” he bellowed for all his comrades to hear. “BLONDE LIKE JOFFERY AND HIS WHORE MOTHER, HIDING IN THEIR RED SHIT-STAINED CASTLE!”

Cries and shouts of outrage and anger amongst the men. You watched with bated breath as the surge of revenge and the need for bloodshed filled their hearts. You then revealed that Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were also in a secret allegiance with House Lannister and watched as enraged spirits filled the men with enough fury to take down an army of ten thousand. The North needed something to boost morale, and here it was. You looked down at Grey Wind. He stared back into your eyes with the same loyalty he gives Robb, and you know what you must do.

With one swipe, you unsheathe your blade, ‘Purge,’ and raise it above your head as the men go silent.

You shouted before leading the charge into the keep. “COME WITH ME AND LET’S TAKE THESE FUCKING FREYS TO THEIR GRAVES!”

Grey Wind howled to the sky, and the men raised their weapons to let out their battle cries as they followed you, storming into the keep. You shouted orders for the Riverland archers to run to the upper levels to take down the Freys perched there. Your king’s direwolf raced ahead and took down any soldier that tried to cross him. By the time you and the men reached the doors leading to the Great Hall, all of Grey Wind’s face was soaked with spilled red liquid life save for his golden eyes.  

You pushed the door open just in time to see Robb stagger back from the arrows piercing his chest. Just when Roose Bolton tried to deliver the final blow, Grey Wind let out a booming bark before dashing to Lord Bolton and clamping his teeth into his neck. Meanwhile, you went to where Theon was held and removed the heads of the men who were pinning him down with a single swing. You grabbed him by his doublet’s collar, yanked him to his feet, and shoved a spare sword in his hand.

“Grab Robb and his mother, and get out of here!” you ordered.

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you–”

“Dammit Theon! Don’t argue with me!” you shouted. “Just get Robb and Lady Catelyn somewhere safe!”

Theon looked at the chaos unfolding around him. “What about Queen Talisa?”

“She’s dead! I killed her!” you answered.

 “WHAT?!” Theon’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

You rolled your eyes. “Tywin Lannister sent her to spy and fuck Robb – NOW, GO!”

Once you saw Theon take Lady Stark and they dragged Robb’s bleeding body to safety, you could finally focus on the fight. You focused your sights on every man who wore a Frey or Bolton sigil and didn’t stop until each one was lying at your feet. The blood spilled from each slash, stab, and chop from Purge soaked your clothes and caked your face. But it was as if a dark ritual had taken place, as their blood only seemed to empower each and every one of your attacks. Before long, it was too late for House Frey and House Bolton. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were bleeding at the Northmen’s feet, and any reinforcements called were immediately subdued and taken into custody.

As far as you were concerned, the only Frey left in the hall was Roslin—but whether she and the rest of her sisters would keep their heads after their surviving brothers would soon lose theirs didn’t really matter to you.

“I’m alive,” Robb began while cupping your cheek, “because of you. The North survived because of you. How can I ever repay you?”

You held his hand. “I didn’t save you for your gratitude, Robb. I didn’t save you so that you could repay me with titles, money, or lands. I saved you because it was my duty. I saved you because I swore to that night Joffery called for your father’s head, and we named you ‘King of the North.’ I saved you because I…”

Robb titled his head. “Because you what?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you whispered.

“Because you love me?” he softly asked. Pressing his forehead to yours, he continued. “Because I do…you know I do.”

You shook your head. “No, Robb – please. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t say things you don’t mean to make me look less foolish.”

You tried to move back and away from the man you’ve longed after for as long as you could remember. But Robb took your hands and pressed them close to his chest as he implored you to remain by his side.

“That night, after they named me ‘King of the North.’ Do you remember? We were in my tent. I told you I wanted to be alone, but you refused to leave me. I cried and lashed like a screaming child, but you never left.”

This was getting too far. This wasn’t why you came here. “Robb, you need to listen to me–”

But Robb didn’t stop talking. “You just stood there – taking it until you finally took me in your arms and held me. You didn’t say a word; you just let me cry out my pain. Like that time when we captured the Kingslayer, you held my hand when I kneeled in front of the Whispering Wood to mourn the men I lost. You didn’t speak of how brilliant I was or how the lives lost were for a good cause; you let me be me and mourn.”

“Robb–”

“That’s when I knew I loved you – that I’ve always loved you. And then, when we kissed–”

“I’m leaving,” you blurted out, “to Maidenpool tomorrow morning.”

The silence between you two seemed to echo louder than any wind that howled during the fiercest storms. Shock was the first thing on Robb’s face before complete and utter horror took over.

You may have spoken too quickly. “Well, no…technically, I and…a few other riders will be headed to Maidenpool tomorrow morning. We need to prepare a ship for your voyage to Dragonstone.”

“…What?” His voice sounded so broken that you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You combed your fingers through the stray hairs in front of your face. Then, you took a deep breath to prepare for the little speech you had prepared for this moment. This was the plan you and all lords agreed on. It was a good plan, and it was going to work. That’s all you needed to believe to convince Robb.

“Stannis is the realm’s best chance for peace. Perhaps he’s too stubborn but needs more people on his council. Your lords and I decided it was best if you traveled to Dragonstone to try and convince him to become allies with us. But you still need a few more days to recover. So, by the time you arrive at the docks, the ship will be ready. That’s why I – we’re traveling to Maidenpool… to travel to Dragonstone.”

“And after?” Robb breathily asked. His grip on you tightened in desperate hopes of keeping you close. “After we speak with Stannis, we’ll come back? You and me—we’re coming back together?”

You looked away. “You’ll be coming back…along with everyone else. But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

“But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

Robb dropped his hands as if you burned him. You were lying. You had to be – you weren’t genuinely thinking about…about leaving him.

“No,” he panted with terrified eyes. “No, no, no, please.”

You cupped his face. “Robb, please understand–”

“What’s there to understand?!” he cried out. “I love you! And you love me – and yet you’re leaving me! Why?”

“You don’t love me,” you countered. “You’re only saying you love me because you’re angry and hurt by Talisa–”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that whore,” he spat out.

You rolled your eyes. “Robb, please. You married her. You took her as your wife and nearly ruined the North because of that choice. Of course, you loved her. And, understandably, you’re lashing out because she betrayed you. But don’t lie to me and say you didn’t love her.”

“(Y/N), love,” he beseechingly thought, “you have no idea how wrong you are.”

Robb snarled like the wolf he was at your words. “I married her because I thought she was carrying my child, and I didn’t want my future heir to be a bastard.”

“Even so, that doesn’t explain why–”

You were going to hate him for what he was about to say. “Because you refused me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his shameful reveal. Robb never felt more rueful and penitent of his naivety than now. The last thing he wanted was your disgust and hatred, but he needed you to understand how long he’s loved you. He needed you to realize that you were always the one who held his heart and sanity – without you, he was nothing, as was proven by the Freys and Boltons’ betrayal.

“Robb, I…I don’t – I don’t understand,” you stammered. Your eyes showed that your mind was running amok with questions and a desperate need for clarification. “Wha-…what are you talking about?”

Robb took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump lodged in his throat.

“That night when my bannermen named me ‘King,’ you followed me to my tent. I kept lashing at you like an angry child, but you never left my side. And then…we kissed, and it led to more. The following day, I wanted to find you – to declare my love for you fully. But every time I got near you…you turned away like I was poison. That’s why I turned to Talisa…to try to forget about you.”

Your eyes widened in horror as your chest moved up and down with shaky breaths. “You broke your vows with Walder Frey…was because of me? You bedded and married Talisa because of me? …I hurt you… a-a-and–” You let out a trembling sob. “–Oh gods, this is all my fault! I-i-if I hadn’t confused you that night–”

Robb could feel you slipping away and continued to try to tether you to him.

“No, my love,” he cooed. “You never confused me. You’re not listening to me. I’ve always loved you, even before that night.”

Robb tried to hold you close, but you harshly shoved him back and stood. He watched as tears continued to fill your eyes, and your face carried an expression that could only be described as overwhelming guilt. Robb flung the covers off him and tried to walk towards you, but each step he took closer to you made you step further back.

You stared at him with a shameful expression. “Robb, I…I was wrong to let things escalate between us. You had just been declared king and were grieving for your father, and I took advantage of your grief and vulnerability–”

Robb tenderly held your face. “No, no, no—you didn’t, though. (Y/N) That night…you gave me your love. You didn’t say it, but you gave me your love, and I gave you mine. I never regretted that night or laying with you. How you spurned my attempts to connect with you afterward—that was what hurt me the most.”

“Robb…” you sobbed his name as tears strolled down your cheeks. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted…I thought if I weren’t beside you…I’d also be protecting you from distractions from the war and your duty to the Freys – oh gods, I’m so sorry.”

You put your hand over your face. “Robb, if that night never happened…if I never followed you to your tent then…then, we wouldn’t be in this mess! All of this is my fault! Talisa, the Lannisters, the broken vow with Walder Frey – the North is more vulnerable than ever, and it’s because of me! …I mutilated a pregnant woman and murdered her unborn child.”

Robb helplessly watched as you continued to blame yourself for his foolishness. Knowing you would want your privacy, he sent Grey Wind away to guard his tent. Gods, his father would be so ashamed of him if he saw him now. He watched as you fell to the ground and began to weep out apologies to every soldier who was murdered by the Boltons and Freys at the Red Wedding.

…Lucas Blackwood…Dacey Mormont…Patrek Mallister…Robin Flint…Ser Wendel Manderly…Owen Norrey…And over three hundred other men and soldiers whose blood were spilled that night.

You even begged for forgiveness from the old gods and new ones, for the blood that belonged to Joy Marband that will forever remain on your hands, along with the stolen breaths of her unborn son.

But then the tears stopped…and an eerie calm cloaked the tent. Your eyes were red and swollen, but a spark of mad clarity was dancing in them. Very slowly, you stood with your head still bowed.

“I have to leave,” you whispered. “I have to leave and never come back. If I stay, I’ll only continue to ruin you and our cause more than I already have.”

You turned away to leave, but Robb reached out to stop you before you could take another step. He begged you to look at him, pleading for you to listen to reason before making any rash decisions. When you stubbornly refused, he grabbed your jaw and forcefully turned your head to face him. His crystal-blue eyes were wide with fear and misty from anguish. He had to make you understand that your leaving was not an option.

“(Y/N), look at me—please, love,” Robb implored. " If you leave me, I will never recover. If you dare leave my side, I will tear all of Westeros apart—leaving no stone unturned, no cave unsearched, no village left unplundered. We belong together. You and me – ruling the North, side-by-side in Winterfell. Us, together, spending every night in each other’s arms, with each morning beginning by being greeted by our children.”

He pulled your face closer until your lips were only a few inches away, and your individual breaths intermingled to become one. You want that life with him—just as he wants that life with you. So why can’t you embrace it and share it with him?

You shut your gaze from him and tried to choke down the pain. “It doesn’t matter what either of us wants. All that matters right now is what we need. What matters is how we can gather ourselves from these losses and try to form allies. And if me being here distracts you from that, then…then I need to leave.”

Robb determinedly shakes his head. “No, no – I don’t accept that.”

“Robb–” you tried to reason, but all of your pleas were cut off when he pressed his lips against yours.

And just like that – all words floated away like debris falling into a steady river.

A warm and tingling sensation ran down (Y/N)’s body as their lips met, and she closed her eyes to fully succumb to the sensation. She knew that she should have pushed him away immediately. But as Robb continued to hold her face gently to deepen the kiss, all sense of reason fled from (Y/N)’s mind when his lips moved against hers with gentle and firm urgency. In that moment, nothing mattered – not the messy past, the unstable present, or the uncertain future. At that moment, (Y/N) felt completely free of all worries and fears as Robb’s hands began to trail down to wrap his arms around her waist to hold her closer while (Y/N) wrapped her arms over his neck.

Despite the constriction of their lungs, neither wanted to part. If they could die in this embrace, then so be it. (Y/N) felt every hard, warm muscle of Robb’s body pressed against hers as they began to walk back until the back of his knees hit his cot’s edge. They tumbled onto the cot, and the fall caused Robb to fall on his back with (Y/N)’s soft and supple frame to press further against him. He slightly winced in pain, which caused the two lovers to finally part. As (Y/N) stared down at her king with a concerned expression, Robb thought an angel was with him.

He stared at her flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes with naked longing. Her (h/c) strands tumbled to form a curtain hiding their faces. Staring at the mythic beauty over him, Robb knew he wanted this with (Y/N) forever. Meanwhile, (Y/N) gently swept his curls from his face before trailing her hands down his bandaged chest to search if any wounds had been opened.

“Do you need me to stop?” she asked, her heart beating a hundred miles a minute. “You’re still healing, it might be best if we–”

“If you even think of finishing that sentence with ‘stop,’” Robb interjected. “I’ll bind your hands and take you from behind over and over until the only word you can say is my name – just to show you and everyone else that I could be dying from a cut-off leg if it means I can have you.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and giggled. “You’re so dramatic sometimes. I just don’t want you bleeding out and dying before I finish.”

Robb sat up, wrapped his arms around her, and forced her to straddle him. The sudden realization that Robb had been naked this entire time had somehow escaped (Y/N)’s attention as she felt the evidence of his heavily growing arousal against her body. His lips hovered as his warm breath hit her skin, and his low-timber voice whispered into her ear.

“At least you know where this night will take us,” he huskily growled. “Because I don’t plan on stopping until your womb is so full of my seed – it leaks from your cunt.”

He lowered his hands to grasp her hips before trailing them down to sink his hands over her ass. Showing his canines with a lecherous grin, Robb teasingly ground his hips against hers. He rubbed his hardening manhood against her warm core and reveled in the gasps and whimpers escaping her plumped lips. (Y/N) threw her head back as she could no longer hold back her cries of ecstasy. Taking full advantage of her exposed neck, Robb latched his lips just under her and traced the column of her neck with his soft, hot lips.  The feeling of his lips combined with the scruff of his beard against her skin was nothing less than euphoric.

“Oh, Robb,” she breathily panted as their bodies rocked together in sync. “Gods, don’t stop!”

Her hands roamed until her fingers fisted around his dark copper curls. (Y/N) felt her lower body clench when he bit on a pulse point before giving languid strokes of his tongue on it. The contrast between his hot, wet tongue and the chill of his breath when he blew on it gave her goosebumps. (Y/N) softly pushed him back as she longingly gazed into his sapphire-ice pools with her (e/c) eyes and twirled one of his russet curls with her finger. Robb leaned forward and pressed a small peck on her lips as an overwhelming feeling of love encompassed him at her smile.

“I love you,” he sighed out, “do you know that? I love you, (Y/N). I love you so much.”

(Y/N) wanted so desperately to say it back, but the words failed. Seeing how much his love struggled, Robb cupped her cheek and reveled in her warmth as she nuzzled into his palm.

“You don’t have to say now,” he reassured her. “I just—I just want you to know that. Promise me no matter what, you know that.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I promise,” she said with a trembling voice. “I…I want it to say back. But I just…with everything that’s happened—I can’t help but feel like…if Red Wedding wasn’t going to be the thing that causes us to lose this war, I’m so scared of what will.”

Robb pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “Don’t be scared. I know we’ll make it. We will win this war and take King’s Landing from the Lannisters. And when we do, Sansa will finally be free, and we can all return home.”

“To where you’ll rule the North as King in Winterfell,” (Y/N) mused in a wistful tone. “It feels like a sin to even dream of it now.”

Robb stroked his thumb over her cheek. “It’ll be your home, too.”

(Y/N) gave her beautiful king a genuine but sad smile. “I don’t want to talk about the future right now.”

Robb’s brow furrowed at her foreboding words. “What do you want to talk about?”

When (Y/N) pulled away and stepped off his lap, Robb was prepared to chase her through the camp naked if she dared run away while he was in this state. But she just stepped to the center of the space before removing her boots, followed by her stripping the dark leather breeches slowly down until the bare skin of her legs was revealed. She then lifted her tunic over her head along with her chest binder.

Robb was so painfully hard just from looking at her. He cursed himself for thinking he could ever be happy with Talisa, knowing that perfection was standing before him in his tent. His eyes drank in the sight of (Y/N)’s naked body as if looking away would kill him. He took it all in, from every scar that faded to a pale sliver to every beauty mark unique to her. He wondered if she truly knew how beautiful she was…if she understood how much she had completely and utterly bewitched his soul just with her presence. He wondered if she knew how much he wanted to kneel at her feet so that he could beg for her permission to let him worship her for the rest of his life.

(Y/N) began to walk toward him, and it felt as if the world around them was fading into incoherence, and only the two of them were left. When she finally reached him, she took his hand and placed it over her heart. She wanted him to feel it racing from his touch, from his gaze. Then, she lowered herself until her eyes leveled with his as she sat on the cot’s blankets. With her hands, she cupped his face and poured all her love for her king from her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she sighed. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this…of pretending I don’t want you. But most of all…I’m so tired of pretending that I…that I don’t love you.”

It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders as (Y/N) finally confessed her love for her king, Robb Stark. The man she marched with from Winterfell when Joffery first imprisoned his father. The man whom she fought beside and watched mourn for every good man who fell fighting for him. The man she’s loved since before she knew what love meant.

(Y/N) let out a heavy sob. “Because I do, Robb. I do love you. Gods, I love you so much – not just as a soldier loves their king, but as a woman who loves a man.”

Robb hadn’t realized he was crying until (Y/N) wiped a tear with her thumb. He took his hand from her chest and pulled her face towards him until their lips met again. Wet laughter mixed with tears and kisses made for a strange sight for an outsider, but it was a moment filled with more love and happiness than these two dared to hope. The way their bodies moved and swayed before (Y/N) fell on her back underneath Robb Stark as he hovered above her looked more akin to an awkward entanglement of limbs than an impassioned embrace. But for the two lovers, kissing each other seemed as easy as breathing and soothing like a gently falling summer snow. (Y/N) marveled at how easy it was to kiss Robb. It almost felt organic, with how naturally drunk they became by the taste of the other.

Soon, the kiss became more heated as (Y/N) and Robb grew more hungry to explore more of each other’s bodies. The more heated Robb kissed her, the more eager (Y/N)’s hands grew to explore his strong, muscular body. Her hands caressed his warm skin, and her fingers softly traced the scars that made him all the more desirable. His lips trailed to her chin and traveled down her neck until he had just reached the tops of her breasts. Grinning at how hard she was breathing, he took one breast in his hand and twisted her nipple. A needy cry left her lips at his harsh tugging before turning into a high-pitched whine when he bit the other.

Pleasure coursed through (Y/N)’s body like blue-hot lightning as her back arched into his body, and her entire frame felt paralyzed from it. She felt her core leaking from arousal as Robb’s hard, throbbing member was pressed against her stomach. Deciding that if he waited any longer, then he would likely burst, Robb used one hand to roam down (Y/N)’s body until he settled in the special place between her legs. He then took the other breast and tugged its nipple between his teeth before using his other hand to tug and twist the one previously in his mouth. Meanwhile, (Y/N)’s mind was so clouded in lust that she could not feel Robb stroking her clit with one finger before sinking two fingers inside her walls.

“Fuck…your walls are so tight on my fingers,” he huskily groaned as (Y/N) wept in ecstasy. “Such a wicked girl…avoiding your king and keeping this sweet cunt away from me. Every time I laid with that whore, I had to fight the urge to call out your name when I spilled into her. But you won’t do that anymore, will you? You know better to run now, right?”

“I-I-I won’t run! I’m yours, Robb! I only belong to you!” She stammered as Robb began to rub tight circles with his now-soaked fingers on her clit. She thrashed against the covers, fisting the furs on his bed to somehow anchor her. Her core tightened, and no matter how much she wanted to close her legs, his hips prevented her from doing so. As a result, (Y/N) had to take it and continue drowning in the pleasure that was Robb Stark’s love.

“Good girl,” Robb darkly chuckled as he straightened his back and placed his hands on the back of her thighs to spread them wide. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed its leaking tip against her folds. “Are you ready for me to take you? Are you ready to know how a wolf breeds his mate?”

(Y/N) quickly nodded. She couldn’t take the waiting any longer. “Please, Robb,” she begged. “Please take me—make me yours!”

With a single thrust, Robb plunged his entire length inside until he bottomed out, and the tip of his manhood kissed the entrance of her womb. The stretch of his thick, hard member against her walls gave the most delicious burn that made (Y/N) peak from the feeling of how deep he was inside her.  Meanwhile, Robb’s face snarled at how warm and tight (Y/N)’s cunt felt around him. As her walls tightly clamped down on his length, he bit inside his cheek so hard that the coppery taste of blood coated his tongue to prevent him from erupting right then and there. His hand traveled to her hair and sharply tugged it back so that he could roughly kiss her. His blood only further aroused (Y/N)’s lust for the man inside her as she considered it another sign that she had tasted more of her king and another piece was inside her. Emboldened by this action, she wrapped her tights around his hips to further mold their bodies as one.

The way (Y/N)’s body was pressed against his inflamed Robb’s ardor as he pulled out until only the tip was still inside before roughly thrusting himself in fully. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in, she gave him a symphony of cries and begging that could be heard throughout the camp. The slapping of their skin from each thrust inside of (Y/N) made him grip her hips so tightly that she could already feel the bruises forming on her skin as a steady pace had been reached.

Sweat built on both the lovers’ bodies as (Y/N) began to dig her nails into Robb’s skin and claw long scratches down his back. The twinge of pain only made the young king want to sink deeper and deeper into her until they became one inseparable being. Robb tried to remind himself to go slower to avoid harm (Y/N), but one look in her eyes told him there was no need to hold back.

“Take me,” her eyes begged. “Make me completely yours from this day until my last days.”

Upon her request, it felt as if a dormant beast had taken over Robb, as all he could think about was how much he wanted to take her faster, harder, and rougher – until the only word she could say was his name. As he set off at a new pace, (Y/N)’s eyes rolled back as she began to babble out incoherent cries and moans. It felt like there was no part of her mind, body, and soul that wasn’t wholly drowning from waves of pleasure crashing into her.

She was sure the following day, she would do everything in her power to avoid everyone’s eyes, as they all likely heard her moaning for their king like a common whore. But for now, at this moment, she wanted to only exist for Robb and continue drowning in his love.

Soon, it wasn’t long before the familiar feeling of a knot tightening inside her began to coil more tautly as Robb continued to lavish her in his adoration. (Y/N) could feel her pleasure climbing higher and higher until the knot grew so tight that it snapped. It felt as if a dam had burst, and a heavy flood of pleasure crashed into every muscle of her body. The release had made her feel as if her body had reached new heights of pleasure so immense that it became almost painful as tears started to roll down her cheeks. (Y/N)’s eyes shot wide, and she opened her mouth as her back arched into him, but no sound was made. There was nothing that could adequately convey the

Feeling (Y/N) release on his cock, Robb growled as he felt the last vestiges of his sanity snap and lost all composure. He began to increase his pace until his thrusts became rough and frantic to chase his end. He pushed her thighs until they were pressed against her chest before wildly thrusting deeper inside her walls to feel more of her heat. He was able to fuck into her once, thrice, ten more times before his body went taut, and he spilled his seed into (Y/N)’s womb. Her soaked, vice walls gripped around him and tried to milk all of him in desperate want to carry his child.

As Robb felt the last of his cum leave him, a wave of exhaustion crashed into him, and his arms were no longer able to prevent his body from falling atop (Y/N). Panting for air and resting his head in the crook of her neck, Robb turned to rest on his side while making sure her body was still connected to his. His touch became soothing and gentle as he whispered his dreams and hopes for a child with her hair and his eyes to be borne from this night. She tiredly giggles as he delicately kisses her cheeks, nose, temple, and brow while he talks.

He wanted to weep tears of joy. He felt almost…blessed. After aimlessly wandering in a barren wasteland with no clear end, Robb felt as close to peace as the first time he shared a bed with (Y/N). Robb wraps his arms around her frame and brings furs to cover them as a chilling breeze enters the tent, and (Y/N) shivers from the chill. He tightens his embrace as sleep takes over him.

He whispers in her ear, “I love you, (Y/N). We will be so happy together. I know we will.”

She slightly hesitates before replying. “I am yours, Robb. I swear this to you.”

Her king was so lost in his bliss that he didn’t notice the sadness in her eyes and the tremble in her voice.

A gentle stream of light stirred Robb awake. He stretched his arms and blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Based on how loud it was outside his tent, it was late in the day. He reached out to hold you once more…when he felt your side of his bed feel cold. Immediately alarmed, Robb shot up and looked around his surroundings.

There was no sign of you anywhere.

Your clothes…your bag…your sword…even your bloody scent was gone!

Robb shot out of bed and hastily dressed himself in only his breeches and doublet to begin searching for you. But just as he was about to leave after putting on his boots, a small scroll had been placed in the middle of his desk. He dashed over and quickly opened it. The instant relief from recognizing your handwriting cruelly died as he read over your words, and he could feel his heart breaking.

Every word I said last night holds true – from this day to my last day. I am yours, Robb Stark. But you cannot be mine.

Also, I plan to make this a...3 part series? Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Please comment your thoughts and reblog if you think more people would like to read this!

Tagging: @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @llonelygoddess, @arcielee, @countrymusiclover, @yns-world, @axelsagewrites, @bre99, @katzoinks, @asongofrhaenyra, @rise-my-angel, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @anewpersonthatexists, @bogbutteronmycroissant, @sylasthegrim, @writingsofwesteros, @julessworldd , @dipperscavern

[jasmines-library]

I'll Make This Up To You

WHUMPTOBER DAY SIX: Prompt: made to watch

Summary: after being kidnapped by the joker, Jason is forced to watch you being tortured when you beg to take his place.

Warning: Blood, beating, gore, cursing, punctured lung.

Word count: 1.3k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Your entire body throbbed. Your wrists hung limply from rusty chains that dangled from the ceiling. Your bare toes struggled to relieve the burning that spread down your arms and into the sockets of your shoulders, but your bare toes only skimmed the floor, not providing you with a fraction of release. The groan, and clanging of the chains on the other side of the room, alerted you to the other presence in the room. He was still wearing his black suit with the red bat insignia printed across his chest. 

“Hood?” You murmured from across the room, trying to grab his attention. The boy groaned, bleary eyed before mumbling your name in response.

“Are you okay?” He asked, testing the strength of his chains albeit to find that he was firmly stuck. 

“Yeah” You nodded. “What happened? I don’t remember anything besides-”

A blinding light piercing through the darkness. Shattering glass, a scream. Then nothing.

“The crash.” Jason finished for you. 

You were about to speak again; to utter another string of words when you were silenced by a catatonic laughter. 

The Joker barged his way through the double doors to the room. They slammed loudly against the wall as pushed up his sleeves. Although Jason was still wearing his mask, you could sense the fear rising in his body. 

“Isn’t this nice?” He said, walking around the two of you. “My two favourite birdies all in one place.”

He smiled a toothy grin, his face too close to yours for comfort before whipping back around to Jason and wiggling his fingers. “How’s it hanging Little Robin? Did ya miss me?”

Jason tried to recoil from the man before him, but the chains only allowed him to swing feebly back and forth. This elicited another manic laugh from the Joker. 

“Now, I would say that I'm sorry to do this to you again, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?”

He ran his finger along Jason’s hooded jawline, before trailing his fingers down to his neck and to the hem of his mask which he tore from his face. 

“Hiya, Jaybird.” He said, giving him a wink. Jason stiffened at the nickname. “Oh how I missed this pretty face.”

“Fuck you.” He spat.

The Joker pulled back, placing a hand to his chest in mock hurt and cackling once more. “Your words wound me, Jason. Like father like son I see.”

The sound of an old, metal cart being pushed with a squeaky wheel by one of his goons filled the room. On top of it lay an assortment of weapons and tools, two of which you identified as yours. Another man tugged in an old camera.  “I think it’s time that we send the bat a message.” he trailed his fingers along the edge of the tray, before picking up a small knife and twirling it between his digits. “He needs to stop getting on my last nerve and you, my little birdy, need to learn to keep your mouth shut.”

His last sentence was exaggerated with a swing of his arm, which landed a well placed cut to Jason's cheek. 

“Hey!” You yelled, squirming against your restraints. “Get the fuck away from him!”

The suit-clad man spun around slowly, tilting his head and the knife towards you.

“Oh? The little bird has something to say. Tell me, Y/N,” He provoked as his goon removed your mask from your face. “What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do when I drive your very own knife through your beloved Jaybird’s heart? Hmm?”

“I told you to leave him alone.” You spat back in his face. 

The Joker's eyes turned dark as he narrowed them coldly at you. His grin dropped as he turned back around and slashed another line against Jason’s face. He groaned, eyes wide as he began to relive his past time with the man. You felt your heart clench, you couldn’t let him go through that. Not again, you couldn’t watch as he tried to fix himself. You couldn’t watch him suffer again. 

“Stop it!” You yelled at him, only for the other man to cover your mouth firmly with his hand. You fought hard, shouting until your voice went hoarse. “Please…hurt me instead.”

The man stopped, a shit eating grin exaggerated across his features. “Smile for the camera.”

~~~

Your head hung limply, chin resting on your chest. Blood trickled down your temple, oozed from your nose and clung to almost every inch of your skin. Inch deep cuts lay littered across your skin, along with a multitude of  The sound that left your mouth was barely a scream as he drove the knife into the flesh of your thigh. 

Jason had tried to keep from crying out; each yell or vulgar comment leaving you with another scar to add to your collection, or another fingernail ripped out from its bed, but he couldn’t bear to watch you suffer in place of him. It made his stomach twist into knots. He prayed that Tim would be able to hack the livestream that Joker was feeding to the cave and reach you before something fatal happened.

Jason squirmed in the chains. They clanked together loudly. “Leave her alone!”

The man tutted before you, turning away and leaving the knife lodged within the muscle.The vigilante was about to let out a sigh of relief when he watched the Joker's fingers dance over the various bloodied tools and towards the wooden bat. 

Before the dark-haired boy could make another sound, the bat was slammed into your ribs. You gasped, eyes flying open as you swung on the chains. You heaved a ragged gasp as he swung hard again, crying out as you felt your ribs shatter. You let out a haggard cough, tasting the copper on your tongue as blood coated your tongue and dribbled from your mouth. The rib had punctured a lung.  

The villain's laughter morphed with your and Jason’s shouting. The wooden bat clattered on the floor, but was soon replaced by Jason’s pistol. He cried out loudly.  “I hope you’re watching, Batsy.” Joker, picked up the camera, zooming in on your face. “I want you to see the light leave her eyes.”

“I’ll do you one better.” A voice sounded behind him.

Looking over his shoulder, the villain was greeted with the dark cowl of Batman’s suit. The taller man grabbed the villain, swinging him into the wall. The three other boys jumped into action, tackling the goons. Fueled with anger and determination, it didn’t take long before they were releasing you from the shackles that tugged agonisingly on your body. 

You landed in a heap on the floor, wheezing loudly as Jason collapsed to his knees beside you, fingers pressing harshly against your thigh. You whimpered. 

“I’m sorry. Stay with us, I'm sorry.”

“I’m fine- ” You tried to dismiss Jay’s worry. You didn’t want him to feel any guiltier than you knew he already did. Your head dizzied as you were hoisted into the air by a strong pair of arms. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeated it like a mantra. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

You shook your head. “Jay…this is not your fault.”

“But-”

You cut him off with another ragged cough, spilling more blood from your lips. He forced his legs to move further. 

“Not your fault.”

Instead of fighting back, he decided to pull you closer. “I’m gonna get you fixed up Y/N. I promise. I will make this up to you.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY FIVE ⛤ DAY SEVEN ->

🏷️ taglist

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 37 | Borrowing 101

Chapter Thirty-Seven | Borrowing 101

Parker crouched low, hand resting on the cool tile of the kitchen counter. His heart was pumping steadily, every sense feeling heightened as he stayed perfectly still. His entire body was like that of a statue. Everything felt perfectly in place.

Cocking his head to one side, he heard his mom getting her cup of morning coffee mere feet away. He counted the seconds and had everything perfectly timed. Three seconds to pour. Two for the creamer. Five seconds stirring. One quick sip lasting one or two seconds.

He felt himself smile as he spotted the thing he was going for – a sugar packet.

His mom turned and headed for the main counter, book in one hand and mug in the other, and sat down on one of the swiveling chairs. The time was not now, however. She usually forgot something on the opposite counter, which would bring her inches from him, and then it would be time to move.

Sure enough, Parker’s prediction came true.

Amanda turned back to the main counter once everything was on the island counter. She reached for the breakfast bars she had been eating for breakfast for forever, which was directly in front of him. Only two inches from him, Parker felt the urge to flee, but he fought it. He paused and watched as his mom’s fingers lingered there for a long time before she returned to the counter.

This is when Parker made his move.

He darted along the backsplash, ducking behind various jars and even managing a perfect tumble as he cleared the bread bag. Silent and unseen, he managed to make it to the coffee station, snag one of the sugar packets, and slip it into his bag and slide to safety on the other side of the refrigerator and down the safety line before his mom turned around again.

The moment he touched down, he turned toward the awaiting crowd. Kers, Toulouse, Mira, and the two oldest siblings Kit and Finnick, all stood at the end of the line by the base of the refrigerator. He fished out the sugar from his pack and grinned, heart still skipping a beat now and then from excitement.

“So? How’d I do?” asked Parker. Mira was the first to break, naturally, as a maternal smile of pride spread across her face. Kers was the second to break as he stepped up to Parker’s side and ruffled his hair playfully. Finnick, like his father, gave a nod of approval while Kit kept her arms folded.

“Beginner’s luck,” Kit quipped as she turned and headed back for the safety of the walls.

“Don’t listen to her. She’s just jealous that you’re a natural,” stated Finnick. “Just make sure to keep your tumbles to a minimum. They feel cool in the moment, but depending on what’s in your pack it might throw you off and cause problems. Otherwise, good control.” Toulouse smiled and gave his son an approving pat on his shoulder.

“We’ll drill more tumbles tomorrow,” he said gruffly before, like his daughter and his wife, they too vanished into the walls.

Kers nodded as he patted Parker on the shoulder.

“As for borrowing basics, I think you’ve got it, kid,” commended Kers. “Now, the main test is seeing what your mom noticed. So, let’s go find out.”

Parker felt himself beaming as he and Kers both stepped out from the corner of the counter that met the appliance door and headed for the secured lines that had been installed for them. It was hard to believe that it had only been one month since Parker’s return home after his harrowing misadventure.

After Parker’s return, he and his mom had another long talk about what happened. Parker talked about the things he remembered and how he’d been taken by Rachel as well as everything that happened. It took all the strength that Amanda had to not drive over immediately and give Rachel a piece of her mind, especially when she helped Parker change his bandages and she saw the teeth punctures Rachel’s bearded dragon gave him.

Lyn was still permitted to come over later that day where she and Amanda had a long talk about Rachel. Lyn happily informed Amanda that Rachel had to give up her pet and would be talking to some professionals in order to better understand what was going on. While Lyn didn’t have any ideas as to why Rachel was acting the way she was, her parents were absolutely invested in finding the root cause of it.

Apologetic and understanding, Lyn swore she would do everything she could to make sure Rachel was going to realize the severity of what she had tried to do and said she understood if Amanda limited contact with her son, to which Amanda assured wouldn’t happen once Parker had earned back some trust.

The two teens had a chance to talk a bit at the kitchen counter independently before Lyn had to leave to finish some errands for her parents. They promised to talk as often as possible and that things would be back to normal soon.

Normal, however, had taken on a new meaning.

During dinner that very night, Kers had come forward in front of both Parker and Amanda and had proposed that Parker learn more about his Borrower lineage. Though Kers didn’t know Parker’s family and assured he wasn’t trying to cut in where he wasn’t welcome, he offered his services in teaching Parker how to hone his Borrower skills.

“It’ll help keep you safe if you do decide to strike out on your own one of these days and help you in everyday life when it comes to maneuvering in the human world,” stated Kers. “No pressure and no rush. Give a shout when or if you’re ready.”

For both Amanda and Parker, it wasn’t a difficult decision. Now that Amanda knew about Borrowers, she wanted to make sure Paker had all the knowledge and skills possible to help him succeed. The discussion was a brief one, but they both decided that Parker needed to learn from Kers.

It took a week, however, for Parker to begin earning back his privileges. Amanda knew she was being soft on her son, but she’d added additional responsibilities and contingencies for him having some of his freedoms back. Both of them also knew that Parker wasn’t the type to run away to avoid his responsibilities and wouldn’t be running away again anytime soon.

By the end of the second week, Parker was actively training with Kers and, a few days later, the other Borrowers in the house. As soon as school was over, Parker logged out of his devices and went down to the kitchen or the living room where his mom was and, from there, began his training regimen.

Some of it was simple athletics training. Running. Jumping. Pushups. Sit-ups. Squats. Climbing. Tumbling. Anything and everything that he could do to better hone his physical abilities and make him a better Borrower.

Another portion of it was learning about Borrower history; at least, what little of it Kers knew. Kers talked about the stories he’d heard about different Borrower tribes who lived out in the wilderness as well as Borrowers who lived in the walls of human homes. He told Parker about some of the stories his family had told him as well as a little bit of his own history.

The entire encounter felt surreal, like it was out of some kind of weird dream. It didn’t feel real, and yet Parker knew he was awake and taking in everything like a sponge. Hearing about different traditions and rules as well as the daily grind of Borrower life was eye opening. From preserving food to improvised construction, Parker took everything he could get. More than that – he began writing it down.

One thing that he’d noticed with all of Kers’ stories was that they were verbal, which wasn’t good in Parker’s opinion. He started recording everything in his journals at the end of every session, writing down everything from front to finish. It helped the teen’s memory and helped preserve the existence of an entire secret species of being.

So, a month later, Parker had completed his first practical test. With the help of his mom, he had just practiced running along the counter and hiding in plane sight and it was time for the results.

The countertop towered over Parker, but it didn’t instill that same sense of vertigo that it used to. Sure, there was still a bit of swirling that happened when craning his neck upward, but Parker was better prepared now and had been growing accustomed to seeing things both as the son of a human and being a Borrower.

The teen glanced around the corner and saw his mom’s leg bouncing nervously up and down. It made him smile. She’d been told to stay in her seat until the “test” was over unless she heard something, and she was trying to do so even now. Parker cleared his throat and stood out in the open while Kers, on the other hand, stayed pressed along the edge of the counter while he tried out the rope for security purposes.

Amanda’s eyes immediately snapped down to the ground where she spotted her son. The silhouette of his mom brought back the haunting image of Rachel, which made him shudder. It would take more time for Parker to get over that image which now helped fuel his nightmares, but knowing justice was being done was what really mattered.

“Hey, so? How’d it go?” asked Amanda as she leaned forward and rested her hand on the ground. For a moment, she looked like she hesitated as she glimpsed at Kers, who was peering around the corner of the island counter at the two of them. “Oh… were you… going to climb up?”

The thought that his mom was trying to keep the “Borrower rules” intact was nice, but it would be an impossible habit to break. He knew it, and so did she. The exchange made the two of them smile and Parker knew the answer before his mom had even asked the question.

“If it’s okay, I’ll take the lift,” said Parker as he turned to Kers. “Want a lift?”

Kers looked up at Amanda before politely shaking his head, saying, “No. Thank you though.” Parker acknowledged with a nod and climbed onto his mom’s hand. He remembered the feeling of unease when he let his mom carry him from place to place, but now he understood the reason behind it. Still, he fought off his instinct and braced himself by crouching and keeping one hand on the crook of his mom’s thumb.

The lurching sensation his insides gave him was a welcomed and familiar one, and it only lasted for a second as Amanda placed Parker onto the counter. Waiting there were little sandwiches on a clean dish cloth which made the whole area look like a picnic. The memories of picnics in the shady wooded area at his old home made the Borrower teen smile.

Waiting patiently was hard, considering the sandwiches were one of Parker’s favorites, but wait they did until Kers huffed his way up on top of the counter and dusted himself off before walking over and sitting on the cloth beside Parker. The older Borrower’s eyes widened at the feast in front of them. Chips. Dip. Sandwiches. Even pink lemonade. All of this would have taken weeks to obtain, and it wouldn’t have been set out so lavishly or preserved so nicely if not assembled by a human.

Kers knew this and looked up and smiled at Amanda, saying, “Thank you,” before snagging one of the chips and breaking off a piece to chew on.

“You’re welcome,” she replied as she sipped on her coffee. The three of them ate in silence for a few minutes before Kers broke the silence.

“You should consider climbing a bit more just to get into the habit of it,” stated Kers. Parker sighed and nodded as he wiped his face clean.

“I know, but I don’t want to change everything all at once. And I did climb up to the counters twice last night as well as today for the exercise; which, mom, how’d I do?” asked Parker. His mom set down her cup and gave a little thumbs up.

“Honestly, I didn’t notice you. I tried looking around and had an idea that you were hiding near the creamer, but I didn’t say anything and kept going as normal,” said Amanda. Parker couldn’t stop smiling as a surge of pride swelled in him, and Kers knew it too.

Parker wasn’t hiding anywhere near the creamer, and the fact that his mom hadn’t noticed was a true testament that Parker’s training was successful. Phase one was complete, and it was bittersweet because it meant Parker was getting better at vanishing in plane sight.

“Well, Parker, I’d say that your training test today was a success,” stated Kers, not mentioning the fact that Parker was in an entirely different place. Parker nodded and kept quiet as well. Kers probably didn’t want to give away that spot just in case they needed to use it at some point in the future. Parker would probably say something about it later when Kers was back in the walls, but not now.

“So? What’s next?” Amanda prompted.

“Next? Mostly continuing training and enhancing his body. Instinct enhancement and anticipation are going to be key,” replied Kers. “You have an advantage seeing that you’ve been raised by a human. You’ll be better at figuring out what someone is going to do before they do it.”

“So, more practical tests?” asked Parker. Kers nodded quietly as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. His instinct to not waist potential resources for perceived “unnecessary” made for some interesting table manners, but no one said anything about it. It had become normal, which made Parker feel at ease.

“Absolutely,” Kers stated. “Making some obstacle courses with difficult terrain will be the most helpful. Also, we need to work on your hook tossing. So far, you’ve never been under pressure when tossing. A real scenario would have you practice that. Also, fast line descent. We’ll need to adjust your wardrobe and make you some line gloves.”

“Okay. Sounds good, but could we do that next week? I’ve got some papers I need to write for class and Lyn, and I have to finish our science fair report. Well, I need to finish my part of it. So?” asked Parker. Kers sighed and folded his arms across his chest. Parker was starting to pick up on the habit, and it was usually when some “human” thing interrupted a Borrower thing.

Still, Kers nodded in compliance. “Very well. If it’s important for this class stuff, then yes. You need to keep up your presence for a little while until you… what is it? Graduate?”

“Yeah, graduate,” confirmed Parker. The word was a crazy one to say. In a little over a year, Parker would graduate high school. He would be one of the youngest graduates in his classes, but that’s what he got for excelling in his studies. Parker didn’t have the heart to tell Kers that he was actually considering going to college virtually and continuing his studies.

Again, that would be a conversation for another day.

“Well then, that’s just going to have to work then,” sighed Kers. “Apologies I can’t stay longer, but I have a few things I need to prepare in my area. I did want to bring something up for both of you, if that’s alright.”

Amanda felt herself stiffen, and Parker felt a bit of unease settle over him as well. Kers wasn’t usually the bearer of bad news, but he did have some interesting requests when Parker first started training with him, such as Parker keeping Borrower history to himself as well as not disclosing some of the Borrower trade secrets with his own mom because it could be used against Borrowers if the information fell into the wrong hands.

“Um… sure. What is it?” Amanda prompted.

“It’s nothing serious,” stated Kers. “But it would require your permission.”

Amanda nodded as she attempted to keep an open mind about what Kers was about to say.

“We’re all having dinner together tonight. The… others… and myself. I wanted to see if you would be alright with Parker coming along and having dinner with us. It’s just something social and meant to be fun. The kids talked about possibly playing games or something after we eat,” stated Kers. “You’re free to decline, Parker, but I promise you’ll be back before nine o’clock.”

Parker glanced at his mom and then back to Kers. He wanted to go with him, but also remembered the rules and consequences of his actions a month prior. Limiting his external social time was one of those consequences. Except for training, which had a purpose, Parker was supposed to spend most of his time out in the open while he studied and worked.

“I’ll… uh… I’ll see,” said Parker hesitantly.

“Alright. If you’re coming, be on the counter by six and I’ll pick you up.” With that, Kers approached the edge of the island counter and slid down the secured line all the way to the ground. Parker wasn’t sure if it was tension in the air that he was feeling, but something did feel a bit different between he and his mom.

It wasn’t a bad sensation, but it was primed with discussion and words unsaid.

“Well, Parker? How are you feeling?” asked his mom. Parker played with the edge of his plate as he thought about the question. It could be taken in so many directions after all.

“About training? Pretty good. It’s weird. It’s like… all natural. Everything makes sense and my body just knows what to do most of the time; and if I don’t know it, it doesn’t take long for me to get it,” stated Parker. “And, just feeling in general, I feel pretty good. I’m not going to lie. I do miss talking to my friends and writing and everything, but I understand why I don’t get to partake in that stuff anymore.”

Parker noticed his mom shifting out of the corner of his eye and she inhaled and exhaled slowly as if in contemplation.

“Parker, I know this past month has been tough on you with not getting to speak with your friends, and I hope you know that your happiness is what really matters to me,” said Amanda. Parker wasn’t sure where she was going with this. He wasn’t sure why, but an initial sense of worry began to swell in him. When he looked at his mom’s face, however, he already saw her signature smile accompanied with a nod.

“I know you, and I know that you’re not the type to run away. We were both emotionally raw at the time, and while I know it’s only been a month, I think you’ve earned back some of your privileges. You’ve kept to our house rules without complaint, and I think you’ll continue to do that. So, I think that would be acceptable if you want to go have dinner with the others, I think that would be okay.”

Parker felt himself beaming, a smile spreading across his face from one side to the other. He didn’t think that it would be only one month of punishment, and Parker knew it would continue for months to come, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“Really?” he asked eagerly. His mom nodded and smiled. Parker could see forgiveness in her eyes, which made him smile even wider. It would take more time to mend the crack the two of them had between them, but already it was being mended and filled once again with trust.

“Really,” she echoed. Parker leapt to his feet and ran toward his mom’s hand, which she splayed ever so slightly so Parker could throw himself against her palm and hug her fingers as he’d done for years.

“Thank you, mom!”

“You’re welcome, my love. Make sure you’re back by nine so we can finish our book. We’ll see about you visiting a little more for fun and social visits if you’re back on time,” said Amanda. As a mother, she knew it was her job to keep Parker safe and to discipline him as needed when problem issues arose. Frankly, she didn’t think she would even last a month simply because Parker had always been such a good kid except for this one incident.

At the end of the day, all of this was for the best and Amanda knew it. This relative lock down wouldn’t last for too much longer. Parker was almost back to his old self, but now he knew so much more. He knew more about himself through his experiences, and he understood where he came from because of the people around him.

She couldn’t protect him from the world forever, and releasing the reins a bit more every day would be good – for both her and Parker.

“Alright, now go finish your homework and be on the counter at six o’clock sharp. If your science fair write-up isn’t finished before then, you won’t be able to go,” stated Amanda. She saw parker nod eagerly and, from that look alone, knew he was already finished except for the final touches.

“Yes ma’am,” said Parker. With that, he hurried to the edge of the counter and quickly skidded down the line to the floor. The ascent up the stairs wasn’t nearly as hard as it had been before the Borrower teen’s training, but Parker knew it wouldn’t be for long. He already had plans for that elevator he wanted to install from before leading from the kitchen to the second floor by his bedroom. He’d finalize the plans and show them to his mom before too long.

Six o’clock raced at Parker full force and, in no time, he was on the counter ready to be picked up by Kers. He’d already shown his work to his mom, proving he could spend the evening away, and promised he’d be back by nine.

“Mind your manners and have fun,” reminded Amanda. Parker nodded, and just in time too. The electrical outlet cracked open right at that moment and Kers’ face appeared in the darkness. A smile tugged onto the sides of his lips as he held the cover open for Parker. Giving a wave to Amanda, Kers promised to have Parker back in time before the two Borrowers vanished into the walls.

They didn’t say much on the walk there, and it wasn’t until Parker crossed the threshold of the house that conversation really started up. Finnick talked to Parker the most, and it had to do with tumbling and training. His suggestion was having Amanda make an obstacle course that Parker didn’t see her make and have Parker run through all of the blind challenges.

Kit was still being standoffish, but the youngest boy, Reed, said that Kit wouldn’t shut up about Parker when he wasn’t around. This sent the two Borrower kids into a tussling match which Kit barely managed to proclaim herself as the winner.

Meanwhile, Mira pulled Parker into the kitchen and quizzed him on his knowledge of the food they were baking and how to store food in the best possible way. Considering they were having mac-n-cheese, rehydrated beef jerky, and green bean fragments which were also being rehydrated, Parker was able to provide the answer to everything.

It wasn’t until they were about to sit down when there was a knock at the door. It was so unexpected that Parker whipped around and instinctually reached for the pin he now kept at his side. Startled, the Borrower teen glanced around and felt a bit surprised when no one else had the same reaction. It was almost as if it was expected.

“Is that them?” asked Reed as he untangled himself from Kit’s hold and ran for the door.

“Hey! Don’t just charge at the door! It might be a stranger,” Kit scolded as she charged after him. Parker listened to the door open as muffled voices began conversing. Based on their tone, they all knew one another.

“Hey there, bobbins,” said an unfamiliar voice. “What on earth happened to you two? Wrestling again?”

“No! Punishing this one because he was being rude,” Kit replied.

“In your dreams,” snapped Reed. Toulouse and Finnick also approached the hallway leading to the door, postures relaxing as they vanished around corner and into the hall.

“It’s good to see you two, and you’re just in time. We’re about to sit down for dinner. Um… mind if we chat outside for a second?” suggested Toulouse.

“Uh, sure. What’s up?” asked a second strange voice. The door opened and then closed as the muffled voices continued talking outside. Kers followed behind moments later.

“It must be our two friends from beyond the yard,” remarked Mira as she gave Parker a little nudge on his arm with her elbow. “You don’t have to worry. They’re friends. If you feel uncomfortable, we don’t have to invite them in.”

“N-no,” replied Parker. “It’s alright. You said they’re friends from beyond the yard?”

“Yes. Though we don’t know too much about where they’re from since they don’t talk about it much, we do know they’re excellent Borrowers and live somewhere far away. They go around from house to house figuring out what other Borrowers might need and take the risks to get it. They’re very good at what they do. They’re the ones who borrowed the pieces for my leg.”

“Oh,” said Parker as their names came back to him. “It’s… R… Rey? And…”

“Hero,” filled in Reed. “They’re seriously the coolest Borrowers out there, other than my mom and dad. I’m definitely going to try and join their team one of these days. They’ve got so many cool things that they’ve borrowed, and their stories are seriously the best!”

“Alright mister adventure. Would you please set the table and get the extra chairs?” asked Mira. Reed obeyed while continuing to talk about the two newcomers, rambling about this and that as Parker moved to help him.

As he did, Parker glanced over at Mira’s prosthetic leg once more as he placed the cups and plats onto the table. To him, it looked a bit odd. There was something about the way the ridges on the side were put together and the way that it fit Mira perfectly that bugged him ever so slightly. He couldn’t quite place where, but something about it was just different.

It took a couple of minutes, but soon the sound of the door opening and the multiple sets of footsteps following told Parker that the two had decided to stay. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a bit nervous meeting these two new guys. Maybe it was just because he was still getting used to interacting on a regular basis with other Borrowers or maybe it was because Parker feared the strangers’ reaction if he accidentally let it slip that he was raised by a human all his life.

Whatever the case, Parker took a quick, calming breath as he turned and faced the two strangers. Both of them were dressed in what looked like fortified leathers that covered them almost from head to toe. The top part was obviously a removable coat, which both of them had started to unbutton, and had a hood with a partial face covering that came up to the bridge of their noses.

One of them had pale blue eyes while the other had bright green eyes, and both had light sandy blonde-brown hair. They might’ve been brothers if their features weren’t so different, the one having slightly rounder features while the other’s features were a little more narrow, filled in only by a goatee that was definitely a little scruffy. Parker would’ve guessed they were a little younger than Kers, but it was hard to tell. Both of them looked strong, deceptively so, and full of life based on the twinkling in their eyes.

“Well, hey there. It’s always nice to see a new face. You’re Parker, right? I’m Rey, and this is my friend Hero,” said the one with the goatee. He held out his hand for Parker to shake. Parker reached out and immediately shook the stranger called Rey’s hand. He did the same for Hero.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hero said. “Sorry to intrude. If we’d known the family was going to have company, we would’ve just camped outside tonight.”

“No, it’s alright. The more the merrier,” Mira stated as she began loading up the table with the prepared meal.

“So? What kind of stuff did you bring?” asked Reed, which earned him a scolding glance from his father. The young Borrower didn’t say anything else and merely took his seat while looking eagerly at Rey and Hero. He was so excited he was squirming in his seat, making it squeak as he did.

Both of the strangers glanced at one another and laughed as the gestured to the hallway. “We do happen to have a few things in our packs that you all might find fun and useful, but we’ll wait for your parents’ permission. Sound good?” suggested Hero.

“Yes!” Reed grinned. Finnick and Kit both attempted to take a seat right next to Rey while Reed elected to sit next to Hero. The squabbling siblings resulted in Parker being placed next to Rey while Kers and the other adults sat on the other side of the table. The cramped quarters made Parker think about how this felt like a real family gathering.

He’d seen it in movies before, but he’d only ever had his meals with his mom.

It felt oddly welcome, and Parker was going to embrace every second of it.

They ate and conversed amongst one another. Mostly, Parker felt himself listening as he heard about Rey and Hero’s travels. They did indeed come from beyond the yard and further beyond that still. They talked about how they were trying to tame birds for faster travel and even showed off some of their scars from recent lizard based encounters.

“I see you’ve got some scars of your own,” Rey pointed out as he nodded his head toward Parker’s left arm. Everything had long scabbed over, but there were still distinct teeth marks all along his shoulder and arm from where he’d almost been taken by the bearded dragon. “How’d you get those? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Um…” Parker wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something intuitive in those pale blue eyes that were on him.

“It’s okay, little man. You don’t have to say. I think I know what those belong to. Bearded dragon, right? Nasty things if you wake them up and they’re hungry,” stated Rey as he continued to eat.

“You’ve fought one before?” asked Reed.

“Yeah, definitely. A human was walking her pet a while back and let it loose in the grass to hunt bugs. Found my hiding place immediately and grabbed my leg pretty good. Got out in time though, which is the important thing,” said Rey.

“Yeah, I had to carry his pack for the rest of the day while he recovered,” chimed in Hero. Parker felt himself grinning knowing he had something in common with these awesome adventuring Borrowers. He wondered for a moment if it was the same bearded dragon that got the both of them, but that would be too much of a coincidence. “But! Enough about that! Parker, since you’re new here, have any questions for us?”

Parker thought about the question for a second. As he did, he felt a tap under the table as Mira was readjusting herself in her seat, and the nudge was from her prosthetic leg.

“Oh, I’m sorry Parker. I didn’t mean to hit you,” she apologized. Parker waved it away and smiled. He glanced back down at the leg when it finally hit him. He’d seen grooves and patterns like that before – on a 3D printer. Some of his friends had done 3D printing before, and between the color and the custom fit, it seemed like too many coincidences to be brushed off.

Someone who wasn’t familiar with models and the whole process wouldn’t know the difference between a doll leg and a printed one. And, if that was the case, how did Hero and Rey have access to something like that. They needed supplies, electricity, and the programming skills in order to do all of that.

That’s when a question came to mind.

“Um… I do actually. Um… how’d you do that?” asked Parker as he pointed to Mira’s leg.

“Huh?” asked Hero as he glanced over the table at Mira’s leg. His body shifted from openly friendly to a distinct shiver going down his spine. Rey obviously saw that too and smiled politely.

“Ms. Mira’s leg. She said you all were the ones who brought it. How’d you make it? If you’re… wait, what is it? ‘Outies?’ How’d you get the supplies and everything to make it?” asked Parker. The two Borrowers glanced at one another, now a bit tense, which prompted Parker to continue. “It’s 3D printed, right? How’d you manage to pull that off?”

Rey turned toward Parker, a sly grin in the corner of his mouth, as he looked Parker in the eye. Immediately, Parker saw something in those pale blue eyes that told him that there was far more to these two than any of them knew.

“We borrowed it, naturally,” stated Rey. “You say it’s 3D printed?”

“Um… y-yeah,” said Parker. His instincts hadn’t led him astray, and Parker knew he was on the right path talking to these guys about this.

“Well, that’s fun. That’s usually a human thing if I remember correctly,” stated Hero. “You’ve got a good eye for something like that, kid.”

Hero’s words seemed to disperse the relative tension that filled the air and Toulouse and Kers began striking up a conversation with both Rey and Hero, letting Parker off of the hook as he helped clean up after dinner. Parker wanted to stay and talk, but the adults dismissed the kids, even Finnick, to go to the living area to show Parker some games that they had.

Together, they played “Pictionary,” some dice game called “Pig,” and even started their own checkers tournament because they didn’t know how the chess pieces actually worked. The rest of the evening progressed smoothly, each group keeping to their own relatively speaking until the very end when Kers came to the living area to collect Parker.

“It’s time to go, Parker,” said Kers. “Don’t want to make your mom worry.”

“Yessir,” said Parker. “I’ll teach you guys chess next time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kit said as she rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

When Parker went around the corner to the hallway, he noticed Rey and Hero also loading up their bags, which looked like they were made of some light, durable fabric that must’ve been hard to find. Leaves were plastered on the outsides as well as small bits of grass and twigs. It looked like there was a soda cap shield on the sides of both of them as well as helmets and other useful implements.

“Oh… are you… leaving too?” asked Parker.

“Yeah, we’ll be following Kers out the backway to camp below the floorboards. We’ll probably hang around for a few days just to rest and everything before heading back,” replied Hero. “As long as that’s not a problem.”

“No, not a problem. We look forward to seeing you all around. Don’t be strangers,” said Toulouse. They all parted ways, waving good-bye as they did, as Parker, Kers, Rey, and Hero vanished into the darkness of the walls.

They’d walked for a few minutes when Rey began keeping pace with Parker. The air around him changed, alerting Parker to the fact that Rey was about to say something.

“So, Parker, tell me a bit more about yourself. And, if you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t your mom come with you to dinner? Is she not feeling well?” asked Rey. Something about his pale blue eyes threatened to lure the truth directly out of Parker. He felt his mouth dry as if he’d stuffed his cheeks with cotton.

“Um… well… yeah, she… didn’t feel up to it,” lied Parker.

“Oh, right,” nodded Rey. “And the stuff you said about the 3D printing? You’ve got a keen eye for human construction. How’s that?”

Parker wasn’t sure how to answer. At this point, their group of four had completely stopped. Kers had just heard part of the conversation and had stopped mid-step to turn and look at Rey. Hero was only a few steps ahead.

“Um… I just…”

“You just know? Because you’ve done it? Or have friends who do? Human friends?” asked Rey. The bluntness of his question threw both Kers and Parker off guard, but Hero simply placed his hands on his hips and sighed.

“Rey, I thought we were going to talk about this later before asking Parker and Kers about this,” Hero scolded.

“Wait, what? What are you two…” Kers started as Hero directed his attention to the older of the two Borrowers.

“When Toulouse brought us outside and told us that Parker was in a bit of a unique situation and that we shouldn’t pry too much because it would upset him, we suspected something was a little different about Parker. And not just the normal Borrower trauma thing. Then, Parker said that thing about 3D printing, which only someone who is familiar with the look would really know what to look for. So, we had the same idea,” said Hero. “I thought we were going to talk about this before, but here we are.”

“I… wait… you don’t understand. I… I know humans are dangerous and stuff, but… not all of them are! Please, don’t worry about the whole secret stuff. I…” Parker was interrupted by both Rey and Hero chuckling as they exchanged knowing glances.

At this, Rey crouched and removed his pack, keeping eye-contact with the Borrower teen the whole time.

“Parker, it’s okay. We know,” grinned Rey. “Not all humans are bad. Believe us, we’d know more than most.” Parker’s eyes widened as he looked back from the adults’ faces around him. He and Kers both shared the same look of stunned silence while Rey and Hero looked mildly amused.

“But… how?” Parker stammered. “And why didn’t you just say that in front of the others?”

“Let’s just say our situation is probably not so different than your own,” said Rey. “And it’s a tricky thing bringing up in front of another Borrower family. They’re great Borrowers, but they’re a bit more traditional than Hero and me. How about we all do some training together tomorrow? And then we can talk about it?”

“Y-yeah! Absolutely!” said Parker, his eagerness getting him excited for training the next day.

“Well then,” chuckled Rey. “We’ll see you tomorrow at some point? We’ll be in the crawl space under the house by the backdoor steps. Come outside when you’re ready.”

“Definitely,” said Parker.

“Good. Then I think we’ll take our leave. See you tomorrow, Kers.”

With that, the two Borrowers diverged from the path and vanished into the darkness. The conversation had Parker reeling, but he was more than excited to talk to these new Borrowers and finally talk to others who understood his point of view. For Parker, tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

He and Kers made quick work of the rest of the trek and, true to his word, Kers had Parker back on the counter at exactly nine o’clock. Parker thanked Kers for bringing him along and asked if he would come by to talk to Rey and Hero the next day, to which Kers agreed. He was also curious about these two and, like he’d promised to himself years prior, he wanted to help protect and guide Parker along his journey.

With that, Parker ran back out to the embrace of his mom and the two of them retreated to the couch to finish their book. Parker couldn’t imagine sleeping tonight but was asleep within minutes.

His future was growing brighter by the moment, and he was ready for every step of it.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue | Final

Previous

Beginning

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxiii, ao3)

Chapter twenty-three: In the aftermath of the attack on Velaris, Cassian can’t quite shake the feeling that something is drastically wrong, and below the wall, Nesta lies awake at the Archeron manor… (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

The blood still stained his hands.

It lingered in the gaps between his fingers, smeared across his knuckles, a mixture of silver and red that was a testament to too many lives lost. 

Lives he’d tried to save. 

His armour had long been discarded, but the scent of smoke still clung to Cassian’s hair, his skin. The city was in pieces, all broken stone and shattered glass, and too many cries of grief still punctured the silence, too many screams still tearing through the streets as the citizens of Velaris began to understand the scale of the devastation.

The fires were out, at least.

But an acrid taste coated his tongue even now, hours after the fighting had finished. They had been confined to the theatre district mainly, small blazes that - thank the mother - hadn’t had a chance to spread too far. But still— ash had drifted across the city, and the stone pavements that had been worn smooth with time were roughened now, scarred in too many places. And as midnight came and went, Cassian had been out on those streets, salvaging whatever was left of the City of Starlight.

They all had.

And only now, as the clock inched towards four in the morning, did Rhys’ Inner Circle make it back to the townhouse, each of them dirty and bloody and covered with ash.

None of them had the strength to wash away the grit of battle.

None had the energy to magic it away, either.

Cassian looked at them in turn now— his family, each of them as drained as he was. Mor’s golden curls were in disarray, her leathers torn at the knees. Rhys’ eyes were as dark and as empty as a chasm, no stars glittering there at all now, and even Amren’s face had turned ashen. Whatever well of ancient power she drew from, it had apparently run dry after she and Rhys had fixed the wards, constructed new ones - stronger ones - and tested them until they were sure they would not break. Silver blood was splattered across her cheek, and the string of diamonds she wore about her neck - because of course she hadn’t taken the time to remove her jewellery before heading out into the streets - was dulled by a thin coating of ash, greyed by the smoke from the fires Hybern had set. 

Az sat silently, cleaning silver blood from Truth-teller’s blade as a frown settled deep between his brows. He and Cassian had both flown over the city until their wings could take no more, assessing the damage and putting out those wretched fires, and with both feet on the ground now, the Spymaster was quiet. The azure blue of his siphons was flat, dim— as empty as Cassian’s, the glow reduced to a weak, barely-there flicker.

His shadows were gone, too. 

All of them— dispatched across the city and beyond to keep an eye on things as the High Lord and his most trusted took a moment to breathe. 

And on the sofa beneath the window, Feyre Cursebreaker sat motionless.

Her hand was encased in Rhys’, their fingers woven so tightly together it was a wonder their knuckles weren’t white. Slowly, rhythmically, Rhys stroked his thumb across the back of Feyre’s hand— broad, soothing, strokes that Cassian knew were the only thing keeping his brother grounded. The Attor’s blood still marred Feyre’s skin, and her hair was still tangled from the free-fall that had sent the creature to it’s death, but when Rhys angled his head to the side to glance at his mate, for a moment the stars in his eyes attempted brightness despite the dark. 

And beneath the grief and the despair, Rhys didn’t bother to mask the awe and adoration that consumed him every time he looked at her.

Cassian might have smiled softly, had he not been so weary.

Archerons, he thought wryly. So fucking brave they put the rest of us to shame.

In his exhaustion, he must have let his mental barriers slip, because Rhys snorted.

That’s true, he said inside the cavern of Cassian’s mind. 

But Cassian didn’t respond. He only tipped his head back, shattered, and tried to find the strength he needed to ask the questions that were hanging off his tongue— ones he didn’t want to ask, but ones that needed to be voiced, even if none of them had an answer. 

“Velaris might be secure for now,” he began darkly, his voice a low, exhausted, rumble, “but for how long? The queens know about us now. How long until they sell the information to the other courts? Or till Hybern uses the Cauldron against us?”

He was met with silence.

But what was there for any of them to say besides I don’t know?

Rhys let out a breath, one that was so heavy, so weary, Cassian almost winced. But it was Feyre who broke the silence.

“We need to destroy the Cauldron,” she said, her voice quiet but far from feeble. 

Rhys nodded, but his violet eyes were shuttered. Cassian didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that the destruction of Velaris would forever lie heavy on Rhys’ shoulders, the blood staining his hands. Tension gathered at his shoulders, and when he spoke his voice was grim, flat.

“So we go to Hybern,” Rhys said tightly. 

Feyre hesitated, bit her lip. “We can’t all go,” she pointed out, her voice dropping low as guilt flashed across her face, like she resenting adding to Rhys’ burden. “Who will defend the city?”

Amren didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll stay here.”

Somehow Cassian found the strength to lift his head an inch from the headrest of his chair, but even though he opened his mouth to protest, Amren didn’t blink. She didn’t look away from Rhys, from the ash-streaked hair that fell haphazard over his forehead.

“I am the only one of you who might hold the city until help arrives if we are attacked again,” she said steadily. When Rhys’ throat bobbed, she shook her head. “Today was a surprise— but the new wards we built will not fall so easily.”

Mor sighed, heavy, resting her cheek in her palm. “So what now?”

Amren shrugged. “We sleep. We eat.”

And with the tell-tale snick of a blade sliding back into its sheath, Azriel finished cleaning Truth-teller. Though he had been silent, he spoke now with finality, in a voice that was rough at the edges— strained and begging for retribution. 

“And then we retaliate.”

His words hung in the air. 

Retaliate. 

Yes, they would retaliate. They would have their retribution, their revenge. They would pay Hybern back tenfold for the destruction they had unleashed today. 

Cassian could only nod in agreement, his head falling back against the headrest once more as a piercing headache flourished between his temples. Unease still sat heavy in his stomach, and there was a lingering anxiety he couldn’t quite shake. Whatever it was that had apprehension cresting within him like a wave, he couldn’t put his finger on it.

As Amren got to her feet, Cassian only swallowed against the nausea. Ash lingered in her black hair, the crown of her head dusted with white, and as she announced that she was going back to her apartment to continue searching for a way to destroy the Cauldron once and for all, Cassian couldn’t even open his mouth to say goodbye.

His throat felt like it was closing.

The battle calm that had settled over him earlier had long since receded, and in its wake he was left with this— burgeoning anxiety and a kind of fear he couldn’t name and didn’t understand. 

Velaris was secure, the wards were up— and yet still it felt for all the world like there was something wrong, something vital he had missed.

He barely even noticed as Feyre and Mor took their leave too. Mor pressed a hand to his shoulder as she left, her fingers curling in a silent farewell, and when they were gone, Cassian dragged a hand down his face. 

Across the room, Rhys closed his eyes and let out another heavy breath. He rubbed his jaw, a crease in his brow. 

“I wonder if we underestimated Hybern,” he said slowly.

With effort, Cassian snorted. He’d thought the same when he saw the queen’s body on the bridge, her eyes torn out.

“They know us, know our weaknesses far better than we know them,” Rhys continued. “We don’t know where this king came from, don’t know his background or how to predict his movements. We don’t even know his fucking name.”

Az scowled in the darkness. He’d been trying to find all of this out for months now, to no avail. Hybern was an isle wreathed in mist and smoke, one that kept its secrets close. Cassian had scouted the place out twice, and each time it’d had the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Not even Azriel’s shadows had been able to make sense of it. All they knew was that there was a sea door that might grant them access to the castle, that the Cauldron was inside, on the lower levels somewhere, and that the guards were on a two-hour rotation. Az’s shadows had picked all that up from standing sentinel outside the castle, but getting in… no, even they hadn’t been able to do that. 

“I feel like we’re going into this war blind,” Rhys said, his voice a quiet whisper.

Cassian’s face was grim, because— fucking hell, what else did Hybern have in their arsenal? He thought of those stone manacles, how they’d already brought Rhys down once, had shattered Cassian’s shields. And today had only been a skirmish. The real battles were yet to come, the real war yet to be fought, and they had no idea what else Hybern was hiding, what other tricks the king might use to bring them to their knees. 

Unsettling, to say the least.

That ominous, dark feeling in his stomach surged, and Cassian shifted in his chair to try and bank it, but it only blazed harder.

“When Amren figures it out, we’ll be in a much better position,” Azriel pointed out.

“And how close is she?” Cassian asked, suppressing the lump in his throat.

Rhys shrugged. “Close. She thinks we might have something in a day or two.”

At that, Cassian nodded, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t know what else to say, what to do, and as the clock ticked on the mantle, a heavy silence came over the sitting room, settling like a shroud. After a long, drawn out moment, Rhys stood. 

“I need—” He shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair. “I need some air.”

Az nodded.

It didn’t need to be said that Rhys wanted to be alone. Five hundred years had taught each of them how to read one another like a book, and with the way Rhys sighed as he got to his feet, with that haunted look in his eyes, both Azriel and Cassian knew to leave him be.

And perhaps they should have retired to the House of Wind once he’d gone, but… neither of them moved. 

The silence shifted, deepened, so complete that Cassian could hear the wind outside, and—

There.

There it was again, that twist in his gut. Beneath the fatigue, the lingering exhaustion, it was some instinct that had yet to settle, still on high alert. He might have brushed it off, but… no. In the silence and the dark he could tell now— this was something else. His tongue felt heavy, his blood felt cold, and there— right there, right where his heart was, there was something squeezing tight, like a vice that stopped him getting his breath. 

Something was wrong.

“Az,” he said quietly. “I don’t think this is over.”

His brother shook his head. “The wards are up. You heard Amren.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“They won’t take us by surprise again, Cass.” The shadowsinger’s jaw was tight, his lips pressed thin as his scarred hands flexed on the arm of the chair, fingers curling into a fist. No, Azriel would not be taken unawares again. He’d taken the attack on Velaris as personally as any of them. “I’ve had shadows on the coast all night. Nothing out there moves without me being aware of it.”

But Cassian shook his head. “I just—” He rubbed his chest, where the ache had grown sharp. “I can feel it.”

Az shrugged. “Probably adrenaline left over from the attack.” He offered him a small smile, one that tried in vain to lighten the atmosphere. “After all, it’s been a while since you’ve fought in battle. You’re out of shape, general.” 

Any other time, Cassian would have laughed. Flipped him off. Thrown out a leg and kicked Az in the ankle. Any other time, the teasing would have been welcome. But—

“That’s what I thought at first,” Cassian countered instead, that feeling growing teeth now, clawing him apart from the inside out. “But I don’t think so.”

There was a pause. 

Azriel opened his mouth, but it was clear he didn’t know what to say. They had all of them learned to trust Cassian’s battlefield instincts over the centuries, but this was something else. Something he couldn’t articulate, and it wasn’t Velaris in danger now. No, as Cassian felt his heartbeat stumble, he knew it was something much farther south.

“Send a shadow beneath the wall,” he whispered. “Check they’re alright.”

Az sighed softly. “Have you heard something from the men down there?”

No— no, he hadn’t. And that wasn’t a bad thing, was it? They had nothing to report. But—

“I just know something isn’t right, Az.” Gods, his chest was twisting, knotting itself. And then it yanked, a determined pull on the bond, like it was trying to get his attention. “It’s Nesta,” he added, his voice threatening to crack. “Please. I have a bad feeling and I can’t— I need to know that she’s alright.”

There was another moment of silence.

“Please,” Cassian said again, and this time his voice did crack. “Just send one shadow— just to her house.”

He was all too aware of what he was asking. 

Azriel had all of his shadows out patrolling the city, spread thin across the coast to ensure nothing slipped past them in the night. Cassian wanted one of them to be pulled away and sent down below the wall, when it was better used up here, defending the city until the sun could rise again. 

And Az was tired— they all were. It was why Cassian wasn’t flying down there now to find out himself. He couldn’t. He didn’t think he could even make it upstairs to his bed, and Azriel was the same. They weren’t just exhausted— they were emptied of energy entirely, so completely sapped of strength from those long, long moments where they’d defended Velaris alone. 

A shadow was the best Cassian could do. 

At last Az’s face softened. “Alright,” he conceded.

With a flick of his fingers he dispatched a shadow, and then— all that there was left to do was wait.

It took a while— ten minutes, twenty, thirty, Cassian didn’t know. He’d stopped keeping track of time.

And when that shadow slunk across the floor, all he knew was that his heart was in his mouth. A chill crawled up his spine, a breathless kind of concern forcing its way through his veins, and in the moment that Azriel was quiet, taking in whatever it was the shadow reported, Cassian could have sworn time halted altogether.

The silence stretched.

Endless.

And then, at last, Azriel spoke.

“There’s nothing,” he said calmly. “The Mandray house is quiet. The men you sent are still there, hiding unnoticed at the perimeter. The shadow didn’t go inside, but it seems that everyone under that roof is asleep.”

Cassian swallowed.

But in the place where he expected relief to swell, there was nothing but a hollow ache, a distant kind of drumming. That feeling in his chest didn’t vanish. But if the shadow Az sent below the wall said everything was fine, and the Illyrians were still keeping watch, then…

Fucking hell, maybe he was losing his touch.

Perhaps it was the way he’d fought a battle in Velaris today, the one place he’d always thought would be safe. Perhaps it was the way he’d watched Feyre fall to the earth, to the streets that even now were still coated with red, fae, blood. It had thrown him, made him doubt everything and had concern blooming in places it didn’t need to be.

Nesta was safe. 

Nesta had his men watching over her.

So, reluctantly, Cassian let it go.

In the darkness, as he closed his eyes on that armchair, too tired to climb the stairs and fall into a proper bed, he repeated it until he could feel sleep beginning to drag him under.

Safe.

Nesta was safe.

***

Below the wall, in Nesta Archeron’s darkened bedroom, the silence echoed.

Well.

In her borrowed bedroom, the silence echoed. 

She couldn’t sleep, her ears ringing with the quiet, and in her thin, threadbare nightgown, she turned uncomfortably in a bed more than big enough for two. The weak moonlight streamed through the windows - past the curtains she hadn’t bothered to draw - and glanced off the gilded sconces that held unlit candles, the vast dressing table that should have held glass bottles of perfume and yet stood empty.

Once, she’d been comfortable with finery. Accustomed to it.

Now she felt as out of place here as she did in the Mandray estate.

Her mind wouldn’t quiet. As she lay in the dark, her thoughts wouldn’t still long enough to let her sleep, and maybe it was something to do with the dagger she kept beneath her pillow and the piece of string tied around her wrist, the glass beads and the little silver star winking at her in the darkness. 

No, she didn’t quite know where home was anymore, but if she had to guess… well, maybe they were a good place to start. 

After all, over the past two days she’d had a lot of time to think about what she would do when this war was over. Where she would be, and which side of the wall she would find herself on. Though it had seemed abhorrent to her not too long ago… the land above the wall suddenly seemed to hold far more promise than the land beneath.

She shook her head now, shifting her gaze to the ceiling. All moulded plaster-work and painted cornices. 

Two days. 

She had been here two days, and Elain’s dreams were getting worse.

It didn’t matter that Nesta slept in the room next door. Didn’t make any difference, either, that when Nesta had ventured into the village and handed over five gold coins at the apothecary for cold remedies - for believability, Elain had insisted - she’d also picked up some chamomile and crushed lavender and tucked it beneath her sister’s pillow.

Elain still emerged from her bedchamber each morning with pale cheeks and shadows beneath her eyes.

They come for us, Elain whispered at breakfast, when Nesta asked what haunted her the moment she closed her eyes. All claws and teeth and darkness, shattered glass and screams. 

Nesta didn’t know what to say anymore. All she could do was pat her sister gently on the arm, and wonder whether it might help if she started sleeping in Elain’s bed, so that there was someone beside her when she woke. Suddenly it felt like it hadn’t been a lie at all when she’d told her husband Elain was ill. 

“Elain is sick,” she’d said briskly when she returned to the Mandray house to pack her things after the meeting with the queens. She’d hoped to leave a note for Tomas on the table and slip out without seeing him, but he’d caught her in the bedroom they shared, putting nightdresses into a canvas bag. 

She hadn’t looked at him— at the green eyes and dark blonde hair of the man she’d married. But Tomas’ hand had darted out as she folded shifts into her small bag, fingers closing around her wrist and pulling, hauling her forwards as her shift fell from her hands. His grip had tightened, and Nesta had been shocked at first, blinking in surprise. Oh, Tomas had been cruel in so many ways, but never like that. Never like his father.

“Don’t forget that you’re my wife,” he’d hissed, “And don’t think I won’t find out if you’re lying.”

His eyes had dropped to the bracelet on her wrist, his lip curling. It was clear he hadn’t bought her tale about the bracelet being a gift from Elain. Clear, too, that Tomas thought Nesta was spending these days in another man’s bed— another man’s arms, and she’d shot him a look that might have scorched the flesh from his bones had she the power. The audacity of him to accuse her of lying— when he spent most nights in the bed of some poor, unsuspecting tavern girl.

She had wrenched herself free, hoping the friction burned his palm as much as it did her wrist. And when she looked at him, Nesta had seen only a pitiful, wretched excuse of a boy, parading as a man. 

Hatred had burned in her veins, and she’d thought of how Cassian had wiped her tears in front of those queens. How there had been such breathtaking conviction in his eyes that she hadn’t doubted him for a second when he said he’d go to war for her. 

The thought of it - of him - had made her sneer right back at the man she’d married in the hope of salvation. 

“If I’m lying?” she’d shot back, looking at Tomas with a kind of contempt she was’t able to mask any longer. “Elain knows about you, you know. About the girls you bed from the tavern.” 

Her voice was just as flat as his, just as acidic. In all the weeks since Elain had told Nesta she’d heard of Tomas’ antics in the village, she hadn’t said a word. She’d been content to let him carry on, because after all, if he was in someone else’s bed it meant he wasn’t in hers, but now— 

Nesta had had enough. 

“If you think she or my father will be giving you so much as a single copper from their coffers ever again, you’re mistaken.”

Tomas had scowled, eyes darkening with a kind of vitriol that made every bone in Nesta’s body rattle with contempt.

“Then you’ll be suffering alongside us,” he’d retorted. “When we starve, you starve. When we freeze, you freeze.”

Nesta didn’t say that she had no intention of remaining his wife beyond Elain’s wedding. None at all. No, as soon as her sister was settled, as soon as Nesta was certain that Greysen wouldn’t turn out to be just like Tomas…

She was leaving.

No, instead she laughed, and when she spoke she made her voice cold and cruel. “You forget, husband, that I have starved before. I survived too many winters with no food and no fuel for fire to fear it again. Your threats are as empty as this marriage.” She finished packing her bag and smoothed a hand down her skirts. “You don’t scare me, Tomas.”

He had huffed, fury seeping from his every pore, but Nesta had only brushed passed him and tossed over her shoulder, 

“I’ll be staying with my sister for the rest of the week at least.”

And now she lay in her bed at the manor, idly twirling a piece of her unbound hair around her finger. 

Distantly, she could hear voices. 

Earlier, when she’d looked out of the window, she’d seen the moonlight glance off the edge of a bottle, saw green and blue stones gleaming through the trees— siphons, just like Cassian and Azriel’s, though none in that shade of ruby that made her heart beat faster.

The warriors Cassian had sent were drinking— glamoured, she supposed, so none but she could see or hear them, but drinking nonetheless. Their laughter echoed through the woods that bordered the estate - raucous, like this was a game to them - but she supposed that even tipsy warriors were a better defence than nothing, and anyway, she doubted they were really needed. It was to make Elain feel better more than anything, to help her sleep soundly as much as the lavender Nesta placed beneath her pillow.

It was clear the Illyrians outside didn’t expect trouble.

Nesta didn’t either, and as she closed her eyes against the night, she felt sleep beginning to creep up on her at last. She let herself drift, thinking of crimson siphons glowing at the edge of the estate instead, dreaming of wings silvered by the moon and hazel eyes made gold beneath the starlight. He made her feel warm, safe, and—

Suddenly, she darted awake.

There was a change in the air, something she could sense but didn’t know how to name.

It was quiet.

The voices at the edge of the estate had gone silent, but the hush that crawled through the Archeron manor was not empty.

It was the kind of quiet that was wrong somehow, the kind that her blood turning to ice in her veins. Her hair stood on end, and her heart hammered in her chest as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her ears strained for any kind of sound, but there was nothing, not even the wind rattling the shutters outside.

It was a careful silence.

A deliberate silence.

And then—

All at once the quiet was rent apart, and in the darkness, Nesta Archeron heard the sound of breaking glass, the slamming of a door—

And her sister’s screams.

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

[chvoswxtch]

Hi! I’m really sorry to keep requesting this but could you write about blackwidow!reader being on a mission to kill Matt/Daredevil and that she ends up getting close to him just because of the mission but it could possibly end with a happy ending?

please never apologize for a request! you have no idea how beyond flattered I am that you come to me with your ideas & trust me to bring them to life. I am having so much fun with all of these matt x black widow reader requests, so thank you! ❤️

warning: some swearing, slight mentions of violence word count: 2.2k

we can do this together.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were never supposed to hesitate. You were never allowed to question a mission. And up until now, you never had. But he made you question everything.

“You don’t have to do this. I know you don’t want to.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know everything about you. You lied about a few things, yeah, but nothing that mattered. Everything else you told me was real. Listen-“

“Don’t move.”

You aimed your gun directly at Matt’s chest, pausing his ascension forward. He quickly brought his hands up in surrender, the sides of his mouth turned downwards in a slight grimace. 

“Y/N, you’re not gonna shoot me.”

Even though half of his face was covered, you could see the betrayal written on his features clear as day beneath the glowing moonlight. You could practically envision the hurt permeating his golden honey eyes, and that image in your head punctured your heart like a jagged, rusty blade. The effect of your treachery was evident in his voice, but you had to remind yourself why you were here. You cocked the hammer of your gun as you clenched your jaw, noting the way his lips parted slightly in response to take in a breath.

“No?”

At this point you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince more; him or yourself. 

Your grip on the handle tightened as you struggled to compose yourself. 

He’s just another mission. You’ve done this a thousand times. Just pull the trigger.

Matt swallowed thickly as he took a cautious step forward, shaking his head slowly as he spoke.

“No, you won’t. You won’t hurt me.”

You fired a warning shot by his foot, causing him to freeze immediately. He turned his head away from the sound of the bullet ricocheting off the concrete of the rooftop, wincing as the sound pierced his sensitive ears. Matt’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, letting a frustrated sigh escape his mouth as he focused his head in your direction. The disappointment was practically radiating off of him, and it made you sick to your stomach. 

“Stop pretending like you know me. You only know the version of me I wanted you to see. Manipulation and deception are our greatest strengths, Matthew. It’s how we bring down empires.”

Matt scoffed as he let out a humorless laugh, instantly dropping his hands by his sides and clutching them into tight fists as he shook his head defiantly and took another bold step forward. 

“No.”

Goddamnit Matthew, stop. Quit being so fucking stubborn.

“It’s not up for debate.”

Deep down you wanted him to run. He was quick and stealthy, you knew that. He could disappear before you even had a chance to track him. That would give you more time. To do what, you weren’t sure. Delay the inevitable? Hope they pulled you off this task and assigned someone else? Runaway yourself?

But Matt wasn’t a runner. He was just as combative outside of the courtroom as he was in it. There was no changing his mind once it had already been made up, he was too tenacious.

“It’s bullshit. I know when you’re lying. I can tell by your heartbeat. You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to me.”

Matt’s confession stunned you completely. He was blind, you knew that for a fact. But he was also the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. You hadn’t quite figured out how he was able to do the things he did, but it wasn’t important to your assignment, so you weren’t allowed to test your curiosity. Get in, get what you need, eliminate the threat, and get out. Those were the rules.

None of this matters. He’s a mission. Just complete it. 

Sensing a falter in your facade, Matt took another cautious step forward, and you reflexively aimed your gun directly towards his face. You never had an issue completing an assignment before. Every target you were assigned to take out was a threat. It never bothered you before, because each of them had things far worse than skeletons in their closets. Some of them had committed sins you didn’t think any God could forgive. The world was better off without them. 

Why was this time so hard?

Because it was Matt. Matthew Murdock that let his clients repay him in banana bread for helping them get justice. Matthew Murdock that gave his literal blood, sweat, and tears every night for a city that would never thank him or even know his real name. 

Because it was Matt that stopped by your apartment randomly and asked you to accompany him to do mundane tasks like go grocery shopping, or claiming he needed feedback on his closing argument with an elaborate ruse. He always had an excuse, but it was simply because he knew you didn’t have any family either, and sometimes felt just as alone as he did. It was Matt that remembered how much you loved pickles and always offered you his even if he wanted them. It was Matt that walked you home every time you went to Josie’s, even though you lived 2 blocks away, because he wanted to make sure you made it home safe. 

Because it was Matt, and he wasn’t really the threat; Daredevil was. Because Daredevil was dangerous. Because he was too good at what he did, and was getting too close. Your other targets were more competition than threats. But him? He was a threat. They had every right to be terrified of him. They should be.

The only advantage you had at the moment was that you hadn’t reported that you figured out Daredevil’s identity. They didn’t know about Matt. But if you were able to figure it out, you knew another widow could too. Matt was only safe the longer you dragged out this assignment, and you were running out of time.

“Sweetheart-“

“Don’t.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to focus. It felt like you were spiraling in a haunting kaleidoscope of guilt and fear, anxious as to where you would land. You were fighting against every single code of your programming. Everything you were trained to do. Everything you were molded to be. Matt had unlocked something in you, and you were struggling to keep it contained.

“Put the gun down.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Just-“

“You don’t understand.”

You didn’t even try to mask the vulnerability in your voice. Part of you knew Matt was right. Your mission was to get close to him, but either consciously or subconsciously, you’d also let him get close to you. You had told him things, real things, that no one else knew. You tried to convince yourself that it was to draw him in closer, to make him trust you so you could take advantage of him. But the more you were around him, the truth became harder to deny. Matt Murdock was like gravity. You were drawn to him, like everyone else around him, and he grounded you into a space that felt secure. 

“Then help me understand. Please, sweetheart.”

“I can’t just walk away. One of us isn’t leaving this roof alive.”

“I don’t believe that. I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t fight you.”

“Then you’ll die.”

Matt charged forward until the barrel of your gun was pressed directly against his sternum. The action surprised you and caused you to stumble backwards, but Matt gripped onto your wrist and forced you to keep the gun in place. The way his chest was heaving had your hand almost shaking, and you grit your teeth in annoyance at his persistence. 

“Then shoot me.”

“Goddamnit, Matthew. I’m not what you think I am.”

“I know you’re not what they made you.”

Your fingers trembled slightly around the handle of the gun. Emotions were something you were trained to let go of. They were never supposed to get in the way or compromise a mission. But a piece of you refused to accept the truth that was gnawing at the pit of your stomach; you couldn’t pull the trigger. You knew that. He knew that.

“I can’t walk away. You don’t…you have no idea what…what they’ll do to me.”

A shudder raced down your spine at the thought. You knew what happened to widows that couldn’t complete a mission. They were tortured if they were compromised, and only granted the mercy of death when their body finally gave out. A low growl ripped through Matt’s chest as he tore the gun out of your hands, throwing it behind him as he grabbed onto the back of your neck with his other and pulled you flush into his chest.

“They are not going to touch you ever again.”

“Matt-“

“You are not what they made you.”

“Stop trying to save me. You don’t know what I’ve done-“

“I don’t care.”

“You should-“

“Whatever you did, it was against your will. They didn’t give you a choice. But you have one now, Y/N.”

You didn’t deserve his forgiveness. You didn’t deserve his understanding. Whatever light he saw in you had to just be a reflection of his own. Why did he have to be so good? Matt had found a loose thread in your being, unraveling everything you thought was real, and had you now completely wrapped around him. Ever the good Catholic boy, here he was still trying to save you, even when you had pointed a gun in his face and threatened his life. 

Matt quickly pulled off his helmet, tossing it carelessly to the side as he cupped your jaw delicately in his gloved hands like you might shatter any second. The anguish shadowing his beautiful face made you wish he had kept the fucking thing on. You couldn’t handle the look in his eyes.

“Come with me. Let me help.”

“You can’t-“

“I can. I can help. I have friends that will help. We can take them down together, sweetheart. You don’t have to be scared. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. No one is ever going to hurt you again. We can do this together.”

Matt pressed his forehead to yours, reaching for one of your hands to hold against his chest. He gave your wrist a light squeeze, gently nudging your nose with his own.

“I know you, honey. I’ve heard your heart, and I can feel your soul. Please come with me.”

“Matt…if anything happened to you-“

“Nothing is going to happen to me. Nothing is going to happen to you. We can protect each other. We can do this, sweetheart. I know we can. But I need you to trust me.”

Something about Matthew Murdock made you feel like you knew who you were outside of the Red Room. Who you really wanted to be. You’d felt the spark the first time you met; something pure and light like you’d never felt before. Every second you spent with him, you felt like pieces of you were being healed, so much so that you hadn’t even realized some parts weren’t broken anymore until you noticed they stopped hurting.

There had to be something good still left in you. If Matt believed you could find redemption, it had to be true. He was the first person you felt like you could actually trust, and that was terrifying. But despite everything, the heartbreaking truth he had learned about you, the revelation of lies and deceit, he was still here. He was offering you his forgiveness, and his hand, but more than that, he was offering you something you hadn’t felt in a lifetime; hope. 

“I…I don’t know how this works, Matt.”

“We figure it out together, one step at a time.”

“I don’t think I’m worth all this trouble.”

“I do.”

Matt’s face had softened as he pulled back slightly, blank eyes darting back and forth as they burned with recognition. There was a melancholic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth while he nodded his chin in your direction. 

“I know that darkness you feel. I know you think there’s something inside of you that can’t be fixed. And…maybe it can’t. But I do know that you and I are a lot more alike than you think. Our broken pieces…they fit, Y/N. I think you feel that too. We fit together, sweetheart. We can do this. We can take them all down, together.”

It was hard to argue with the confidence and conviction in Matt’s voice. You could feel his own heart beating strongly against your palm through his suit. It hadn’t faltered once. You couldn’t tell if it was because he really believed that, or if he refused to believe anything else.

This decision would alter your life forever. There would never be any going back, and it was quite literally life or death. But you had never been more sure of anything in your life. 

“Where do we start?”

Matt let out a deep exhale of relief, his entire body visibly relaxing as your words hit his ears. His mouth parted into that dazzling smile that made you dizzy, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaning in to carefully brush his lips against yours.

“How about dinner?”

[xelasrecords]

Locus of Pain

Kim Jihyun x MC

NSFW

MC doesn't tell Jihyun she's hurt. He finds out anyway.

I'm back with smutty and messy ambiguous relationships! With GE Jihyun's personality. I will forever campaign for his GE personality until it becomes mainstream in fics and I don't have to put a disclaimer anymore.

TW: discussions on adult child abuse, self-destructive thoughts and actions, brief mild gore imagery, self-harm

Words: 4.5k

Masterlist Read on AO3

She stumbled into the apartment with a pained grunt.

She ought to feel bad for staining the floor with her blood, but she had more important matters to attend to. Her back was burning with lacerations and every step she took was straining the bruises that had burrowed into her muscles.

She tried not to swing her hands too much as she headed for the bathroom, disposing of her jacket at the foot of the bed. For once she was thankful for Rika's cramped apartment. It could be suffocating at times, but it was easy to live in. Jihyun said Rika had a taste of unassuming minimalism. She thought building a gilded emerald cult with thousands of followers was pushing the definition.

Gripping the edge of the sink, she clenched her jaw and started peeling off her blood-crusted shirt. The injuries shouldn't be too deep since the blood had stopped flowing down her back like a free-flowing motherfucker. But as she pulled the shirt over her head, it tore the barely knit skin apart, and warm blood started to trickle down again.

She cursed her thin epidermis. It was not supposed to tear over a mere picture frame thrown at it, even if the frame was large enough to cover half of the bedroom wall.

Her father had excellent aim and strength. He had proven that to her many times.

Sometimes she fantasised about breaking his skull in with a scorching hot pan, wondering if his hair would melt from the heat or if his eyes would bulge out of their sockets. Would he scream for her help? Would he plead for mercy or curse her for being a demon spawn? Then, she could blame him for fathering such an evil inside her.

Her stomach curdled with guilt. The resentment was hers alone, and he had loved her despite her selfishness. She couldn't shed away the primal care she had for him. She was her mother's daughter, after all.

Twisting her body in the mirror, she made a quick work of cataloguing her injuries. Two long gashes that dipped into her flesh but wouldn't require stitches, one blackening bruise near her ribs, and several cuts and bruises that stippled across her back. She tested her breathing. No wheezing. No punctured lung. An improvement from the last time. Jihyun wouldn't need to know.

She stepped into the shower and washed off the blood. The cold water chilled her bones. But it had to. It was better to feel all of it. She had asked for his wrath and now she dealt with the consequences. Besides, it helped with closing the wounds.

After she put on a pair of shorts, she reached for a bottle of alcohol from the medicine cabinet. Sharp gasps escaped her mouth every so often as she tried to pour just enough. Medicine was costly and she shouldn't waste it. The burn blinded her vision white and she hunched over the sink, focusing on the cold ceramic under her fingertips and the slicing of tiles beneath her bare feet.

When her sight had stopped swimming, she took a deep breath and bent her arm behind her in awkward angles to slap adhesive bandages to the wounded area. She grunted in frustration. It was tougher than she'd thought. She was nauseous from constantly looking up to check her reflection, the evening autumn draft was pricking at her exposed skin, and the plasters kept sticking to the wrong place.

She glared at the mirror. Do not faint.

How many nights had she spent patching herself up? And yet she still struggled. Her lack of progress was almost laughable.

She didn't think there were any glass shards embedded in her though. One good thing that came out of this. She tried not to think about the larger shard she had pocketed when the picture frame glass shattered, now buried under the bloody heap of clothes.

She froze when she heard someone punching in the door passcode.

She was about to kick her bathroom door close when Jihyun entered and switched on the lights from down the hallway. Their eyes locked, and he stopped in his tracks. Her throat constricted.

This was not how she wanted him to ever see her.

His face grew horrified, and he dropped his satchel in his rush to get to her. She had a fleeting worry that his satchel might have dropped onto the blood-stained floor and she might have ruined his fine leather bag.

Jihyun stood before her, his mouth opened and closed. She schooled her face into indifference and waited.

"You—" he started, "what happened?"

The impulse to lie was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't find a good reason to when he had caught her like this. She doubted he would believe her excuses. The day had been long and she was so tired.

"A jolly good ol' catch-up with my parents." Her tone was casual.

Jihyun watched her with a worried frown, then squeezed into the small space and ran the tap water through his hands. He was moving with a surprising efficiency as he lathered his hands with soap before scanning her injuries and her first aid supplies.

"Please let me help." His teal eyes were desperate. She had forgotten how luminous they were from up close. "You can't do this alone."

"You shouldn't have come here tonight."

"I'm well-versed in healing people," he urged. "I used to heal my own injuries when I was with Rika. I treated hers as well. I know enough, so you can trust me." His fingers twitched, almost reaching for her before dropping to his side. "Please."

More than the fact that she was found out, she hated that she had made Jihyun worry about her. The only thing she excelled at was to instil negative feelings in people who cared about her. Always wrath in her parents, sometimes concern in Jihyun.

Jihyun had never lost his head at her, but she was waiting for it to happen. No one had the patience of a saint, not even him.

It was a pity she had condemned him to another relationship where he had to play the caretaker. Letting him treat her would be an appropriate compensation for his scare. "Go on," she said. "But I should probably lie down."

Relief flooded his face. "That would be the best. Can you walk on your own?"

She nodded, but he held her arm and assisted her to the bed. He sat her down, slowly, and helped her settle into a comfortable position to lie prone in. She buried her face into the pillow that smelled faintly of mint leaves. It was Jihyun's side of the bed. It comforted her that he was permanent enough in her life that she could find traces of him in her private space.

"Has it always been this bad?" Jihyun asked quietly. The feeling of his lithe fingers inspecting her skin with clinical precision was unfamiliar. His touches were always loving, adoring, not stiff with anxiety. He had never seen her with weeping wounds. She had never let him into the truth.

"Only when I deliberately provoke them. Mother goes off the rails, father blames me for not caring about my own parents, I try to save myself before things escalate." She raised her head and smirked at him. "I don't always succeed though. Got a picture frame to my back, as you can see. Took being backstabbed by your family to the next level. They were supposed to hang it where their guests could see, but I doubt they'd hang it without the glass now. People would ask."

There was a brief silence before he spoke. "That's terrible." His voice was soft, barely a murmur. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know they are violent."

She shrugged. "You're not the one who should apologise. And they will anyway, once they think I've iced them out for too long. Not that it means anything."

He shook his head, and strands of aquamarine hair fell across his forehead. They softened the distress that wrought his features. "You're not a mouse they can play with."

"No, I'm just their daughter they can hurt," she said. Jihyun pressed a bandage against the grisliest gash across her back and she winced. "Do you think it'll scar?"

"It most likely will. Had it been any deeper, you would have needed stitches." He paused, his palm resting on her spine. "Why didn't you call me?"

"It didn't occur to me," she lied. She wanted to lay down her defences and curl into his arms. She didn't want to keep fighting for herself. There were times when escaping was better than fighting for nothing, but it wasn't something she could ask from him. Her cage was her own.

Jihyun's fingers curled against her skin, and she could sense the waves of sorrow unfurling around her. "Can you think of me from now on? It doesn't have to be all the time, moments when you are hurt will do. If you call, I will come."

"I think of you all the time, Jihyun."

"Oh. I didn't know that." The surprise was evident in his tone. He applied another bandage to her back, smoothing it cautiously over the raw wound. "But I know no one is meant to bear their burden alone. You have been through so much."

"So have you, love. I'm not special." She gave him a bitter smile. "Now, why did you come here unannounced?"

Jihyun studied her for several seconds. "I wanted to see you," he said. "You've been withdrawn lately, so I thought something had happened."

She chuckled. "I suppose this counts as something."

"I never had to imagine you in my position before," he said. "I thought you'd confide in me when you're hurt. It's what you always urge me to do. You taught me to be more trusting. But seeing you like this makes me realise how much fear you and Jumin must have felt when I took matters into my own hands." He let out a ragged sigh. "I don't know how I would cope if I came here one day and saw you unconscious on the floor."

Lucky he wasn't here when she blacked out from a concussion a few months ago.

She made a dismissive gesture. "Do as I say, not as I do."

"Only if you let me do the same thing."

She levelled a glare at him. "Definitely not."

Jihyun snorted but worked silently after. The stinging pain was dulling into low throbs. She had lost count of the bandages he used, but it must have been more than necessary. She felt the adhesives even on the spots that didn't require them. Jihyun was being excessive. After everything she had gone through, she was confident that a small, uncovered cut wouldn't be her reason to die.

He should know. He had been stabbed and was still alive fretting over her.

She heard him uncapping an ointment and felt a cool sensation on her skin. He carefully massaged the salve into the bruises, sending shivers throughout her body. How nice he was. How patient. How kind.

When he pushed her hair aside to tend to the base of her neck, her breath caught. His fingertips sent fire down her synapses. It had been so long since they did anything. The distance she put between them was growing taut. The farther she pulled, the harder she would crash back into him.

Her arm moved on its own accord when she grabbed Jihyun's fingers and pressed her lips to the back of his hand. The strong herbal scent from the salve burned her nose, but this smooth hand was his. Hers.

Jihyun was always there for her to come back to.

He was not home. Home, to her, was not something that she ever longed to go. It was the misery that strangled her into obedience and shrunk her world into a dark, bleak place to survive in.

He was her sanctuary on a far-off island. Nothing could get to them when they were together.

Jihyun let out a light chuckle that sang to her heart. "Let me wash my hands. I don't want to make you any more ill."

She squeezed his hand. "I missed you too, you know. I'm glad you're with me."

He stilled, then crouched beside her head. He tucked the hair that obscured her face behind her ear and kissed her temple before gently wrestling his hand out of her grasp. The shape of his lips was just as she remembered it.

She watched him rinse the blood from her clothes and exhaled in relief when he didn't stray to her trousers' pocket. She watched him clean his hands with water trickling down his forearms, the brown sleeves of his sweatshirt pulled up and collecting water at the elbows. She watched him storing the first aid kit and medicines in the cabinet to her preferred arrangement. She watched him doing useless things for her.

When Jihyun climbed into the bed and rested against the headboard, she asked, "Do you know what the worst part of this is?"

He stared down at her, eyes carrying a heavy sorrow. "That your parents don't know how to love you?"

"Not even close." She rolled her eyes. "I've known that all my life. Not being able to lean against anything is the real tragedy. Look at me, I can't even sit comfortably beside you."

"But you can come closer," he said slowly.

She raised her brows but let him guide her to lie on his chest, his fingers resting on her bare shoulders.

He was clothed and she wasn't and it was something she needed to rectify.

She tangled her leg around his and relaxed her head against his beating heart. It was thrumming to a rising tempo that mirrored hers. She toyed with a loose thread on the neck of his sweatshirt. "I wish you weren't so good at fixing up injuries like mine. I wish you never had to learn."

"It's all in the past now." He slipped his fingers into the gaps between hers and clasped them. "I'd go through it again if I had known it would help alleviate your pain."

She snapped up at him. "Your martyr streak needs to stop."

"I have stopped. Just allow me this one exception." He planted a chaste kiss on her mouth, then cleared his throat. "Will you meet your parents again?"

She tightened the thread around her forefinger until it looked like diagonally dissected blocks of meat and she could barely feel its existence. "I know they do horrible things sometimes, but I can't cut them off. It's not that easy. I still love them. When they're not mad, they can be easy to love."

Jihyun frowned at her finger and gently untangled the thread before snapping it off. "That's what makes leaving harder, isn't it?" The haunting in his face revealed the extent of horrors that he had experienced. An angel with a darkened, torn soul who was still rising high above. He was not her. She liked that about him. "It's easier to hate someone when they have only been awful to you. It's their residual goodwill that gives you hope that they will change. When I look back to how stubbornly I stood beside Rika, I understand. Left in the dark, we cling to the light. We forget who trapped us there in the first place."

She didn't want to admit that Jihyun was right. That he was right, yet it would not change anything.

She wondered if she had been drawn to him because the subconscious part of her knew he would understand. Jihyun knew how to make her feel less alone in the guilt and resentment and twisted love that she couldn't untangle herself from. Most people were not like him. She learned from a young age that if people found out about the abuse, they would either urge her to leave—which added unnecessary pressure on her because it was never an option—or give her pitiful looks while stumbling over their words.

"Jihyun," she said.

He drew his thumb over her chin. "Yes?"

"Don't go." She pushed herself up and crashed her lips into his.

It was fervent, maddening, and she poured all the tension from their time of separation into it. The yearning to see him. The stress from her parents meddling with her happiness. Everything she had been missing after being alone for so long.

Jihyun reciprocated with more caution, treading her lips like they were a treasure trove. He gave in eventually when she didn't show a sign of discomfort, his kiss matching her intensity.

She bit his lower lip and slipped her tongue into his mouth. He gripped her shoulders, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him. His hands were not sliding down her waist and everywhere else like he tended to. He kept his hold staunchly on her arms even as he deepened the kiss.

It hit her what he was doing. He was being considerate of her battered body.

She let out a sob into his mouth. Nobody had ever cared for her like this. She could stand all the violence flung at her, but one act of kindness felled her to her knees.

Jihyun pulled away in an instant, his glazed eyes searching across her face and body. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "I was just thinking about you. You're wonderful. I missed you." Jihyun's expression was guarded, appraising her, and she let him. She had spoken the truth. She offered the truth so rarely that she would not omit more of it if it concerned his regard for himself. "I'm fine, Jihyun."

He gave a slow nod, and she tugged off his cashmere sweater. With a tender touch, she ran her hand through the ragged red patches of skin that stood out against his pale torso. Burn scars from a house fire. Both of them had childhood wounds woven into their very being. The past was made permanent on their skin.

Jihyun squirmed, seemingly self-conscious, despite her being familiar with the scars, but he made no attempts to stop her. He was beautiful, body and soul, she thought. He had more love and forgiveness in him than anyone she had ever known.

She trailed kisses along his jaw and sucked on the juncture behind his ear. He moaned and curved his body against her, and she smiled into his neck. It was amusing, the reactions that she could elicit out of him. No one could touch him as she could. He did not let anyone else know him intimately like this. He was only for her.

She suspected all of this played into his pleasure as well.

She twined her fingers around his hair, marvelling at the softness of it, and pulled it back to bare his throat. He had such a beautiful throat.

She didn't apply much pressure as she wrapped her hand around it, but his breath hitched. Her lips curved into a sly smile, her other hand wandering down his hard bulge. "I don't know why being choked always turns you on."

Jihyun held his gaze on her despite his reddening complexion. "I can feel you wanting me when you hold me like this."

"I do want you." She swung her leg astride him, straddling his hips and rested her forehead against his. The hard-on beneath her was hard to ignore. "It drives me out of my mind when I can't be with you."

"You shouldn't have pushed me away," he murmured. "I'll still want you, however you are, whatever condition you are in. You're always just you to me. Nothing can make me want you less."

"I'm sorry," she said. Jihyun closed his eyes, and she kissed his eyelid with a gentleness that she reserved only for him. "I'm sorry I left you alone."

He cradled her cheek, and she basked in the warmth of it. The safety of him. He was here and she couldn't fight the temptation to lose herself in him. "You didn't leave me alone. I belong with you. Anywhere you run to, you take me with you. I'm yours."

She tightened her hold on his throat to see his reaction. "You're mine," she whispered.

A slow smile graced his delicate face. "I am. I'm yours."

Jihyun drew her closer by the elbow and peppered kisses on her mouth, her chin, her throat, and her collarbones. He palmed her breasts and sucked her nipple while tweaking the other with his fingers. They hardened at his touch and she moaned his name, demanding him to be harder, rougher.

She needed to feel everything.

He bit her nipple and her hand slipped to the base of his skull, grasping at his hair. He was hers. His action and devotion were hers. It sent a deluge of pleasure down her core. Jihyun could be gentle, but he was also earnest to give her the satisfaction she sought.

She wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him more than the freedom from her wretched life.

"I love you." She tipped his chin back. "I love you, Jihyun. Remember it."

He smiled up at her, his pupils blown wide with lust. "I love you, too."

She reached down and unbuckled his trousers. She had done more strenuous activities in a worse state, so fucking him wouldn't damage her already mangled body. But Jihyun stilled her wrist when he saw through her intention.

She narrowed her gaze. "I'm on the pill."

"You're hurt," he said. "I don't want to worsen your injuries."

"Have you not treated them?"

His grip wasn't loosening. "You need more time to heal. The wounds may open again."

"Then go slow."

Jihyun hesitated.

"Please," she croaked.

As soon as she uttered the word, she knew she had him. He sighed, but let go of her wrist. "You'll have to be careful. I'm stopping this if you push yourself too far."

"Brilliant."

Jihyun pulled down his trousers while she discarded her shorts. She lowered herself into him, relishing in the feel of him filling her. He ran his hands up and down her waist tentatively until he was sure that he wasn't touching any of the injuries on her back. Only then did he allow himself to move into her with practised ease. She held onto his shoulders and rolled her hips in tandem, burying her face into his neck and letting him control the pace. Jihyun had meant his warning and she was not eager to risk it.

It felt new. It felt familiar. It was what she had yearned for. His low grunts, her body slanting forward to hit the right spot, their skin sticking to each other in sweat and slick wetness.

Jihyun was slow, unhurried, with faint caresses down her back. His concern for her was easy to read. He was tracing back the pain that he couldn't protect her from. He might no longer bear a debilitating guilt, but she didn't think he could ever eradicate his need to shield her from misfortunes.

She couldn't blame him. It was the same with her, though the abuse done to her wasn't something that anyone could simply take away, and they both knew it.

She bit his earlobe, mumbling, "It's not your fault."

Jihyun tilted his face, and his lips brushed her cheek. "It's not yours either."

She stopped caring whose fault her source of agony was and thrust into him, picking up the pace while she dug her nails into his arms. He didn’t stop her, his hand snaking down to find her bundle of nerves instead.

She gasped and arched her back when he rubbed her. She was vaguely aware of the sharp jabs of pain in her back, but she welcomed them. Pain grounded her into him.

Jihyun's fingers were vigorous, and his thrusting was getting rougher that it twisted the coil in her lower abdomen. She writhed with need, whispering to him not to stop, and he listened, and it brought her higher and higher until the coil snapped.

She cried out in ecstasy.

Jihyun kept to his pace as she rode out the climax, not stopping despite her trembling legs and clearing haze. She focused on him overwhelming her in a way that annihilated her need for anything else. The alkaline tang of paint that lingered on him. His tightening grip on her bottom as she felt him reaching his climax. Him twitching inside her when he finally did, his muscles tensing as he came inside her. His pleasure-struck face that entranced her every time.

He was a marvel to look at, to have. He was hers. He had proclaimed it. He was the forest that shrouded her from the vultures circling above, the soft sand that sank her deeper into him with each pull of the waves, the hearth that kept her warm through the barren cold. With him, she could breathe.

She would give him everything he wanted. She would not let him go.

She slumped against him, their mixed fluids seeping down her thighs. He slipped out of her and she kissed the underside of his jaw. "I love you."

Jihyun's breath was still racing as he drew circular patterns on her shoulder blades. "Your parents didn't hurt you because you provoked them. They hurt you because they're abusive. It's not your fault."

She sighed. She had hoped he would let it go, but nothing could stop him once he made up his mind. "Knowing it doesn't make it any better."

"Do you really think so?" He ran his thumb up her inner forearm. She flinched and tried to jerk away, but he held onto her. The deepest scars had faded to silver, but the fresher ones were raised ridges along her skin. She had been careful, small cuts scattered on an easily hidden spot. She didn't realise he would notice. "Isn't this your form of penance?"

Her chest tightened. "It's the only thing I have control over. If I blame them and direct all my anger at them, I will hurt them. This way, the only person I hurt is myself. I'm not a weapon. I'm not a threat."

"Don't you think you've been hurt enough?"

She wore a thin smile and looked away. "Sure."

Jihyun's hands slid up her jaw and tilted her head back to him, his fingers resting on the pulse points on her neck. "You can be angry around me. It's natural to want to express your emotions. They're not something you're supposed to keep to yourself. Talk to me when you feel like turning to self-mutilation. I'm yours, remember? My ears are yours to talk to. My shoulders are for you to lean on."

She surveyed his pleading gaze with a twinge of pity. Jihyun was asking for more than he was supposed to receive. In time, he would see it.

Another waiting game had begun. She almost did not want to see the ending.

"All right. I'll do that."

-

Footnotes:

I went with Jihyun because I thought he'd be an interesting choice. The role reversal and all. He's forced to confront how he is seen through MC's eyes when he's involved in dangerous situations and refuses help.

MC's relief for living in Rika's suffocating apartment at the beginning parallels her feeling trapped in the familial cage that she doesn't want to leave. There's a reason why she doesn't move out of the apartment even after the cult drama is over. She's a bird caged too long that she can't take flight even if the door is open. She's not capable of leaving things behind, so she hoards everything she can (Jihyun) to herself.

MC thinking that her father "had loved her despite her selfishness" is the product of her parents' manipulation. Her belief that she's selfish if she feels negative emotions and wants anything at all is what drives her self-destruction, and ironically, her possessiveness.

With Jihyun, it's easy to make him fall into the rescuer role when the partner self-harms, so I was very mindful of depicting the discovery scene. I didn't want to romanticise it and make MC feel like if she got hurt more, she'd get more attention from him. Since this is GE Jihyun, he wouldn't default back to his old enabling methods.

I was dubious about making MC self-harm since I don't want this to be a gratuitous checklist of trigger warnings, but it makes sense for her to turn to cutting. If she has to be hurt, it might as well be by herself. Might as well be on her terms.

The nature metaphors are to show Jihyun's and MC's common interest in nature.

Are they actually in love or is it just oxytocin and loneliness? Who knows?

I felt pressured to write a romantic fic, but I haven't been able to these days so I turned to this. It brought relief somehow. This was cathartic.

I used to think I'd never write a possessive character in a non-antagonising light yet here we are. I compared this MC to the one from Wedge the Knife Under My Skin, but this one is blunter with her words and well, more possessive. She's bitter and sarcastic and resigned to her suffering. Fortunately, Jihyun is secure enough to see through her sharp defences.

The title is a twist on the locus of control concept in psychology, which is about a person's degree of belief on how much of their internal force governs their external life.

I don't know why I like to throw Jihyun into ambiguous relationships either.

Header Corner:

A quick process breakdown! Add a directional blur to the base footage > duplicate the footage, slightly shift the position and change the blur direction to get the hazy look > add a red filter overlay to fit the fic's bloody mood but retain the magenta in the background to resonate with the romance aspect > choose the appropriate angsty text and font!

-

Buy me a glass of something that's definitely not coffee because I can't stand it but it is the website's name if my story touches you in some way? No worries if you don't. I'm still grateful you've read all the way through here.

[theprismyyy]

Natalie + Superpowers

Natalie Scatorccio:

Ok, let's start with Natalie because here we are a kingdom and we all follow our majesty Scatorccio.

Given her role as a hunter, her skills with a gun, and her clear status as a "sellout" throughout the story, I can't help but imagine her as a super soldier type figure, but not a super soldier like our good old Steve Rogers, Captain America, in fact I think Natalie would be much more inclined towards something like Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier/White Wolf. I mean, you get the appeal, right? They're both outcasts to some extent in their story, lost and unsure of where exactly they fit into everything that's going on, and they're both lovers of black eyeliner ;) and yeah, that sounded a lot funnier in my head.

About your background story within this universe:

If we are talking about the MCU, she would probably have been sold by her parents, more specifically by her father, for testing with some new formulation of the super serum that was being tested on babies and later in a story that I will not develop now, she would have been saved and become Bucky's protégé, almost like a daughter.

Now if we are talking about the X-men universe for example, her story would be almost the same, still sold by her parents but the difference is that here she was born with super powers, being a mutant, and the organization she was sold to carried out experiments with these so-called mutants; in the end she would have been rescued and taken to the X-mansion, where she would meet the other girls (honestly I like this version much more)

Same Energy:

Now a little about what powers I think she would have and a brief description of them, with a small note that all the information was taken from a wiki about the Winter Soldier, with of course some modifications to make everything consistent with the character.

Superhuman Strength: Natalie's strength would be enhanced to the peak of human potential. Making her strong enough to break through a solid wall with a single punch, as well as effortlessly lift a grown man over her head with one arm and throw him, in addition, this strength extends to her legs, allowing her to jump approximately eight to ten times higher in a single bound and heights lesser yet greater than that of ordinary humans without taking any momentum.

Superhuman Speed: She would be able to run and move at speeds faster than any Olympic-class runner, allowing her to run at speeds of 51.5-57 km/h.

Superhuman Stamina: Natalie's musculature would produce considerably less fatigue toxins, allowing her to physically exert herself for several hours before showing any signs of fatigue or tiredness. She can also hold her breath underwater for long periods of time.

Superhuman Agility: Scatorccio's balance, coordination, dexterity, and flexibility are enhanced to levels that are beyond the physical limits of any Olympic gold medalist. Making her capable of leaping long distances from one building to another without difficulty, as well as easily juggling multiple opponents in a fight.

Enhanced Durability: Natalie's body is much tougher and more resistant to physical injury than that of an ordinary human. She would be able to withstand very strong blows from superhuman enemies, as well as withstand electrocution, gunshots, and puncture wounds, as well as falls from great heights, with little to no injury.

Enhanced Reflexes: Natalie's reflexes would be equally enhanced, rivaling those of Captain America, Spider-Man, Wolverine, and other characters from the stories. Her reaction speed is superhumanly fast, which makes it possible for her to easily dodge multiple point-blank shots simultaneously.

Regenerative Healing: Scatorccio's healing rate is much faster than that of a normal human. She is able to heal from broken bones, torn muscles, gunshots, stab wounds, and many other injuries within days. Most minor injuries -- such as cuts, bruises, scrapes, or burns -- heal within a few hours. It is worth noting, however, that her healing would not extend to the level of Deadpool's, for example.

@jellyb3annn I don't know, I thought you might be interested (let me know if you'd prefer me to remove your appointment)

© 2024 theprismyyy — please do not copy, translate or repost any of my works without my permission.

[daydream-cement]

last one is larissa x teacher!reader, angst based on that one scene in episode 8 but larissa unalives in r arms confessing her love before kicking the bucket so to speak then r saying “i love you too” in to the air no one being the recipient for the words, then she absolutely demolishes thornhill for killing the love of her life, going in to rage mode and getting her revenge idk maybe readers a vampire, write whatever you’re comfortable with, i hate angst but once again, saw a tiktok and now i need the torture hehe

I Always Loved You

Larissa Weems x reader

Authors Note: I'm sorry to the Marilyn stans for this one. Also, sorry for it being a little short. I'm not too great with very graphic violence.

Warnings: Character death and descriptions of violence.

You rushed into the main classroom of the conservatory and saw the room empty other than Larissa Weems laying on the floor. You rushed to her side, pulling her head into your lap, "Oh, Larissa. What happened?"

She was foaming at the mouth and struggling to speak, "Y/n... You're here..."

"Who- Who did this?" You pulled down a sleeve and wiped away the spit. You could feel the hot tears running down your face already, you knew she would be dead soon. You both had spent so much time together the past few years becoming thick as thieves. Truthfully, you were madly in love with her, but being her friend was such a source of joy for you that you would have never jeopardized that.

"Marilyn..." You could see the tears running down her cheeks as she spoke her final words, "I-I always loved you..."

"I love you, Larissa. I always have. Now stay with me..." Larissa was gone and she couldn't hear your omission, "No. Larissa, please. I love you. I love you..."

Rage welled inside of you. You always wished for this day to come when you could admit your feelings and now it was ripped from you.

Marilyn.

You needed to find her and she needed to pay for stealing Larissa from you. She needed to pay for stealing your future.

-----

You found her in the quad that had been lit ablaze. Wednesday Addams standing over her, Eugene and Bianca standing off to the side. You sent them to join the other students. You would take care of her.

Once the students were out of sight. You kicked her once and then twice, making sure they were square in the abdomen. While she was doubled over you walked and picked up the abandoned rapier, testing the weight in your hands.

When you approached her again, you leaned her up against the over turned picnic table. As she lay semi-slumped over, you stared at her for a moment that she had the strength to look up at you.

"Is that all you've got?" Marilyn spat as she finally starred up at you. You hadn't even given her the chance to think when you drove the sword into her with alarming strength. The sword cut through her body and drove through the wood on the other side of her.

"That was for Larissa. You will be dead in a few minutes." You were the anatomy professor at Nevermore and you were a vampire. The two put together gave you a vast knowledge of the circulatory system and where major arteries lay. You had punctured her iliac artery that lay in her abdomen.

You watched her bleed out before you, growing far too weak for words, but you kept talking, "She was my best friend and the love of my life and you took her from me. You are lucky that I'm not one for violence."

With that you finally watched the light leave her eyes. You left her there to be someone else's mess to clean up. You were going back to Larissa so you could tell her what you did.

[grimm-pantera]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀. ⠀ ⠀. ⠀ ⠀.⠀ ⠀

Tread your fingers across my map, the canvas a rocky path that neither leads nor ends any which way. The jagged lines were not predetermined, but if you look at them often you’ll know every curvature in a matter of time. It’s an incomplete line, placed over like a door barely left creaked open only instead of allowing in light for comfort it sheds dark parchment like the void into the soul.

It’s the reminder of fragility, the ease on how one could be broken and split if he allows himself to be shattered. He allowed himself to break for the sake of stories, each one forever intentionally left unhealed so he couldn’t let go of his dues. In harsher and deeper views, was the punishment of self infliction necessary. Sometimes when he viewed them or hesitated to touch, he didn’t even witness what he intended to see by stubbornly owning the scars. He shocked himself upon seeing self-punishment of weakness, loathing for losing battles, repeats of reckless nature that would drive the blade into him eventually when the narratives of his destruction would end.

A topography of pain remained. There was no award for the turbulent nature, not even digging in nails to puncture into the darkness relieved those unwanted sights. The body was merely the weapon, a vessel of strength to endlessly crave exalted feeling that would never be satisfied.

Give and allow scars, the wounds were better than any words uttered. Never clean the blade to add up the stains on top of one another. Alive and numb, glorify harmony of harm. Whisper secrets without moving your lips. Red and angry they persist. Admire the resilience of life, by testing its skin.

[ansbobcar]

EP 14. Can't it just be a fight?

WORD COUNT. 1214

Link to overview

_ _ _ _ _

Why did they fight?

It was simple really.

The baseless whispers about the Blood Cane’s strength got on his nerves. “Don’t you think he’s weaker than her?” They uttered with each comparison they do as he looked over their paperwork before attending another meeting. Snickers popped open in the halls, “But Ms. Ontarin’s got more experience doesn’t she?”

Blood and Sand don’t mix well. Neither does a beloved and a despised person. It was bound to happen at some point. Typically, they held a duel between two Divine Visionaries in order to instil pride and courage amongst the staff at the Bureau yearly. So practically, just a year ago, he walked up to the blonde who had worn in a long skirt that day and uttered:

“My employees seem to think you can beat me but we’ve never fought before. I’d like to see if their words hold merit.”

He was practically burning his gaze into her line of sight and everyone in the area saw the interaction. She accepted without any more reluctance.

You’d be surprised at how fast word spread through the buildings about their duel to the point that Ryoh Grantz, the strongest of the Divine Visionaries acted as referee. Standing in the plain field courtyard barely a 10 minute walk from the building, the two stood metres away from each other.

“What’s the worst you’d want to happen to you?” she asked him. 

“Preferably not death,” he replied, his hand holding onto his wand.

“What a vague answer.”

The rules were simple: first person to get knocked out, get out of the line, or surrender loses. Physical violence is banned since this was to evaluate who was the better magic user. That’s how these duels worked. And nobody had managed to champion over the Light Cane yet.

“3… 2… 1… Start!”

Immediately, sand bound her feet down while she attempted to freeze him in place by reducing his blood circulation. But they both broke out of each other’s grasps, with a kick of body fortification as they closed the distance between them. But they can’t beat the crap out of each other you know? So what’s the point of doing it?

Well for Rinka it’s obvious, the whole crowd thought. Get close and bind him with blood but that needed her to be an arm’s length away from him. Of course, he wouldn’t allow such a thing as he continuously morphed the sand beneath their feat whilst he sent more projectiles towards her. The Desert Cane does as much as possible to screw over her line of sight but she’s quick on her feet. Quicker than he expected.

Closer than expected too, as he threw a stream of sand towards her eyes, which then mixed in with her own blood and splattered onto the ground. “You’re going to have to try harder than that,” she told him, warmth coiled around his neck only to be destroyed by mere sand particles. In it’s wake, he travelled further from her grasp.

It was the thrill that probably got to his head but he was slowly struggling to breathe. Taking more frequent and sometimes deeper breathes with each spell he chanted, parrying her attempts to lessen the gap between them.

“You slowed down his circulation from earlier? Is that why you kept trying to get closer instead of just offing him?”

“He just didn’t want to be dead, so I stayed true to his words.”

Since they had similar styles of application, it became an endurance test. What she received was akin to mere papercuts after all.

Without hesitation, she punctured his spectacles. His thick, highly powered spectacles. His biggest weakness not only as an opponent but as a person living day to day. He was partially blind in one eye, she hawked instinctively.

“Okay,” he breathed in sharply; “That does it.”

Instantly, he raised her onto a platform metres above and readied multiple projectiles towards her without another word. Who the hell destroyed someone’s glasses over something like this? But what he didn’t expect was her stubbornness as she dove down, eyes glued towards him. For the spectators, the way a maniacal grin etched itself as she readied her counter put them on edge. That wasn’t the Rinka Ontarin they knew.

Orter’s vision lost it’s depth and focus more frequently as the crisp tear of fabric was heard and his cheek, grazed with the sickly needle. Whilst the onlookers gasped at the sight, he clutched onto his shirt. The overbearing heaviness that heaved from his ribcage became more unbearable than he’d expected. ‘Quite sly…’

“Let’s just end this,” he gritted, summoning a tsunami worth of sand to haul towards her direction in hopes of getting her out of bounds. Her blood supply is limited, there’s no way she could afford to lose more blood than she already had.

“Didn’t Ryoh say you two took it too far?” Sophina recounted their battered appearance as Ryoh cast a light shield around the boundaries and themselves. With Rinka’s dark shirt dyed with a rustic hue, and Orter collapsed unconscious before controlling the last wave.

There was no reason for it to be like that. The bloody woman also tore her skirt! With holes that showed fingers worth of equally bleeding skin. “It was the best outcome I could’ve wanted, honestly,” she replied, her hands lifted at different heights. “The lack of a winner would mean that he’d be viewed more seriously,” levelling them next to each other, “and the comparisons made between us would stop. And they did. I can’t have someone who took over be in my shadow.”

"You went that far to make the atmosphere more bearable?” Her fuschia-coloured eyes narrowed. “I can't tell if your dedication is amazing or if your crush on him was too intense or if you guys are just plain stupid."

With a sigh as she leaned back, she took out some mini pretzels from the cabinets with her wand. “Either way, I thought he hated you?”

“You did?” She arched her brow at the hopeless reader. “He did?”

“Wasn’t it obvious enough?” She shook her head. “You really are lovestruck. What the hell is your type even if you’ve rejected every other guy out there?”

“Not as complicated as yours that’s for sureaCHK--”

_ _ _

“You want to go watch Easton’s Divine Visionary Candidate Exam?”

He didn’t bring that up in their recent meeting, confused by the sudden proposition. “Why?”

“He’s qualified to compete.” Right, she remembered. Orter had a younger brother who was practically estranged from him. They’d met for some tea about 2 months ago while he was taking an internship.

She didn’t take him to be that interested in his own family. No, it was probably that girl’s meddling that made him more conscious of it. “Putting effort to reconnect?” Curious to his thought process. He hummed. Matte gold eyes awaited for her answer with his lips drawn thin.

‘Was he… sulking?’

“Just answer the question.”

“There shouldn’t be any issues since you were planning to stay here right?” Awkwardly executing her question with some gestures. He hummed again. “Just make sure to tell Kaldo that you’re replacing me, okay?”

“Can’t I just follow along?”

“No.”

‘Now he’s actually sulking.’

_ _ _ _ _

Y'all are getting some wirth content next chapter! He's prolly OOC as hell!!!!

In another universe I would probably ship myself with Sophina Biblia lol. I do think she has ridiculous tastes. I'm reminded of those 2 j-dramas I watched and never 100% finished (Mr. Bride and Encyclopedia of Hopeless Love).

I wanted to write Pacific Rim flirting fight but it didn't 100% work out that way. But I guarantee that if it incorporated physical hits and moves, Orter would have a better advantage and be more likely to win.

Short edit like 2 weeks before it's published: I forgot that Orter doesn't refer to Wirth by name.

[springfallendeer]

Clinging to the Pleasure (Sun x F!Reader)

Takes place in the Subnautica AU! This is what won the last poll I had for what sort of smut I should write.

Features oral, overstimulation, hand in anus, excessive cum, and other fun stuffs.

@pulsarsatellite because you so sweetly requested that I tag you in Subnautica stuff.

Large, clawed hands wrap around your legs as you attempt to climb back into your shelter. You lock your fingers around the thin metal rails that were used to allow for easy entry, preventing your body from being dragged back into the water. The small, underwater pod jolts and rocks from the sheer force of being seized. A soft curse rolls past your lips as you lazily kick your legs in the water.

This isn’t an entirely new scenario for you. The alien creature that has taken hold of you is not an enemy. Nor are they a threat. At least not to you. Quite the opposite.

The creature currently clinging to your legs is quite friendly. Generally speaking, they’re also quite helpful. They’ve been helpful since day one.

You don’t know why, but they took a liking to you as soon as they encountered you.

The strange alien merman began to follow you around and pine for your attention almost immediately. They studied your every action and began to mirror your behavior. Your alliance began quickly as a result.

Though communication has been difficult due to language barriers, their intelligence shines through. They have been an essential ally when it comes to finding food, fighting off predators, and collecting supplies.

Their presence also fends off the loneliness that comes with being isolated on an alien world. Which is both a blessing and a curse.

They’re a very social creature. Since having arrived here, you’ve learned a lot about their race through observation. Generally they travel in large groups.

Not this one. You’ve only ever seen this one socializing with one other individual of their kind. A blue one with a white patch on their face. One of the variants that prefers to linger in deep water.

You call that one Moon, because the white patch on his face resembles a crescent moon.

The one currently grabbing you is nicknamed Sun as a result. Named for their bright, sunny colors and playful personality. A little ball of sunshine.

A ball of sunshine that gets very, very lonely whenever Moon has to leave.

The blue one prefers to hunt alone. They swim off to some dark space to collect food. Sometimes they’re gone for half a day.

Sun has taken to using you for company whenever Moon leaves. Which has led to him developing a bit of an annoying habit.

That habit being trying to drag you back out of your shelter whenever you make a move to climb into it.

That’s why you didn’t initially panic when you felt his hands wrap around your legs. This highly intelligent, orca sized, alien predator isn’t trying to hurt you. They’re just lonely and in a clingy mood.

For as large as they are, they’re surprisingly gentle. Surprisingly aware of their own strength. So you know you’re not in danger when the tug on your legs.

Not so much when you feel their mouth testing the limits of your suit.

You jolt, rightly so, when you first feel it. The pressure of their mouth wrapping around a chunk of your leg.

Not to bite you. Not yet at least. You feel them use their teeth to hook the fabric of your wet suit and tug.

The only thing preventing you from kicking is the knowledge that their teeth could very easily puncture your flesh. So you fall still in their grip as you feel them nibbling at you.

Despite it being obvious that they aren’t trying to hurt you, you’re terrified. You’re terrified because this powerful creature with jaws that can break through bone is nipping at your legs.

They’ve got their arms around you to prevent you from escaping their curious mouthing.

The medical sensors in your suit sound off an alert in response to your spike in heart rate. Then a low oxygen warning hits you a short while after.

Without realizing it, you were holding your breath. You let out that shaky breath as you feel their mouth move to your inner thigh. You have no idea what they’re trying to do.

You have no idea why they’re doing this. All you can do is keep a firm grip on the railing and hope that the movements of their mouth aren’t the warning signs of malicious intent.

They’re not biting. Its more like they’re feeling you out with their teeth. There is a difference, but a very slight one.

You feel your legs spread as Sun moves his head between them.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel his mouth against your groan. You can’t help the startled jolt that rolls through you in response.

His teeth very lightly press into the fabric covering your genitals. You try to steady your breathing, but your breath hitches again at the next unexpected sensation. You felt a peculiar pressure against your crotch. The wet suit might prevent the bulk of the contact, but you know exactly what it was. That was his tongue.

A confused gasp escapes you as you feel it again. Then again. And again. You realize that he’s stroking your genital region with his tongue.

Any suspicion that this might be purely innocent behavior sank to the bottom of the sea when you felt his tongue start to press down. He was pressing his tongue against you in a way that implied that he was looking for something.

A hole, to be specific.

Your face flushes and you bite your lip, unable to prevent the natural reaction of your body. Heat pools between your legs as the realization sinks in.

The faint stimulation of his tongue rubbing against your clothed vulva does well enough at triggering a subdued arousal.

He’s being so gentle with you. The constant back and forth movements of his tongue sent pleasant tingles running through you. It doesn’t take long for you to become aware of the wetness pooling against the cloth.

A repressed moan escapes you as he gradually begins to apply more force with his tongue.

You can feel it. He feels out where the hole he’s looking for is and he focuses the tip of his tongue on that spot.

Its as if he’s trying to break through the confines of your wet suit using only his tongue.

His persistence only adds to your growing arousal. But the lack of direct stimulation only adds to your frustration. Until now, you hadn’t been aware of how pent up you were. You had been so focused on survival that you had failed to take the time to relieve this biological urge.

Before long, you can’t help but want him to tear a hole in your wet suit.

The need for an orgasm is there and he’ll drive you mad if all he does is grind against you through the cloth. Without meaning too, you begin to rock your hips against his tongue. In doing so you unwittingly tell him that you want more. You give him permission to touch you directly, if only by absently riding on his tongue.

He pulls his mouth away briefly, coaxing a disappointed whine from your lips. But he proceeds to tear at the fabric of your wet suit using surgical precision. His teeth hook into the cloth on your inner thigh. With one swift motion, he tears the fabric away, exposing your vulva to the lukewarm water in the process. He does this without doing so much as nicking your skin with his teeth. An impressive feat, all things considered.

You tremble at the feel of the water hitting your heated skin. You tremble more as his tongue returns to finally meets your flesh. His tongue is a bit rough, but in a pleasant way. Covered in large, soft papillae that create extra friction against your skin as he laps at you.

With the cloth gone, his tongue is finally free to invade your vulva. So it does just that. You gasp as his tongue slides inside of you.

This is when you realize how long his tongue actually is. You feel him press the tip of it against your cervix as he laps at your insides. He stimulates your clitoris with every movement of the long, wet muscle.

In and out. Twisting and grinding. He’s mindful not to accidentally graze you with his teeth as your body settles against his mouth.

He uses a combination of his lips and tongue to create a faint suction, which only adds to your stimulation. It doesn’t take him long to work you to an orgasm. But the taste of your orgasm is either lost to the sea, or it only invigorates his desire to lap at you. Because he doesn’t stop moving his tongue.

This results in a series of pathetic whines escaping you as the stimulation begins to feel more intense. The pleasure from your recent orgasm has only made you more sensitive. Tears well in your eyes and roll down your cheeks as the lines between agony and euphoria become hopelessly blurred. You aren’t sure if you want him to stop or if you’re desperate for him to continue.

All you can do is rock your hips desperately against his mouth as he coaxes you to another orgasm.

Your voice cracks from the pitch of your whine. Your body trembles and you nearly lose your grip on the railing. You shamelessly rock against his tongue as he still refuses to give you a break.

Heavens, he is relentless in his drive to lap at you. The soft papillae on his tongue continuously grind against your clitoris, which has grown engorged from the mixture of arousal and abuse.

Those same papillae stimulate your vaginal cavern as he continuously thrusts his tongue in and out of your trembling body.

With you so overstimulated and sensitive, it takes next to nothing for him to make you orgasm again. This time you can’t even make a noise as you attempt to moan.

You’re panting. Practically sobbing from the unrelenting pleasure as you climax against his still unrelenting tongue.

You can’t. It’s too much. Your grip on the railing relaxes as you nearly faint from the continuous assault of pleasure. In an instant your body is submerged entirely in the water.

Luckily, Sun understands that you cannot breathe underwater without your helmet on. He quickly removes his tongue and shifts beneath you so that he can use his tail to support you. He wraps his arms around the outside of your shelter. With one swift movement, he pushes you back up into your shelter.

He does this all so quickly that you’re pushed back into the air bubble before you can accidentally swallow water.

Still, you’re left gasping for air as you kneel on his body. With the stimulation finally gone, you’re left trembling. The sea water masks the tears rolling down your cheeks as you cough faintly from the sting in your throat.

It takes you a minute or so to come back down from your high. Sun remains beneath you, supporting your exhausted frame with his tail as you recover from his relentless assault on your vulva.

You only realize that you’re actually sitting on his pelvis when you become aware of his arousal brushing up against your back. Your already flushed cheeks somehow burn hotter as you take notice of his erection. You shift so that you can turn to face his impressive masculinity.

Given that he has to keep hold of your shelter to keep your weight from shoving him back down into the water, you don’t suspect that he’s intentionally offering you an invitation. But given your lingering arousal and his obvious interest, you can’t help but take this display as an invitation. He’ll pull away from you if he doesn’t want to be touched.

Tentatively you wrap your hand around him. He jolts in response, rattling your shelter in the process. But he doesn’t pull away. You take that as permission to continue.

As such, you begin to work your hand.

He’s a bit thick, but not so thick that you can’t wrap your fingers around him. He’s just incredibly long. As in a few feet long.

You wind up having to wrap your other hand around him in order to better stimulate his length. Its incredibly slick. Your hands glide across him without issue. You hear him making all manner of sweet noises in the water as you massage his pretty pink prick.

You aren’t all that surprised when he begins to wrap his willy around your arm. You would expect such an impressive phallus to be prehensile.

With him gripping you with the upper half of his masculinity, you move your hands lower to stimulate him. Based upon the sounds he’s making, he enjoys it.

You stroke him with one hand while teasing his cloaca with the other. Your fingers tease the meaty flesh around his opening, coaxing the lips further apart so that you can better see what you have to work with.

You can’t help but stare at his anatomy as you work your hands against him. The rosy hue of his flesh is so pretty. A soft smile tugs at your lips as you find his anus.

Seeing as he insisted on overstimulating you, you can’t help but want to return the favor. You start with a finger to test the waters. He releases a loud trill in response as he ruts against your shelter with his tail. You take that as a sign of approval and slip in another finger. Again he trills.

You focus your hands around the flesh nearest his cloaca, allowing him to stimulate the rest of his shaft himself as he coils it around your arm.

You slowly work your hand into his anus. With his larger size, you aren’t really worried about hurting him. The hole should stretch just fine. But you are putting your hand in a delicate part of his anatomy, so you make sure not to rush.

Sun effectively sings his pleasure to you as you caress him, inside and out. His muscles clench lightly around you as he approaches orgasm. He squeezes your hand with his arse and he constricts your arm with his phallus as he reaches his peak.

He makes a mess of your body with just a single orgasm. A literal gallon of ejaculate spurts all over you, if not more. And it takes him a long time for him to empty himself of his seed. You find yourself continuing to stimulate him with your fingers as he rides out his two minute orgasm.

Hot and thick and messy. His ejaculate forms a puddle of white beneath your body as it spills out of him in strong, drawn out spurts. By the time he’s done, your literally left kneeling in a puddle of his spunk.

You pull your hand out of him once his muscles relax. You’re all wet and sticky from reaching inside of him.

Despite his recent ejaculation, he doesn’t let go of your arm. He resumes squeezing you with his phallus, letting out desperate little clicks as he starts to rut against your shelter.

You bite your lip as you wrap your head around the context of his behavior. He’s not satisfied with just the feel of your hands. He wants to mate with you. Though his length makes you a bit nervous, there’s no denying that you’re curious. After having felt the pleasure of his tongue, and after having seen his impressive output, you can’t help but want to test the limits of your anatomy.

Carefully, you lean back. You rest your head against the edge of the entrance, lifting and spreading your legs as you try to get comfortable on top of him.

With him wrapped around your arm, its a bit difficult to coax him into you. But as you guide the head of his masculinity to your slick, well prepped vulva, he gets the hint. He quickly uncoils himself from around your arm and settles the tip of his shaft in the palm of your hand to let you guide him.

He follows the warmth of your skin as you usher him between your legs. You take a deep breath as he finally nudges against your vulva.

He shoves himself inside without a second thought, coaxing a strangled gasp out of you. It didn’t hurt, thankfully. But the speed at which he forced himself into you definitely knocked the air out of your lungs.

You have to use your hand to prevent him from trying to shove more of his length into your body than you could handle. As bold as you are, you understand specific limitations of your body. Less than half of his length can actually be ushered inside of you.

Not that he seems to mind. Once he gets a feel of how deep he’s able to go, he doesn’t try to force himself in past those limits.

So you lie back and let him rut against you.

Your shelter rocks ever so slightly as he clenches his pelvis muscles to thrust his phallus in and out of your waiting vulva. Thanks to his slick shape, he slides in and out without issue, allowing you to just relax as the pleasure courses through your body.

You let go of his shaft once you realize that he isn’t trying to test the durability of your insides. You bring that hand to your pelvis, where you begin to lazily thumb your clitoris in time with his thrusts.

He stretches you out so nicely. He slides himself inside of you in smooth, quick motions. But he never uses enough force to risk harming you.

You let your voice get away from you as you listen to his voice in turn. He sings his song of pleasure in a series of trills and clicks. You moan, encouraging him to work both of you to completion with words he doesn’t understand.

This is a stark contrast to the relentless pleasure that he had subjected you to through the use of his tongue. He’s slow and steady with you now, allowing the bliss to wash over you like waves upon the sand. You control the extra spikes of pleasure with every flick of your fingers against your clitoris. Mating with him is passionate and pleasant.

The only thing you foolishly failed to take into account was his well established output as he climaxes inside of you. He continues to thrust even as he floods your body with his seed.

You maintain steady stimulation of your clitoris as your abdomen bulges faintly from the volume of his climax. As the pressure builds inside of you, you watch his seed spray out of you in short streams with every movement of his shaft.

For the next two minutes, you mindlessly endure his orgasm. For the next two minutes, its as if you two nothing but orgasm. The tension in your abdomen, the pleasure of his thrusts, and the movements of your fingers all work in unison to trap you at the peak of pleasure.

Tears resume rolling down your face as you willingly subject yourself to this overstimulation. All the while you pant and moan his name as he makes an absolute mess of your body.

He reluctantly slides himself out of you once his orgasm ends. Though he obviously wants to continue, he also needs to rest.

His half erect masculinity flops and sags against your thigh as he too catches his breath. The remainder of his trapped seed pours out of you onto his abdomen. You watch your stomach return to its usual shape as the excess fluid is forced out by your clenching muscles.

Thoroughly exhausted, you remain on top of him. He continues to cling to the outside of your shelter, releasing a series of pleased trills as he comes down from his high.

You don’t know what came over him to make him come onto you so strongly, but whatever it was, you hope it happens again soon.

[operation-priority]

Tankiste Operating Inside the Tank

This is an impression of a French tank crewman operating inside their tank. One may see this uniform on tankiste when in their vehicles during battle. The iconic leather 'Veste en Cuir' can be seen, similar to the coats worn by the Paris Fire Brigade. These coats were mainly issued to motorists and tank crews, however its fire-resistant qualities meant that flamethrower troops also wore them into battle. Many variants of this coat exist and the model shown here is a standard double-breasted version with a leather collar and left breast pocket. Other more common examples would feature a felt collar. The black coat was worn over the light blue tunic as its color masks the constant bombardment of vehicle oil and grease the tankiste would attract when operating inside their vehicle. Burn resistant gloves can be worn as well, mainly used to handle hot extracted shells from the tank's guns.

What is truly unique to the tankiste uniform of the Great War is the tank crew splatter mask, seen looped around the neck and worn. When bullets and other projectiles impacted the outside of the tank, the shock of these objects would sometimes cause the armor to spall on the inside. Flakes of armor would fly off inside the tank and depending on the impact strength and size of the spall, could cause irritation, wounds, or even death to the crew. By far the number one leading cause of injury in the tanks was head injuries. Because of this, the British would design a splatter mask that protected the wearer from medium to small sized armor spalling and burns. The masks consists of a steel faceplate perforated with horizontal slits with a nosepiece and chain mail covering the lower face. The faceplate is covered by brown leather on the outside and chamois leather on the inside. The mask is fastened to the face using four canvas ribbons.

The AS would obtain the masks through American officers who had trained with the British tankers and 1,840 masks would be first issued to crews of the Schneider CA and Saint-Chamond tanks in May 1918. The first three light tank companies’ part of 501e RAS named AS 301, AS 302, and AS 303 would also be entrusted to test the splatter mask in real battle conditions in late 1918. While the mask was effective in protecting the crew's face from spalling, many would opt to not wear it in order to maintain unobstructed visibility when inside the tank. This is an original example which I am incredibly happy to have as they are quite rare nowadays.

Another unique piece of kit for the tankiste was their Adrian helmets - or more specifically the modifications the tankiste would perform to them. As the Artillerie Spéciale was considered to be part of the regular artillery, the tankiste were issued standard Casque Adrian Modèle 1915 with the artillery badge of a flaming bomb over two crossed cannons. The front brim of the standard Adrian helmet did not allow the tankiste to get decent visibility through the 5 mm wide vision slits on the tank, so the tankiste would cut off the front brim to allow for closer viewing. Some modified helmets would have makeshift padding of either cloth or leather on the front of them. Others just folded over a few millimeters of the brim so the sharp edge of the cut was not exposed. The modifications would begin to be seen in late 1917 and was widespread among the crews by late 1918. It would spread naturally through the tankiste in the field and by the time that Generals had taken note of the unauthorized modifications, they would have already seen the combat improvements this modification would give the crews and allowed for it to be done. This helmet features the second model liner with six teeth and four corrugated aluminum spacers which reduce helmet wobble. The leather helmet liner was fixed onto the Adrian helmet through the use of two spikes on each side which puncture the scrap wool outer panel on the liner and are then folded over to secure the liner to the helmet.

Also pictured is a pair of civilian racing binoculars. It was up to the tank commander on whether they wanted to purchase a pair of binoculars for use in the tank. There were several options available at the time, both within military bazaars and within the civilian realm. Soldiers equipped with basic civilian binoculars was not an uncommon sight.

We also see the use of a flare pistol, specifically a Pistolet Géant pattern flare pistol designed by Manufrance before the war. As a tankiste within the Artillerie Spéciale, a flare pistol such as this would be used to signal supporting friendly artillery to lay down smoke shells to mask the tank's movement during attack. Each tank was, in theory, provided a flare pistol for this purpose. Smoke was important for masking the movement of the tanks during the attack because the tanks main threat apart from mines was accurate German artillery fire. There were several methods the AS would use to prevent German guns from being able to engage the tanks such as having an aircraft that would accompany the advance of the tanks. This aircraft was mainly tasked with directing counter-battery fire on enemy artillery. A further six fighter aircraft would be attached to protect this plane from responding enemy aircraft.