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shadowed-vigil · 3 days

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day 17: sally

noun: a sudden charge out of a besieged place against the enemy; a brief journey or sudden start into activity. characters: warrior of light, grinnaux de dzemael word count: 1926 notes/WARNINGS: noncon/consensual nonconsent if you SQUINT. set during the vault, au/not canonical for my wol

It starts with a chain cinched around her ankle.

It shouldn’t start with anything. She’s better than this, she’s evaded worse. It’s just —

She’s fast, but gods, she’s tired. It hasn’t exactly been an easy day; conspiratory whispers in a cleared out bar tumbling into an abrupt interruption, the sheer whiplash of watching a man launched from the top of the stairs at the Knight; the immediate understanding and sense of dread that had accompanied Ser Charibert’s face as he leered over the banister, clearly pleased with his work and eager for more.

(At least she’d beaten the tar out of him before he’d fled. She had that much to her name, thank the gods.)

But there was an implication with his attack in the first place; as good as a declaration of war, the walls closing in around her and hers. The confirmation as Lucia relayed the news that the Temple Knights were compromised, that they’d been seized by —

“This isn’t right,” she’d whispered to Haurchefant, wringing her hands. “I know he’s — well, I know, but —”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he’d soothed, ever an anchor amidst the storm. He smiled at her and gently squeezed her hand. “One way or another.” ———

She had no way to know for sure what was waiting for her in the Vault. She had her suspicions to be sure — knew there was a fight to be had, that they wouldn’t make it easy for her.

Adelphel wasn’t exactly who she’d been expecting — not so quick, not so soon. She’d assumed that maybe he was just naive enough to go along with whatever greater plot was at play rather than ask questions. He’s the youngest of them, after all.

She ignores that they’re the same age as she makes the argument in her head, had drawn her weapon all the same. It isn’t like he’d been interested in talking.

Grinnaux, however, has never learned how to shut his mouth.

She’s exhausted by the time she stumbles her way to Chapter House, bloodied and spent and —

“Alone?” he mocks, almost instantly.

It hurts — wounds her to her core to see him so smug, so willfully mean. She bites her lip to keep it from wobbling. She thought seeing her would hurt him, too.

(Maybe it did. Maybe, in his way —)

“No,” she bites back — lies, poorly. “Reinforcements are on their way. It won’t be long.”

She catches his answering smile, the sneer.

Still, he indulges her; says, dreadfully soft, already mid-transformation, “Then let’s make this quick.” ———

So it starts with the chain.

Better than the gravity manipulation, she supposes — because he might play dirty but he affords her that much to start, the illusion of opportunity, like it doesn’t still paralyze her as he yanks her towards him. She supposes she deserves it for loosing an arrow directly at his head.

(Well — sort of. Because she’d pulled her shot, hope still stirring traitorously in her chest.)

Furious tears spring to her eyes as she tries to will her limbs to move but can’t, pulse leaping fearfully as she catches the adjustment of his grip on Stampede. Confusion, when he doesn’t just swing at her outright, when he doesn’t hit her when he has her where he wants her.

Like he’s toying with her. Prolonging the inevitable.

The unwanted…?

(Oh, some part of her chides, the whispers of some yet unknown shadow in the recesses of her mind. Perhaps you really are a fool.)

The paralysis doesn’t last long. The moment she feels her fingers twitch, she flings an arm back, reaching wildly for an arrow.

He even lets her shoot it.

How benevolent.

It finds purchase past the chainmail beneath his pauldron, breaking past the armor to sink in. It doesn’t seem to phase him in a way that matters, a brief pause as he glances down — and then he just reaches for it to rip it free, lazily snapping the fletching between thumb and forefinger.

“That one was poisoned,” she warns, already reaching for another.

His answering chuckle comes out cruel, augmented by the aetherial distortion.

“Is that so?” The first chain tightens, the slip of another snaking up around her other ankle, her wrist. She lifts her bow and he knocks it aside like it’s nothing, grabbing her wrist so tightly she wonders if he means to break it. “Think it’ll matter?” ———

It doesn’t.

She’s quick, she’s strong — she is capable, she’s dealt with worse, she —

Hits the ground so hard it forces the air from her lungs.

Her vision blurs as she chokes, palms pressed fast and hard against the floor — flexing into claws as she scrambles blindly, heart leaping in her throat when she feels a large, large hand settle against her back, crushing her back down.

“Don’t,” she croaks, clawing the floor, trying to remember how to breathe properly so that she can scream, “don’t, please, this isn’t fair, this —”

“No,” he murmurs, “I suppose it isn’t.”

She writhes and kicks in protest, gasping — still blinking splotches from her vision as she stares bleakly up, the sunlight blinding as it spills through the courtyard windows. Beyond the bloodrush in her ears and his labored breath, she can still make out the faint babble of the fountains, the distant birdsong drifting in from the gardens.

They’d walked there, together, just the other day. He’d taken her hand and kissed it, his mouth fever warm against her knuckles, watching with amusement as she’d blushed furiously.

He’d given her something to be properly scandalized over once he was certain that they were alone, taking her jaw in hand and kissing her, full and deep and proper, leaving her dazed and breathless in the aftermath.

She wonders if he’s certain that they’re alone now. He must be, his other hand sliding with promise down the curve of her waist, the sharp backs of his gauntleted fingers snagging her skirts, tearing and ripping as he goes.

“Grinnaux,” she begs, keening fearfully — can’t even kick her feet anymore, the way the chains hold her fast, “don’t, please, we can’t, you can’t —”

He laughs like she’s said something funny, tugging her shorts down to her knees, rucking up the tattered remnants of her skirts. She hears the shift of armor, the hollow clatter as pieces hit the floor; feels the sharp nudge of his knee as he forces her legs further apart, spreading her wide. This can’t be happening. He can’t, he can’t —

She goes very still as he settles over her fully, as she feels something dreadfully large press up against her, prodding crudely at her as he seeks out that slick, wet heat between her legs.

“That’s — impossible,” she sputters, voice cracking, panicking. “It won’t fit.”

“Yeah?” He grunts low, pins her down all the more mean. “I’ll make it fit.”

Oh gods, she wishes the floor would swallow her whole. “No,” she tries, “no, you won’t, it won’t —”

His palm covers her drooling mouth, smothering the useless protest. She writhes in his grip, feels the hard length of him slide against her cunt, teasing, coating himself in her slick. It shouldn’t feel good. She shouldn’t want, doesn’t want —

His breath fans warm over her neck, lips brushing her temple. “Will you scream, if I let you? Have the others come running — let them watch? They certainly won’t help.”

Her snarl ends up muffled against his palm, trying desperately to bite down, anything to fight back — like there isn’t an awful, rotten warmth settling low in her stomach, like she isn’t shamefully wet. He adjusts again, cockhead sliding more insistently through her folds — a shift of his hips to notch the tip in.

Her entire body jerks on reflex, straining desperately against her bonds, against him. She claws at the air, teeth sinking into the thick leather of his glove, utterly useless — still somehow enough to have him dislodge his hand as she immediately babbles, words slurring together, “Stop, stop — please, it hurts, it’s too much, it —”

Miraculously, he does stop. She nearly sobs with relief as he relents, blissfully sliding free from her cunt, leaving her to slump beneath him as she gasps for breath. Perhaps he was still in there, after all; he was still him, he still —

And then he is him, again, truly — as she feels the abrupt shift behind her, a swirl of aether that leaves him as himself, truly, no distortion to his voice. No longer a primal, but a man. Still large, still heavy, as he keeps her flush between him and the floor. She shivers, his lips warm and soft and achingly familiar as they graze her temple.

He shifts again, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. “Only because you begged.”

His hips slam forward and she finally, at last, screams.

It’s too much, still — always a stretch with him, always an effort to work his cock fully into her snug little cunt. No effort spared at all, this time, as he just fucks into her roughly, seats himself down to the hilt as she bursts into furious tears, thrashing blindly, begging for him to stop, stop —

“When you’re this wet?” he laughs, breathless and snarling and so impossibly mean. “Little liar. Say it like you mean it.”

She tries. She tries and tries, pleading and sobbing, shuddering so violently she fears she might break with the effort if he doesn’t somehow break her first. All her blind thrashing is for nothing, his aetherial chains holding her fast, his body weight still more than enough to keep her pinned firmly to the floor — as it settles in, all at once, that she is truly helpless.

Her cunt tightens over him, clenching so hard she feels miserable.

His laugh is half-groan as he tangles a fist in her hair, gripping at the root to yank her head back, twisting until she whimpers. “You’ve always liked it rough, though — haven’t you, kitten?” His pace increases, the hand on her hip bruising as he holds her steady. “Begging for me to stop like you don’t love the shame, like you won’t come — oh, yes you will, please, like I can’t feel it —”

To her credit, she tries not to.

(Tells herself that she tries not to.)

She still does, though, in the end — tips over the edge as she whimpers helplessly, toes curling in her boots. He lets her shudder through it, cooing softly in her face; the wet, lewd noise with each brutal thrust telling in its own way, echoing off the stone and ringing incessantly in her ears. It isn’t long before his pace sharpens, before he buries into her, makes it impossible to not feel each twitch and spurt of his cock in her aching cunt. He just fucks his spend deeper as he grunts, panting in her ear, telling her to take it, to be still, to be good.

Like she has a choice.

He stays locked with her, after; one last lazy roll of his hips into the sticky, warm mess he leaves behind, arm still slipped up beneath her hips to hold her flush against him. She makes no immediate effort to move, rendered boneless as she slumps beneath him, her tear-stained cheek resting against the cool marble floor.

She blinks blearily as he settles over her, a kiss pressed to her temple as her vision swims — as it sharpens, finally, as she catches sight of her bow resting just out of reach.

She swallows thickly.

He’s still on her. He’s still in her.

Her hand flexes.

#ffxivwrite2024 #ffxivwrite #xivwrites #if this gets severely shorter later #its bc i chickened out #i thought this was going to be monsterfucking but um. oh well #dead dove please read the warning thank you

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moeblob · 2 months

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There is actually a really rough AU (for some) where it's like a reincarnation + soul mate combo. Originally everyone knew their soul mate and felt drawn to them and knew "hey, that's my soul mate!" but after a lot of cycles and lives that stopped being a thing. People stopped being able to remember their previous lives, they stopped feeling like they were drawn to others, and now some soul mates remain that /know/ their soul mate but their soul mate doesn't know them. It's still a pull, but it's not like both of them Really Know.

In the AU, Brent remembered his past lives and has felt detached for a lot of it. He knows his soul mate doesn't remember their past lives and usually when they meet, IF they meet that lifetime, it isn't the best. Brent realizes his soul mate tends to be hostile to him at first and he struggles with that. However, the worst part to him is he can recognize others by sight that do remember previous lives. So when he sees the hot bartender he's like "that guy knows" and in return, HB is like "YOOOO fellow knower C:".

The two talk and it turns out that HB remembers his past lives and knows who his soul mate is but enjoys the fact his soul mate doesn't remember him. He thinks it's nice to fall in love over and over and is very happy with not having an instant success in the romantic department. Brent kinda hears that and is like. Huh. Interesting. Cause he always considered himself a defect for not knowing who he's bound to most of the time.

In the end (of this life time), Brent does get on Right's good side and they do become best friends and that feels good most of the time until he realizes that it won't change the next time. But he comes to terms with it and looks forward to the rest of that life and will try harder next lifetime.

#my characters #oops i fell in love #HB has the conversation above and ends it with but hey haha since you know uhhhh #my soul mate is like SUPER getting the wrong impression please give him my phone number since you walked in with him?#and brent is like wait why do you just have that at the ready if you wont give it yourself?#and HB is like well you see thats a funny story haha........#and admits he has written his phone number so many times and has always chickened out of giving it to paul bc paul is ALWAYS with people #and its a bit intimidating to flirt in front of his friends cause what if he says the wrong thing !#so anyway even in the au paul and the hb need help because they are pathetic and need help in every universe

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