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sky-is-the-limit · 1 year ago

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'I make guarantees.'

Phillip Graves x F!Reader

Summary: As a member of the TF141, it comes naturally to be aggravated by Phillip Graves. Pair that with every fiber of your body, mind and soul desiring him, and you have a ticking bomb ready to explode. Basically, porn without plot.

CW: Angry sex, jealousy, possessiveness, degradation, violent/explicit language, mention of blood (minor), unprotected sex.

WC: 4,712 words (oops)

Notes: I'm not a writer!

Phillip Graves was no ordinary man. He was the sort to blaze through your soul like a wildfire, allow you to feel the kind of passion and intensity you only find between the lines of a fantasy tale and then leave ashes behind, forever engraved in your skin.

As if sensing his gaze, you turned to look at Phillip. You only spared him a passing glance though, smirking just before turning back to laugh at a joke Johnny told, too crest for the other man's tastes.

This was the second mission where you had to collaborate with the Shadow Company for a more effective outcome, meaning you had to be in his overwhelming presence once more. Someone outside watching in would think that you hated each other, whenever you'd interact. You always tested his limits, toed every line that you could cross with every action, with every takedown.

Perhaps you did, deep inside. Hated him for igniting feelings in you so intense that would only resonate to you either banging your head against a wall or let him fuck you against one.

Phillip showed his interest straight away, from the very first interaction the two of you had during your first mission, his arrogance and cockiness oozing out of him as though he had no ordinary blood running through his veins. Pair that with the way he was talking to Johnny, the closest squad member to you, you had to turn down his advances, which unsurprisingly, hurt his fragile ego and ever since, all remarks exchanged between the two of you were like bullets destined to kill.

Once more, you found yourself in the common area of your temporary base, left alone to face him. Your leisure time of listening to Soap's silly dad jokes and good conversation over coffee was cut short when Phillip walked in.

Johnny did not have the patience to ignore him and his snarky comments that he had to physically get away from him, and you did not blame him one bit. Was it your pride or something else forbidding you from exiting right after?

''It's pathetic really.'' His posture was starker than usual, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips tight as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Though you had your back turned on him, you could feel his gaze devouring you whole.

The abruptness startled you, but keeping your composure, you set your coffee down on the table and turned to look at him.

''Your entire existence? I know.'' The words came out in a furious rush and you felt a bead of sweat drip down your back under your black shirt. It was a nasty habit, at that point. You couldn't even finish one argument without starting another and the one brewing was the second one that day.

''How you flirt with him to get my attention, Y/N.'' Phillip's voice was low and irritated, and it set your emotions ablaze, a roaring inferno within your mind.

“Of course, because it's always about you. I definitely talk to my squad member specifically to get your attention, silly me.'' The minute he walked in, you prepared yourself for this. It would be abnormal for an interaction between the two of you to not turn into an argument.

''He's so boringly predictable that I caught you looking at me at least 50 times. Go on though, I do enjoy the show.'' Arrogance was dripping off his tongue like second nature, along with that all familiar smirk that made your insides hurt.

''Don't you ever get tired of hearing your own voice, Graves? Or do you get off of ticking every box in the 'how to be a perfect narcissist' list?'' You shrieked, hating the way your voice came out your throat but the way in which he threw his shoulders back and laughed in a cruel tone made you see red.

Suddenly he was much closer, leering down at you. It wasn't clear to know who moved first, or who would next.

''Me? A narcissist? You're the one who wants every man's attention on you.'' He growled lowly and stood to full height, his demeanor making you swallow thickly as he loomed closer and stared you down. Out of habit you straightened your spine, lips curling back into a scowl.

''Shut your fucking mouth, Graves-" The blood running through your veins was pumping hot, you wanted to pour it out and paint everything around you red, so it matched the fury riding you with every word he threw in your way. Phillip's response didn’t ease you any.

''Is that what you did to earn your spot hm? Fuck your way to the top?'' His tone dripped with scorn as he responded to you, his words carrying an edge sharper than a sword.

''Say that again, Graves. I fucking dare you.'' Spitting the words with teeth bared, and fists clenched as you circled each other, you poked at his chest firmly, the muscles twitching beneath your fingertips.

Your gaze met his with stubborn defiance, nearly ready to just explode and punch him. Maybe that would make you feel better, knocking some sense into his enormous ego.

There was nothing you despised more than another man undermining your career and progress, belittling you as if you were not greater than all of them combined when holding a sniper riffle in your hands.

What made it worse, was that you knew Graves was doing that to get a reaction out of you, to push your buttons without meaning a single word pouring out of his mouth. It was a facade, you knew that. The first thing he ever said to you, was to compliment your skills, which made his intention even more infuriating.

''You could try that with the Shadow Company next, I promise to give you a higher rank if you use that mouth-'' It was as though your hand had a brain of it's own, moving automatically with force to meet with his cheek and the corner of his mouth, leaving the tender skin red to the touch and the corner of his bottom lip reddening with drops of blood.

''Is that all you got?'' He mocked, his voice gravelly as his fingers wrapped around your wrist tightly, preventing you from moving an inch. Your anger dissipated in the favor of fear the very second you saw his expression.

You were volatile and explosive, but that's how you craved it, and even then, your desire to be fucked by him had trumped all your wrath, in fact, your rage had just heightened it. It was pure madness and the was no rational explanation to it nor that you cared to find one.

Glowering, hands itching to hit him once more, you turned on your heel, aiming for the door and intending to get black-out drunk with Simon as you assumed that he was downing his fifth beer by then, when he grabbed you by the back of your neck and hauled you against him.

You struggled, clawing and scratching his arms as they banded around you and held you trapped. He was chuckling in your ear, you could feel how turned on he was, and your inner voice was crooning that you got just what you wanted, but you ignored it. You wanted to fight yet your body had something entirely different in mind while a flow of slick started to soak up your panties as Graves pressed his manhood into you.

''You fucking-'' The thoughts running wild through your mind interrupted your own words, the ebb and flow of your gazes intensifying by the second though it felt like an eternity of his blue eyes piercing through your soul like he could sense every filthy fantasy hiding behind them. You didn't dare to move and in the end, you didn't have to.

You were both breathing heavily, tension wrought to the extreme as you were staring at each other, not really fathoming how you ended up like this. It was pure excitement, trepidation, like you were desperately waiting for something to happen.

This was the culmination of whatever instinctive, subconscious game the two of you had been playing from the very first mission you'd embarked on collaborating with him, a game of push and push between the two of you until the breaking point.

Graves pushed forward, his lips brutally meeting your own. He bit down on them, hard and cruel, loving the cry you whimpered out as he savored you whole. His hand moved from the side of your head to the back of it, tugging the hair there to tilt your head to his.

The agony was a pleasure as you reciprocated his intoxicating kiss, angry and violent as you teared at his lips. Your sharp teeth aggravated the wound on his lip, and you tasted blood on your tongue.

''Fucking brat-'' He instantly pulled back, his fingers grasping your jaw to keep you in place.

You shivered at his words, a new heat blooming over every surface of your body. Your cheeks tingled and you squirmed in his grip, squeezing your thighs together as you calculated your next move carefully.

"You're such a bastard!" You quirked your head as you breathlessly yelped, almost fearlessly before sliding your arms free of his hold and threaded them into his hair before pulling him in to capture another kiss, hotter and even more passionate than the last.

Phillip responded in an instant, letting his tongue slide against yours, hungrily whilst he tangled his free hand in your hair, gripping painfully, deepening the kiss, like it could be the last thing he ever does.

Your body seemed to burst into a flame of mingled rage and lust, and you knew he felt the same from the desperate, almost angry growl he made the sensation overwhelmed you both.

Sinking your nails into his scalp, you pressed your hips hard against his erection, feeling him gasp into your mouth before lifting his head to take another look at you, his fingertips never leaving your jaw.

Phillip licked his lips unconsciously as he stared down at you, but before you could say anything, he had brought his face once more closer to yours, his eyes half-lidded and full of desire.

''And you're a fucking slut.'' Once more your hand was lifted in the air, intending to slap him for a second time, but he caught it as it swung for his face and took hold of your other before you could attempt it again. With one swift move, he maneuvered your body around and pinned both of your wrists in a firm grip behind your back before your brain could catch up to what was happening.

Head shaking, arms straining as you tried to break out of his hold, huffing and giving in when he only held onto you tighter, walking both of you closer to the wall, pressing your front hard against it. Panting, furious, your heartbeat thundered somewhere in your throat. The Commander's form was a solid taut weight caging you in, imposing, all muscle, a hard line of his desire against your lower back.

''Someone needs to fuck that attitude out of you, Y/N.'' The words made your toes curl and your hips arch, betraying how desperate you looked, splayed out on his command center for his pleasure. The side of his face was so close to yours that you could feel him breathing down on you, his lips at the shell of your ear.

The other hand that wasn’t currently wrapped around your wrists moved to hold your jaw, squeezing tightly to the point of discomfort.

Briskly, he released your arms, spinning around to pounce on the man before you and quickly pressed your back against the wall once more so you can be chest to chest.

''And that's gonna be you, Graves?'' You met his fire with your own, staring unflinchingly into the heated pools of stormy sea. The question was as close to begging as your pride would allow.

''No one else can. No one else can fuck you the way you deserve but me, soldier.'' He stated, face lowering to yours and his tone low and menacing, the promise of retribution sent shivers down your spine.

The grotesque snarl of words should have made you put him in his place, despise of the outcome. Any other day you would have, but instead, your body had different plans.

''Is that a threat, Commander?'' You croaked out, a smirk settling on your face. How you managed to still be coy in a situation where you knew you had no power was insane and the look on his face confirmed it as his fingers around your jaw grew tighter and you winced in pain.

''Oh, I don't make threats, Sergeant. I make guarantees.'' There was that deep chuckle again. The one that vibrated up his throat until it bubbled out to bless your ears and slither goosebumps down your spine.

Darkly, he challenged your moral compass that was screaming for you to get away from his intoxicating presence. The smirk formed on his lips was wicked, provocative. The prey was finally caught.

''Let's see how far your arrogance can take you then, Commander.'' With a hint of sarcasm, you challenged him back, deliberately imbuing his title with a sensual cadence. His skin was flushing to you calling him by his rank, a blotchy red slowly encroaching from his throat to his cheeks. It was an interesting kind of power to have over someone.

For a few seconds he just stared you down, eyes adapting the darkest shade of blue. The sensation simmering down in your abdomen was quickening the pace of your heartbeat trying to burst out of your ribcage in a mingle of fear and arousal. It was taking over every single nerve in your body and there was no way of stopping it, not that you desired to.

With a quick use of his brute strength he hoisted you up, having you scrambled to wrap your legs around his waist while his hands moved to your ass to hold you up.

''You won't even comment on the fact that someone could walk in right now and see you in such a mess, Y/N?'' Phillip murmured gravelly, his lips biting the soft skin of your throat intending to break the skin as he was backing you closer to the table behind you, quickly hoisting you to sit on it. He settled between your legs, hands gripping just above your knees.

''God, you must be so fucking desperate for it, huh?'' He was right, of course. The possibility of someone walking in was more than enough to let shame start creeping in your system and yet all it took was one look at his face. The way the moonlight was shining through the window to define his cheekbones even more, experience visible through the wrinkles decorating the corners of his eyes as they stared into your soul.

''You're taking your sweet time with this, Graves. I'm starting to think that you're all bark and no bite.'' You can’t help the smug smile that spread across your lips as you saw the flare of anger flash in his eyes, finding the way he was so quick to be irritated, quite fascinating.

That little defiant glint still sat in your eyes, and he was absolutely determined to remind you who was in charge by the end of the night.

"Oh, I'll show you how I bite.'' He growled, thrusting his clothed erection against your center, a loud whimper escaping your lips to the friction.

Gasping, you felt his lips leaving a wet trail down the length of your jaw before he settled in the hollow beneath your ear, an erogenous zone he’d discovered, devoting his attentions there. All your body could do in response was cling to him, mewls and sighs falling haphazardly from your lips.

“I dream about your cunt,” He stated, lifting his head up, smoldering eyes locked on yours as your elbows struggled to keep your balance against the wooden surface.

"How it feels. How it looks. How it tastes. I dream of fucking ruining you till you can't move to save your life." Every filthy word out of his mouth was a direct attack to your throbbing core as he maneuvered your hips upwards to yank the fabric of your jeans down to your ankles, legs exposed to the cool air of the stone room. Your gaze followed his, eyes glued hungrily on the obvious wet spots in your panties.

''Fuck- Do it then.'' Clearly, you weren't thinking when your mouth formed the words, "Fucking do it, already-" But it was spoken harshly between the ragged breaths of your desire, and it was all the invitation he needed.

"You're not the one who gets to make commands here," He growled, taking a sinful pride in the drawn out whimper that he had dug out from you.

''Pathetic.'' And so he lifted one of those large hands to your face and pressed his thumb into your mouth, the pad of it resting on your bottom row of teeth as he dragged your jaw down, forcing your mouth wide open.

Trembling with a sudden onslaught of unexpected arousal at having someone else's fingers between your lips, feeling the flutter in your soaked cunt again only this time it was more intense, fiercely with your legs shaking to the sensation.

Your hands moved on their own as Graves' thumbs pressed deeper into your mouth, gliding and pressing at your tongue as you slid them down the length of his body, feeling every defined muscle underneath his blue shirt, going lower and lower, until you were curving one palm around the shape of the Commander's cock confined within his dark shaded jeans.

Impatience took over you, lifting the hem of your shirt, hastily tugging the fabric up and throwing it to the side and before you could touch him again, his hands were at your sides, sliding over the mounds of your breasts and then there was another tug and a louder ripping sound as he teared your bra at the front.

His own pupils, now blown with a heated desire, locked into your glazed expression. Having his fingers toy with your mouth earlier had already caused a small string of saliva to run down your chin and he couldn't help the smirk starting to flicker onto his lips. He had barely started to touch you and you already looked all sorts of fucked up.

Your outrage couldn't even register before his warm mouth was on your skin, sucking at your nipples, pinching and biting and rubbing the soothing pad of his thumb over each one after any rough treatment. The chill of the night air was an electrifying contrast to the warmth of his mouth and hands as you were openly moaning and writhing to the way he massaged and teased every inch of nakedness before him.

''Me or you?'' You hum innocently to his previous remark as you pressed your palm against him, stroking the long line of heat firmly, and he hissed as his hips bucked forward just as desperately, his hands suddenly coming up to catch both of your wrists, bringing them down to your sides, the grip just tight enough to sting.

Indignation flashed in those midnight blue eyes. There was something off from his normal heated gaze. This look he was giving you was more than just argumentative, more than just fired up. It was absolutely primal. The heat had shifted. While usually he was more reminiscent of a volcano during an eruption, now he seemed to be the moments before, it was a slow heat. Dangerous.

"I'm not in the mood for games.'' Graves breathed heavily, bending over you to nip at your lips before hearing the sound of his belt touching the ground to finish what you started, freeing himself.

You couldn't tear off your eyes from the obscene sight in front of you as he took himself in one hand while the other came to rest high on your thigh, his thumb brushing against your core, tantalizingly close. He stroked himself once, twice, pressing himself against you and pausing for a moment, just long enough for you to grow restless.

He sighed, the sound more like a growl than anything, steam escaping from his nose.

''I should've done this a long time ago.'' He ripped your legs apart, tugging onto your dripping underwear until it was on the ground, grunting as your slick coated his fingers before he rubbed his cock against your entrance. Every part of your body tightened, a bare spark of pleasure almost exciting you when his cockhead scraped your clit.

You couldn't believe that someone you absolutely despised was giving you some of the best pleasure you'd ever felt. Wanton moans fell from your lips as he jackhammered your cunt. His hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back.

''You like that hm? You like being treated as a little slut?'' His voice was raspy and full of lust before he pushed forward, drawing all air from your lungs with a loud yelp as he buried himself deep inside you.

''Commander-'' Despite your efforts, the call was loud, urgent. He didn’t start slowly. He was rough, punishing, desperate, taking you with everything he had, as though he was claiming you right where anyone could walk in to see it.

Phillip sped up his pace exponentially, sweat breaking out across his forehead. ''Answer me-'' You became a boneless mess under the power of his ruthless thrusting, slamming into you with such force that you were sure there would be bruises where his hip bones met yours tomorrow.

''Fuck- Yes, damn you!'' You mewled loudly, then covered your mouth with one hand, fearful of passersby. He pulled your hand away, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up into his eyes as he took you against the shaking table.

''I can tell by the look on your face." He said gruffly. ''You can’t get enough of me can you?'' You placed your forehead on his shoulder, embarrassed to look at him.

''Look at me, Y/N.'' He said in response to this. You slowly looked back at him. ''Good girl.'' He muttered, grabbing your hips and pounding into you.

His hips bucked slowly, riding his twitching length inside your warm folds as he withheld his own noises. ''Beg for it, go on." He gave a firm, sharp smack to your ass, gripping on it tightly whilst using the sound to hide the low groan he released.

He didn't want to hold back any longer, but he refused to let you have your way, especially when you were already so close to come undone under his touch. Your dripping cunt was leaking onto him with every deliberate thrust, letting him glide in and out with ease.

He hunched back over you , pressing his chest down onto you as much as he could without breaking his hold on your arms. "Fucking beg-" He gave a feral groan before sliding out of you without the intention of going back in. A strangled whine escaped you, once again, jerking your hips back against him, trying to provoke him, to get him inside, get him to continue, anything. He refused to relent.

"Whimpering doesn't count, doll." He whispered against your ear. His tone is hard, unyielding. Prick.

His stubbornness was torturous for the both of you. It was a battle to see who could break their composure first and he was about to go fucking berserk. Eventually, you lost it. It wasn't until he had pulled back and dragged his tip to the entrance of your sopping cunt once more that he finally heard you gasping a loud breath as he slowly prodded against the heat.

"Please- Fuck, just- please!'' Your desperate response seemed to please him enough, the sudden build-up of pressure and heat in your body was allowed to be released as his length was quick to plunge into your body, sending the entire table to lurch backwards slightly.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were obscene, not really caring that the two of you were doing such a private thing in a place that anyone could walk into at any moment.

He was not gentle, or tender but you hadn’t expected Phillip fucking Graves to be that. His thrusts came fast and hard as he took his pleasure cause that was what he thrived in. Take and take and take, though you gave gladly, growling out praise in ragged whispers that you couldn't barely grasp.

You grabbed tightly onto his shoulders, screaming out in delight as he fucked you into you in a brutal. You felt your legs tingle and your mind go numb. All you could focus on was the warm feeling in your stomach, the bundle of nerves within you going crazy.

The hot tears continued to pour down your cheeks with each merciless thrust ripping through your body as your teeth pierced the soft skin of your lip, the taste of iron touching your taste buds whilst the wet slaps of his body against yours filled the room, accompanying the pain shooting through your core.

''Crying? Is this too much for you, baby?'' There was sarcastic, mock-disappointment in his tone, the repetitive press into you and the wonderfully satisfying stretch of his cock only deepening the catharsis of the intimacy you were sharing with him.

He grabbed your hips and started pounding you with newfound vigor. You could feel yourself clenching around him. It wouldn't be long before you peaked. You dipped a hand between your legs and started rubbing your clit, willing the moment to come faster. You closed your eyes and sighed, both in pleasure and exasperation.

''Too good- Commander-'' This time, you needed no further prompting and there wasn’t a single hint of brattiness in your tone as you submitted to his request fully, whining for him. Waves of ecstasy pulsed through your body, overwhelming you. Noises you didn't recognize poured out of your lips as your body began to spasm and convulse around him.

''That's my fucking girl.'' His last words came out in a rough growl as he pulled out of you again, before thrusting back in, so hard that you started seeing stars and shriek with pleasure.

The room was filled with your sounds, no longer able to control the moans and whimpers that left you as pounded into you, white dots clouding your vision to your orgasm overwhelming your body hard, shattering as he thrusted and swirled, setting off a wild pulsing in your clit that triggered your insides, and you came all over his cock with a scream followed by a shudder of shaky breath.

Graves kept his ever-the-rougher pace, holding you tighter and tighter, but you felt the slight stutter in his hips that suggested that he was close to his own climax. He started gasping out sentences, heavy statements that surmounted to desperation. ''You're mine, fuck- all mine-''

You could feel yourself growing light-headed in the best way as his embrace restricted your breathing to a further degree, and you gasped sharply as he said your name, the syllables transforming into a vicious growl just as he sank his teeth into your shoulder, deep enough to draw blood and deep enough to make you cry out in pain.

Cleansing, freeing pain, the kind that purged every transgression you knew you’d enacted against him, and him against you.

He followed shortly after as he began to shake subtly, his movements sporadic and wild as he lost control of his body. You surrendered yourself to his control as he pumped aggressively into you, dictating what he needed from your body as he arrived upon completion whilst tightening the grip on your hair almost painfully as he emptied himself inside you.

The weight of his body collapsing against you felt almost comforting in that moment, gasping and absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles into your scalp where he’d just been tugging your hair by the roots.

''So..'' he started, his voice strained and weak. ''Learned your lesson yet?'' Cocky bastard.

You chuckled quietly, and you could feel him smile against your skin.

''Think I might need a few more lessons, Commander.'' Shamelessly, you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up as he lifted his head to take another look at you.

''I might have to thank the fucking Scot after all.''

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mcuamerica · 7 months ago

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Stranded | Part Three

Featuring : Azriel x Fem!Reader, Eris x Reader (platonic), Rhys x Sister!Reader

Summary: Rhys is not happy when he finds out Azriel left you in Autumn. Requested by @sidthedollface2 here.

Warnings: 18+ only, description of ruined wings and skin scarring, canon level violence, mention of SA, not proofread (i'll do it later), let me know if anything was forgotten...

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Dividers from @saradika

Part One | Part Two

You stood on the side of the room, next to Mor, as Rhys let out all his anger on Azriel. You would’ve let him keep going, but you started to feel a tug in your gut, telling you to stop Rhys.

You looked at Cassian as he eyed you and you gave him a simple nod. “Rhys, stop. Please.” You said, but there was little pleading in your tone.

Cassian put a hand on Rhys shoulder as he pulled back, then stood up. “I will never forgive you for this.” Rhys said and stepped back. You were pretty sure Azriel was unconscious until you watched him sit up, holding his ribs.

“Neither will I.” Azriel said, not even looking up at Rhys as he walked out of the room.

You waited, watching as Cassian helped Azriel up and sit on the couch. “I’ll go get Madja.” Mor said.

Azriel face was completely swollen, his nose was broken, his ribs were probably as well… but you noticed as the small cuts slowly started to heal. “No,” Azriel said. You rolled your eyes, always wanting to suffer, he is.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You said. “You’re no use if you can barely see or move.” You said and looked over to Mor, nodding your head so she could go get the healer. Quickly, Cassian went after Rhys and Amren disappeared. They must have known that you needed time to discuss by yourself.

“You could’ve fought back.” You said, leaning against the wall still.

“It was no use… I deserve it. I’ve been waiting for it for 50 years.” He said, peering up at you. His shadows circled your ankles, like incessant toddlers.

“Why did you leave me that night?” You asked.

“I-“ he started and then paused. “I didn’t think you wanted me watching over your shoulder the whole night. And Mor really was upset… I knew you could handle yourself if you got in trouble.” He said, then stopped at the words. “Why didn’t you go to the Moonstone Palace?” He asked.

“Because I didn’t want to go to the Night Court if Rhys wasn’t there.” You said. “And even after I thought it would make a difference, I quite liked Autumn.”

“With Eris?” He let out an animalistic, possessive growl.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “When he was there, yes. I enjoyed his company. He kept me safe.” You said, feeling the need to defend the male that had done nothing but be kind to you, shelter you, for the past 50 years.

“He’s a monster. What he did to Mor-“

“Mor hasn’t told the entire story.” You spat.

“He our enemy.” He said.

“Your enemy sheltered me from Amarantha for 50 years. Your enemy stopped me from being raped. Your enemy helped heal me when my wings were just about burned to ashes.” You said, walking closer to him. Azriel stood up as you made your way to him, wincing we he did so.

“He did it for his own gain. He’ll turn on you as soon as he gets the chance.” Azriel said.

You clenched your fists in your hands. “Eris has never turned his back on me. He has never left me. That was you. So tell me why I should trust you anymore than I should trust him?” You asked.

“He’s not your mate!” Azriel said. Your breath hitched, stumbling back away from him.

“I don’t have a mate.” You said, just above a whisper.

“Yes you do. I’m your mate. The bond snapped the night… everything happened.” He said.

You narrowed your eyes, tears forming as you shook your head. “My mate wouldn’t leave me in ‘enemy’ territory.” You said and took another step back when he went to step towards you. “You are not my mate.” You said, holding back a sob as you turned away.

“(Y/N)-“

“I need time, Azriel.” You said, then ran up the stairs towards your bedroom. There was only one place that you could clear your head and your thoughts.

You were going to Autumn.

Eris knew you were at the cabin the second you winnowed into it. He had wards set in place to make sure no one but you and him, and anyone you allowed in, could enter. He got your note, and hoped that you would return soon enough.

Once he got away from his father, he went straight to the cabin.

He was shocked to see you sitting on the couch, wiping away tears.

"What happened?" He asked. You didn't even flinch at his voice. You knew he was there. You hoped he would come so you could confined in him.

"Azriel is my mate." You simply said, sniffing as you wiped the tears that streamed down your cheeks. Ever since he said it, so much more of your life had made sense. Why you were always so drawn to him, more worried about him on missions than your brother or Cassian... Why you would always do anything to keep him from harms way. But did he feel the same about you? He had left you with your enemy, alone, without anyone to defend you. His mate. He left you. How could you ever get over that?

You told Eris what you were thinking, how it all happened. Once he sat down next to you, he rested a hand on your knee. "You don't have to accept it right away. Cauldron, you don't have to accept it at all. But if you want to work on it with him, you can." He said. "And if not, if you can't even stand to be around him, then you come here. And you hide away or act as emissary to the Autumn Court, but you'll be away from him. Whatever you need, (Y/N), I will help you." He said.

Azriel's words gnawed at you. He will turn his back on you the first chance he gets. But in all your years of knowing Eris, he had never once been cruel, or unkind, to you. He had supported you every single time. Unlike Azriel, who left you when you needed him most.

"Can I stay here for a little bit?" You asked timidly. "I'll send a note to Rhys... if you can allow him to cross the borders and just talk with me... I just need to explain." You said.

Eris gave you a gentle smile, one you were sure only you saw. "I'll speak with my father.." He said and stood up. "Do you need anything else?" He asked.

You took a shaky breath and shook your head. "No, I'm just going to stay here for a little while. Clear my head." You said.

With that, Eris left the cabin and you got started on your note to Rhys.

You stayed in Autumn for a year, only visiting Velaris when Rhys asked you to. You were an expert in the knowledge of Prythian's history, a hobby you took up as a young child in Windhaven, and he needed you for the war against Hybern. And he wanted you to meet his mate, Feyre. Eris told you that was the girl who saved everyone. She was once friends with Lucien.

You were there in Hybern when they decided to try and trick him, break in. But then Tamlin and Lucien showed up. With both of Feyre's sisters.

And then Azriel almost died, Hybern holding him hostage as Feyre's sisters were plunged into the Cauldron. You felt every moment, felt every restraint on your body as you tried to get to Azriel. Despite your tenacious relationship with him, he was still your mate. Your first instinct was to protect him and save him at any cost.

You collapsed next to him when his wings were shredded, holding onto him as you all winnowed back without Feyre. You healed his wings as best you could until Madja was there, telling you to stand back. You couldn't leave his side. Not while he was this hurt. Not while he might never fly again. That was already taken away from you. You would not let it happen to your mate.

Your mate. When he was healing was the first time you used it in an enduring way. Not towards him, but to Mor. Who came in and asked how he was doing. "My mate is doing fine." You growled out, obviously agitated that another female was in the room. Nonetheless, one that he had pined over for centuries.

When he was healed, you stayed in Velaris. Opting to help Rhys figure out a way to get Feyre back from Spring safe and sound. Now that she was High Lady, and your sister by law, you had even more to worry about when it came to your family.

And then Azriel started to hang around Elain. Steering her around like a puppy he found on the side of the street. You started to notice similarities to him and Mor, when he would follow her around. Doting on her every need.

Once night, you had enough. You went to Rhys immediately, the jealously in your gut building the rage inside of you.

"I'm going back to Autumn. I can send you encoded notes from there. I'll be closer if anything happened to Feyre and she needs a way out." You declared. Rhys didn't put up a fight, understanding your frustration.

You gave Azriel the courtesy of leaving a note, explaining to him that if he wanted to act like a true mate, he would help you. If he instead wanted to dot on Elain, who was barely more than a shell of a faerie, he wouldn't come to Autumn. He would stay in Velaris and do just that: be Elain's keeper.

So you traveled to Autumn and stayed in your cabin, worry clinging to you more and more as the hours passed by. Why had you given Azriel a choice? Why did you leave without saying anything? Why didn't you talk to him?

The questions consumed you so much you didn't hear the first knock at the door. Or the second. But you heard the third as the familiar male pounded harder and called our your name.

Part Four (Azriel) | Alt Ending (Eris)

A/N: A little cliffhanger... who is going to be on the other side of the door???

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charliemwrites · 11 months ago

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Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

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amarynthian-chronicles · 4 months ago

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A Game of Light and Shadows

Sebastian Solace x Reader

Simple pleasures had become a luxury for him a long while ago. Something as simple as lighting a cigarette, relishing the rush it gave to his tormented mind, the flickering flame of his golden lighter creating a playful display of shadows on the walls.

He took a long drag, enjoying the peace of his own company. A semblance of normalcy.

Sebastian was balancing a book in his other hand, his esca glowing enough for him to read. The pages were not in an enviable condition, having survived various disasters before haphazardly ending up in his little makeshift shop. "The Count of Monte Cristo". How ironic. How fitting.

Perhaps it offered a distorted form of comfort. A fragile hope that the wrongfully accused hero could indeed escape his prison and reclaim his destiny. A spark in darkness. And yet, cruel fate had made him unable to withstand proper light. Was he truly condemned to the underworld forever?

A familiar noise in the corner of the room. Sebastian had become so accustomed to your little "visits". His darling little nuisance, his silly little spark, haunting him in the depths.

You stood there in the penumbra, a sly smile gracing your features.

Your inexperience had transformed into skill, your fear morphing into bitter courage. You had become so confident, so strong. He had made you into such a magnificent creature, all according to his design and his plans. He would have you one day.

"Low on supplies, babes? You know the rules, take what you need and leave the required payment. Forgive me for not being a gracious host today."

"Actually, I am here to offer you a gift. Something to thank you for being my guardian angel."

"Is that so? There is no such things as gifts, babes. What do you want?"

You simply approached him, holding up a little bag for him to see. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to perform whatever trick you had in store. To his surprise, you produced a little package of ground coffee and two mugs.

"I did notice you have a water boiler here, so I was thinking that maybe we could enjoy something nice and warm together. How does that sound?"

So silly. The hopeful spark in your eyes, the sweet tone of your voice. Even after all the hardships you had endured, and all the changes you had undergone in order to survive into a proper warrior, that tiny bit of whimsy remained. Sebastian could not help but grin, tapping the ash from his cigarette into a nearby tray.

"Despair is a terrible thing, you know. It makes you seek the company of monsters. Loneliness pushes you into the arms any wicked creature in the vicinity, just to feel some sort of comfort."

"Oh, come on, Seb. Don't be so dramatic and have some coffee with me. Is it so outrageous that I simply wish to be your friend? Please? Just a little cup of coffee with me? You can show me what you are reading, as well."

Sweetling, creature of daylight. If moths were attracted to the light, were butterflies attracted to darkness? Perhaps he should indulge your request. It would be one step closer to his web, having your loyalty at his disposal.

He finished his cigarette and placed the book down, taking your bag. A few minutes later, his lair had the scent of freshly brewed coffee permeating the air. How domestic, how lovely. Perhaps, when all was over, he could make this bliss a reality with you. He could build a home with you.

You made a happy hum as you slowly sipped on the warm drink. It did wonders for the senses, awakening and sharpening them. You were about to compliment Sebastian's coffee-making skills, but you suddenly felt a pair of strong arms pull you upwards onto his lap. You felt warmth in your cheeks as Sebastian placed a clawed finger under your chin.

"Now, babes, how about we do some reading together, hm?"

He reached for his book once more and adjusted his position, making sure to continue having his arms around you. You made yourself comfortable, listening to his soft purrs, embraced by his soft darkness. A gentle kiss was placed on your cheek and your neck. You were happy.

#sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace #sebastian pressure #roblox pressure #sebastian solace roblox #amary's chronicles

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skyloftian-nutcase · 1 year ago

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Part 2! In which Malon and Time get a peaceful day off, Link eats more bread than he's ever had in his entire life, Til nearly kills her newlywed husband and they're both lost teenagers, and Zelda has a happy moment

Healthcare AU

Malon poked the loaf tentatively at the loaf. It sank tenderly under her finger. Was this... actually cooked enough? She'd followed the recipe exactly - this should be fine, right?

Ehh... five more minutes.

Time eventually wandered into the kitchen, a little impatient and hungry, and Malon pulled the bread bowl out of the oven once more.

"Okay," she said slowly. "Moment of truth."

The couple peered over, both yelping as steam attacked them in excess when Malon first pulled the cloche lid away. When the initial assault was over, the loaf sat innocently in the bowl, crispy golden and perfectly shaped.

Malon gasped. "Oh, it worked! Look at that!"

"It smells great," Time added with a smile.

The pair hesitantly tore into the bread, each trying a piece, and they shared a look of delight, eyes widening. Time hastily went to the fridge to find jam and stumbled on to some apple butter, and the two settled on the porch swing together, enjoying Malon's efforts as they leaned their heads against each other and watched the horses graze.

Ordon Fam

With Link secure in his arms, with the entire family together again and safe, with that cursed shackle evaporating in a cloud of dark magic, Rusl let his gaze wander around the room. When they reached the kitchen, he felt his eyebrows rise a little.

He was fairly certain he'd never seen so much bread and cakes in his life.

Link shifted, moving towards his mother a hair, and the parents shifted him from one set of comforting arms to another. Rusl ruffled Colin's hair and watched as Link settled against Uli, his head resting on her shoulder, eyes hidden from view.

"Link," Colin finally said. "Ma made so much food. You have to help me eat some, I was so stuffed. It's like when we came home from Kakariko. Wait - does food taste different to you now?"

Link lifted his head a touch, his temple resting against his mother's cheek, eyes bleary from crying. Uli kissed him, running a hand through his hair. Then she sheepishly looked at her husband. "I might have gone a little too far this time."

"I was going to ask if you'd opened a bakery while I was gone," Rusl chuckled. "We might have to share this with the rest of the village."

Link finally found his voice, smiling and resting his hand on Colin's head. "Food still tastes the same to me. I'm... I'm still me, you know."

"Great!" Colin accepted easily. "Let's eat, then!"

Link's face warmed at the quick acknowledgement, at how simple it was to just convince his family that he was still the person they knew. His gaze followed Colin's hasty retreat to the kitchen, and then his eyes widened.

Uli swatted him gently. "Oh, stop, I already know it's bad."

"Uli, I'm counting twelve loaves of bread, four pies, and six cakes," Rusl noted as the three rose together.

"Well, I hope you're hungry, then," Uli laughed.

The Wildlings

Abel shifted in the warm bed, body heavy with slumber. A content sigh escaped his throat, and he stretched lazily. When he reached out and felt only more blankets, though, he registered more sunlight than expected piercing through his eyelids. Opening his eyes, Abel propped himself up on an elbow, disoriented.

The loft was empty. The air smelled of bread and four. Confused, Abel asked hoarsely, "Til?"

He heard a small gasp and feet hastily rushing up the stairs. His wife's beaming face appeared quickly, and Abel found himself waking up hastily as she didn't slow her approach, instead leaping on to the bed and slamming into him.

"Abel!" she greeted with a laugh as Abel grunted, the wind knocked out of him. He found himself laughing too at her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. The pair shared a quick kiss.

Abel finally caught his breath and smiled. "Good morning."

Til nuzzled his nose with her own before getting off him. "I made bread."

"Is that why I'm smelling--" Abel tried to finish, but his wife's boisterous energy was back with a vengeance as she grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out of bed and down the stairs to observe her work.

The tiny, crusty little ball of overcooked flour stared back at them disapprovingly. Tilieth visibly wilted beside him.

"I think I baked it too long," she admitted with a shaky chuckle.

"Let's bake one together," Abel suggested. "My sister, Ama, used to make bread to sell. I know a bit about it."

Tilieth perked up. "You didn't tell me your sister was a baker!"

"She's not," Abel shook his head. "She... she did it to survive. But it was good enough to sell. Let's do it together."

The pair set to work, making new dough, going outside to enjoy the morning while it rose, monitoring it closely as it baked. When the second one came out overloaded with flour, Abel scrunched his nose in mild annoyance.

"We need an adult," Tilieth noted.

"We are adults."

"We need adultier adults."

"We'll figure it out."

"I'm getting my parents," Tilieth finally sighed, giving up.

Abel turned to argue, but realized that... was probably a good idea.

Princess Zelda

Zelda cried.

In front of her on teh table sat a loaf of bread, a little misshapen around the edges, perfectly golden on the top with crispy edges and a slice carefully cut out. The insides were spongy and soft, the smell of dough lingering and gently mixing with its cooked counterpart.

Flour covered the counters. Dishes waited to be washed.

And Zelda cried.

She'd made that. She made it.

Children's laughter echoed outside. Birdsong was loud by the window as a bird built a nest there. The bread sat there, fresh and new waiting.

Zelda's sobs shifted to laughter, tears still falling freely. Hateno breathed life all around her, and in that small kitchen and dining area, a princess of Hyrule came back to life, filled with hope.

The Great Bakeoff (pt 1)

I'm waiting for my dough to rise so let's have some fun and see how several of the blorbos handle making bread :D

Healthcare AU

Malon smiled, hands on her hips as she surveyed all the ingredients and cookware in front of her. She had organized her tools on her counter like a scrub tech would lay out tools for a surgery, which she had noted halfway through with a touch of amusement, but it was routine to her, so she let it carry over into her kitchen.

Today was the day she and Time finally had more than one day off together, and she was choosing to celebrate. Being domestic and making some bread seemed appropriate, and she'd gone to the bakery with Four enough times to want that amazing smell of freshly baked bread wafting through her own home.

Time to get to work. Reading the cookbook, she yelped when she felt hands slide around her waist.

"Oh, you!" she harrumphed, bopping her husband on the face with a roll of paper towels. "I'm trying to bake!"

"I see that," Time noted. "Need some help?"

"The last time you tried to help you set the bread on fire."

"That was only one time, dear."

Malon shooed him. "Go outside and spend some time with the horses like you've been wanting to. I'll meet you out there."

Time smiled and obliged, though not before stealing her dish rag and making her chase him and pay a toll of a kiss for its safe return. Eventually she set to work, focusing and enjoying the task at hand. As she combined flour, yeast, sugar, and salt, she couldn't help but wonder how all of this would make a good loaf.

Well, it doesn't have to be perfect, she supposed. Just edible. I can do edible. I'm a mighty fine cook, after all... or at least I used to be before my nursing career destroyed my free time.

But she'd never baked, and she knew how precise of an art that was.

Malon poured the hot water into the mixture, hesitantly stirring it with a spoon before getting her hands dirty. The first mistake was that she definitely should have put flour on her hands to avoid the dough sticking to her, but it seemed to form together well enough under her hands.

Smiling at her work, Malon covered the dough and set a timer on her phone before washing her hands and strolling out to see Link riding Epona around the field.

Ordon Fam

Uli stress baked and she would be the first one to admit it.

Most of her cooking was meals - hearty stews, egg and milk based recipes, vegetables and the occasional fruit or meat that Rusl would bring. But when her worries clenched her heart and made it to her hands, she would end up buying ingredients off Sera and setting to work.

Today she had to distract Colin while her husband and Link were away in Kakariko, an all-too-quiet rainy morning after such a horrific night. Link had been so dreadfully injured, and Rusl--

Uli bit her cheek, blinking tears away. Colin giggled from her bedroom where he was babysitting Hana.

She let her hands do the work automatically, easing her mind and heart, settling into a familiar, comforting routine. The dough was smooth and bouncy under her hands, a satisfying texture that distracted her enough. She could get her worries out through liberally kneading it, hands and mind so in sync that she hadn't even noticed she'd been abusing the dough for so long the shadows in the house had shifted positions.

Shaking her head, she covered the loaf to let the dough rise, making her way to her children.

The Wildlings

Tilieth stared bemusedly at the ingredients. Her finger bounced from item to item, listing it out loud in an attempt to ensure she had everything. After repeating the word salt four times and staring into the void, she discovered why her brain was short circuiting.

"I forgot flour!" she groaned.

Wait! No, she hadn't forgotten flour, that was literally the most basic ingredient to making bread. She had it somewhere.

One search later, Tilieth had discovered that not only did she have flour, but also shriveled Hylian tomatoes that probably would have benefitted from being eaten a week ago.

Okay. Now she had what she needed.

Excited, she began to mix ingredients, having never made bread before. She wanted to see if she would be any good at baking different kinds of loaves, hoping to try new food and perhaps even share it with her parents and Abel. Her newlywed husband was actually sleeping in for the first time since they'd been married, and she was going to take advantage of it by surprising him.

Rummaging through their kitchen, she paused as she found that she wasn't entirely sure where the measuring cup was. She was certain she had put it in this one cabinet, but...

Ah, wait, her mother had moved it when Til had gotten overwhelmed organizing the new home.

With a triumphant, quiet ha! Tilieth pulled the item in question out and held it up to inspect it happily. She finally had everything she needed.

It wasn't until she was halfway through kneading that she remembered she didn't have a bread knife to cut the loaf that she was halfway through making.

The Princess

Zelda took a steadying breath as she stared at the bowl. Link had been cooking with her and teaching her basic recipes for a while now, and she finally wanted to try something for herself. Her friend and loyal companion was out of town, having gone to Zora's Domain to visit, leaving Zelda to sort out organizing her new home.

This was the first meal she'd ever made alone.

For a moment, she felt heartache at the thought of it. But it only lasted a moment, and instead, she felt eager, excited anticipation bubbling in her chest. No, she no longer was fed by royal chefs, no longer provided provisions by any settlement or outpost they visited. But she was building a new life for herself, and she finally felt like she was regaining her footing in a world that had seemed so empty and foreign a few months ago.

This was more than just baking bread. This was the start of a new chapter, this was her proving to herself that she could do this.

And so she set to work, having researched the recipe meticulously, eager to get every aspect of it right, ready to show herself that she was capable, that nothing was wrong with her, and that if she could piece herself back together, then she could rebuild Hyrule just as well.

#til body slamming abel gives me life #til and abel are babies they're like 19 here #I was bamboozled by the recipe #it said cook for 35 minutes and when I tell you that loaf was SQUISHY #I did not trust it #but after cooking some more it turned out so yummy :D #Zelda deserves a break so here's her break <3 #you did great girl <3 #Uli will now be responsible for feeding the entire village for at least the next few days #now you know why the whole family slept so well that night when the storm came in #they were full of cake and bread and pie #writing #fluffvember #breath of the wild zelda #botw zelda #secrets of the shadows #tilieth #abel #lu in healthcare #I loved seeing the reblogs on this <3 #Blue I am scatterbrained with cooking too you're in good company <3 #Ash I can see you being organized with cooking until a child is involved XD #hope the pumpkin cookies turned out well!

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teojira · 6 months ago

Note

Ooooh just finished reading your koba drabble and its soooo good??? I would love to hear your thoughts how the other apes, Rocket, Maurice, Ceaser, and Blue eyes, think about Kobas' new human shadow... or the way they squabble 👀 I imagine its a mixed bag XD. Amazing writing as always ❤️

[How the rest of the colony apes react to you and Koba's 'friendship']

Summary: The other apes worry about your sanity.

Warnings: Platonic relationship with Koba (based off of my previous Koba request!)

A/N: First time writing for Maurice, Rocket and Blue eyes!!! I was so excited to see them included here 😭 I hope you enjoy anon!

Caesar:

He's already warned Koba multiple times to not take things too far, that just because you've decided that you want to follow him around, doesn't mean he can mistreat you.

Keeps a close eye on y'all when in vicinity, but he knows Koba better than others do.

Koba can claim he hates you as much as he does, but he hasn't done anything to truly drive you away, he could hurt you, bite into you with his canines and do damage but at most, he growls and tries to swat you away like a fly.

Koba also in the same vein will follow you around when you're off doing your own thing, especially if you decide to leave the colony on your own.

He's not slick, telling Caesar that he's off to rest.

Caesar literally sees Koba climbing trees to trail you. It's amusing just how much the bonobo is denial that he cares for you.

It's obvious to Caesar that a part of Koba enjoys the attention, and enjoys your company despite everything, so he doesn't interfere.

Maurice:

Actively tells you to leave Koba alone, he's genuinely not about the whole idea of you and Koba being together.

It gives him anxiety, he's not your father, he's not your family but he's concerned.

He'll talk to Caesar about it, trying to get him to put a stop to it but alas, Caesar says you're both adults, he can't control who you spend time with.

He agrees of course, and while yes Koba does show some semblance of...care for you, it doesn't change his mind.

Please you're stressing him out, give him a break and eat dinner with him and the children instead.

Koba is threatening to bite your fingers off for touching his berries and Maurice genuinely cannot tell if it's a valid threat or not.

Rocket:

Rocket doesn't include himself into the situation, but is another worrier deep down, he's a father, he can't help it.

I see him as the laid back chill uncle who's like 'Hey, do what you want to do but be careful.'

He'd had to step in a couple of times when he thinks Koba is genuinely out to harm you, hooting and calling for Caesar. This ends in him and Koba squaring off against one another and you frantically telling Rocket that you're fine.

By now he doesn't interfere, but he does keep an eye out, always fighting the urge to grab you and take you away from Koba.

Tries to offer you to spend more time with his previous wives, Ash or himself.

Blue eyes:

Blue eyes and you are kinda in the same boat, despite Koba's faults, Blue eyes does look up to his father's close friend.

Koba would never hurt Blue eyes, not without great repercussions, but he could hurt you, the tiny human that has no defensive measures against a huge bonobo, so forgive Blue if he's a little nervous at you pestering Koba.

The young chimp makes sure to check in with you after your random little fights with Koba, it doesn't matter how many times you tell him it's all in good fun, he will make sure you're okay.

He's worried, okay, he gets it from his father, Caesar has told him just how fragile humans are, how their feelings are easily hurt, it makes him treat you damn near like glass.

Side eyes you everytime you go to Koba's nest to mess with him.

Ash will try and make bets with how long it'll be til Koba tries and kills you as a joke, only for Blue eyes to choke on his spit and tell him off, baring his teeth and jostling his friend around.

"Do not make fun!" The young chimp signs frantically.

#IS THIS GOOD PLS GOD WHY WAS THIS HARD TO WRITE #teddy asks ♧#teddy loves apes ☆#planet of the apes x reader #planet of the apes #pota #koba x reader #platonic #pota caesar #blue eyes #maurice #rocket #pota maurice #pota rocket #pota blue eyes #pota koba

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crimsonbubble · 1 year ago

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I’m BEGGING you more reader being the barracks bunny for the shadow conpany, but this time reader acting all tough and bratty towards them but deep down she just wants their attention after they’ve been ignoring her and focusing more on their missions:(

brat tamer!graves??? brat tamer!shadows???

cw. nsfw, gn!reader, brat!reader, brat tamer!graves & shadows, exhibitionism, voyeurism, mandhandling, oral, masterbation, slight choking, dacryphilia, spanking, fingering, edging, overstimulation *not proofread, just pure horny

[IM SO HAPPY YALL ARE LOVING THE SHADOW COMPANY X READER STUFF SJSKSBSJ] special tags for @waltzthegenderfluidpan @smmy-winchster

MINORS DNI!!

you're sitting by the shadows as they get their mission briefing except no one is trying to finger fuck you into oblivion

you know that their line of work isn't the easiest but they usually spend any and all moments of their free time with you

so when they're all getting ready for missions, they reduced you to an errand bunny

asking you to get things for them, drop things off for them to other people and only being rewarded with kisses to your cheek or forehead

going to bed cold and alone bc all of your fav shadows are out on field

once the mission is done and they're all back, you've resorted to minimal contact with all of them

doing the bare minimum, sneaking off after mumbling snarky remarks and giving them all the cold shoulder

it's only a few days into the cold shoulder treatment and all the shadows are getting more and more irritated as you deny their advances

a shadow finally speaks to their commander about it, who advised them to let him handle it

graves corners you when you're alone in the common room, his stare is stern yet gentle

there's no real need to ask what was wrong, graves knew what was wrong

without any thought, another snippy remark leaves your lips. you froze as soon as you processed the words that fell from your lips

as graves manhandled you over his lap, he all but ripped your shorts and underwear down your legs

not a second later and you feel a hard smack to your ass

it was just one after the other, leaving your cheeks red and sore with handprints

you were shaking in graves' lap, tears soaking into the couch cushions

feeling something cold drip onto your aching hole before fingers were pushed into you, immediately curling them up against your sweet spot

you tried to squirm away, the harsh and quick pace he set was overwhelming

graves simply held your hips down, continuing his onslaught on your slicked hole

a few shadows decided to stay and watch the show, watching how easily their commander gets reactions out of you

there's too many sensations you're feeling, it's all muddling together

just as quickly as the pleasure built, graves had pulled away

the fullness of his fingers leaving you empty and aching

the process repeats for god knows how long, the hours started blending together

bringing you to the edge of sweet sweet relief before all of it was snatched from under you

it left you squirming, needy and sore in your commander's lap, pleas falling on deaf ears

there's noises of shifting around you but you don't have the strength to look

before you know it, you're being placed on the now empty coffee table

your shirt is tugged off of you, hands immediately honing in on fondling and groping your chest

your pushed up on the table, your head hanging off the edge

you peer up at the shadow in front of you, eyeing the way their cock twitches mere inches away from your face

they tap their tip against your cheeks before slipping through your lips, their hand on your neck as they used your mouth

your hands were led to more cocks, their hands encasing yours and they fuck into your fist

graves' hand is still between your legs, rubbing against your sweet spot

with a quick whistle, graves moves, his position filled by another shadow

it took mere seconds for the emptiness to be filled again, filled with a thick and heavy cock

each thrust made you gag and sputter around the cock in your mouth

the ones fucking your hands, encasing yours with theirs, squeezing your hand around them tighter

they fucked into your fist even faster, nearing their release as they watched you choke around the cock in your mouth. their release coated your hands in a sticky white gloss

the shadow fucking your mouth, held your head up as he spilled in your mouth

swallowing without a second thought and sticking your tongue out like you always do

the shadow that's situated between your legs, uses the moment to his advantage

holding your thighs up and apart as he spears his cock into you, he twitched twice before painting your walls white

as you tried to process what just happened you were moved from the table to rest against someone's chest

you felt it before you saw it, two cocks pressed against your hole

sandwiched between two of the biggest shadows to take both of their cocks at the same time

one quickly slipped in, holding your hips down as the other shadow slipped in beside him

the stretch burned, making you shiver and arch your back

they moved in opposing rhythms, never leaving you empty

each moan was breathier and whinier than the last

you could barely keep your eyes focused long enough to see the shadows that still have yet to have their turn are hungrily stroking themselves

you're beyond fucked out by the end of the night, clinging onto whoever is in front of you

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mr-1-2-3-4 · 4 months ago

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Fun fact Pixel’s dad has been dead since Pixel was 10, he just doesn’t know sadly

#shadow company #call of duty #oak (cod oc)#buddy (cod oc)#ash (oc)

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jainydoe · 1 month ago

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Delirium

summary: She’s an angel, he’s a dog. Or, the confessions of a white tenured male.

tw: smut, mentions of death, violence

In his dreams are mausoleums. Rows sky high of those he’s trounced. Boys and girls from Schoolyard’s Past. A stranger from a conference who murmured about his adornments - Volkarin is just so … tragically nouveau riche.

Johanna. With her hair and her laugh, laid dead with a frozen smile.

He keeps them all. Collected. Strolls along the cool, clean corridors and considers their carcasses. Malleable. Under his thumb. Under his spell, should he wish. Ripped from rest and compelled to answer any inquiry that may flit across his mind. He’s built a recent wing. Young men and women and. Taashes. Tucked neatly and filed amongst the masses.

Then there’s her.

For her, he’s built an atrium. A private temple where she’s kept in glass. Perpetually moonlit. Preserved. Perfected. In his dreams, he lifts the top of her enclosure open, rushes a breath across icy cheeks. Hours pass and he stares. Confesses secrets. Fears. Wants and desires. He thinks of the different ways she could die and how each would draw and quarter the soul until he’s scattered so distantly, he’d be impossible to make whole. Her, hung in a frozen suspension. Mouth agape and rigor mortis set in. His face would slot so carefully under her breasts, and he’d keep her there, midair, just to ache and sob into her ribs. Or her, burned and charred, body fruitlessly attempting to stay with him. Resisting the path to ash. He’d grip the air, magic rising the fire higher and higher, screaming into its lashings in a jealous rage. That it could consider itself worthy enough to touch her. To take her. Consume her. It takes a few weeks of knowing Rook before he’s begun desecrating the other crypts in his dreamscape. Every gentleman, lady and tramp who accost her with their gaze, with their booming want, earn a place in the Hall of the Damned. He keeps them in an area far from her tomb. The moonlight doesn’t grace their nameplates. When he imagines their spirits pleading in the dark, scared and confused, he sleeps like a babe.

The waking hours are cruel and unusual. At home, every chapter of the day is one to celebrate. The mornings, ripe with expectation and promises. Brunches. Afternoons of discussion and lounging and napping and laughing and dinners overflown with debate and passion. He misses conversation. The type that leaves you buzzed and amped. He catches it sometimes with Bellara or Neve, but Rook leaves him itchy and ready in a way he hasn’t been since his boyhood. If she were a girl in a club and he were a boy with two drinks, he’d give her that smile that always works and kiss her hand to go the extra mile. He’d tell her he knows a spot in the Memorial Gardens and play the gentlemen who won’t offer to fuck her right away because modesty will have her gagging for it. But this is the real world and he’s pushing fifty. The closest he can get to romance is pouring her wine at the dinner table and laying on the pet names like he’s got plenty to spare. He’s started pampering himself. On days where she’d rather have the company of the boy or the other boy, he spends hours rubbing creams on himself, languidly dressing, steps out onto the balcony in his room and thinks about what she’d say if she saw him in just his dress socks, hair ungelled, five o’clock shadow shading his bone structure in that way he’s been told is haunting. He hopes the look he’d give her would haunt her. Etch itself into her memory and burrow into the marrow, to the point where she couldn’t ever feel pleasure again without thinking of his. Remembering the way he’d whisper her name before coming undone at the seams.

Tonight isn’t anything special - not in the grand scheme of things - but he lets the perfumed oil drop onto the paper-thin dip of his inner wrist, taking a deep, deep pull of the leather-booze-sweat-and-musky combo that he knows will drive her mad. He watches her in marketplaces, eyes running over the twinkling bottles of imported goods too precious to touch. Curved glass, inviting and seductive, begging to lay on flesh. She has caked blood on her chest and makes sure her steps are less heavy, presence less imposing. The salespeople offer, nonetheless, smiles wide and hands outstretched, and he feels his shoulders tighten as she wipes her hands along her armor, picks at her skin, begins the fruitless endeavor of trying to dig the last bits of dirt from under her nails.

Sorry, I’m afraid we can’t afford anything today.

A lie, though one she might not realize she’s telling. She’s a scrounger. A scrappy, makeshift trader. He wants to ask how she can keep affording all the sleekest, strongest armor and charming home adornments, things that make their situation less of a shit-fuck and more of a happy-accident, but he knows she’ll never tell. I’ve got to keep some secrets, she’d smile, impish and nymph-like, an invitation for him to peel off all her layers and share a secret he’s kept for this whole entire time. One that’ll keep them whispering to each other all night. In the darkest hours, he lets the mind wander to flushed lips, reddened limbs, reddened teeth from the caked blood he’s licked her clean of. She’d be disgusted and he’d be drunk, covering her in every shiny thing of his he has to offer.

Marketplaces are a dangerous setting for him. Tempting in their quick releases. I saw this and thought of you, and I saw that and thought of you, I’m practically always thinking of you, do you think of me, how often, how deeply, how about you show me, right here, right now, before either of us have a chance to think twice.

Wearing the oil is the little thing he allows himself, a pathetic tether to the fantasy he’s let play out. The Rook he’s created from stolen glances, lopsided conversations, dinner jokes and morning tea and midnight-solo-hand-fucks where he can ramble all the things he loves about her and it isn’t unwanted, it makes her cum - that Rook would smell the fact he’s wearing their scent, and make a point of having his sheets smell only of her for the next week. She’d be furious. She’d be deliriously in love. He should make his way to dinner, already. He’s expected. Who will ask questions no one wants to answer if Emmrich is spiraling all on his own?

“So, after all that, what did you do?”

They’re trading adventures amongst themselves, this medley of gritty, young things. Stories of near-death and past lives they’ve left behind - it helps distract from the. Well. Emmrich doesn’t share much because when you work in death long enough, you learn only the other people who work in death care to talk about it. He’d hoped Lucanis would be a shoulder to gab on. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He makes a note to visit the Necropolis soon and only realizes the table has gone silent when Rook is all cheeks ablaze and girlish hair-tucking. Her eyes dance around the table, avoiding Emmrich, entirely. He probably would, too. People who don’t contribute don’t get the benefits of worthwhile attention. A lesson he teaches his students all too well. There are too many other, more important things to fail at here, though. Oil and restriction are the two indulgences he’ll allow, he’s decided. And another glass of wine. Dalish? Huh. Good for them.

“Well,” she continues, “there’s more than one way to convince a guard you’re better off unchained.”

Harding’s guffaw shakes the table and he almost lights a necrotic pool on her chair. Taash is slapping Rook’s back and Neve is laughing into her glass. By the time he’s back in his body, aware of the room, of his senses, Rook is the only person sitting at the table. He can picture it so clearly. Her, chained. Stretched. Arms above her and belly exposed, a deceptively innocent cross of one leg over the other. A pretty please and an I promise I’ll never commit another crime ever again, I swear. He thinks about gripping the hair at the top of her neck and asking how she can be so cavalier about life, constantly toeing the edge. When she regales the dinner table with stories of old friends, people she used to know, he’d imagine meeting them, bringing a bottle of shockingly Dalish wine, something local and real and so down-to-earth. He’d turn up the charm, make them all laugh and later that night spread her legs, his chest against her back as his fingers dipped down, tracing the edge of her underwear, asking if he’s performed to her satisfaction. It’s miserable. It’s juvenile. The fact that the thing that drives him over the edge is imagining himself as a fixture in her life. Her charming companion. Her smart and funny guy that buys her chocolates and treasures and knows that when he touches her right there, she has to shut her eyes because he’s just too much. He’s taut. He’s on edge. And it’s because he knows she’s lying.

“Heading to bed, Emmrich?”

He smiles, rising from his chair and crossing over to the fireplace. He reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out the gold cigarette case he’s kept on deck, nowadays. Smoking used to be something he considered a young man’s game, reserved for the insanity one feels only in their twenties. He’s realised that feeling is a long-forgotten acquaintance whose not only decided they’re moving in, but that they’re marrying Emmrich and pregnant with twins - Starvation and Enslavement. It’s too late to do anything about it. The nursery’s all picked out.

He crouches down on one knee, inching closer to the fire until the flames nearly kiss him and he can puff out a bit, igniting. “Forgive me, my dear. Forgot my lighter on my desk.” He can lie, too. For a moment like this. He knows what he looks like, sharp and wolfish and the fire paints him a dashing devil instead of a foaming beast. This little move is one of the few tricks he learned from the only other girl who invoked The Acquaintance. Come on, Volkarin, don’t be such a coward. Fucking popinjay. “That’s quite a tale you told, earlier. The one with the guard and chains.”

Her eyes are on him as he rises and leans his shoulder against the mantel, controlled and poised like a former ballerina.

“I’ve lived an exciting life, I know.”

He grins. “Remind me, what did you say you did, exactly?”

She knows he knows. Years of training students keeps one’s finger on the pulse of casual deception. She crosses her arms and lifts her chin in the particular way she does when she wants to appear leader-like. “I blew him. And while he was seeing stars I locked him back in my cell and got away.”

He twitches. His nose burns. “Charming, as always, but I’m afraid that’s not quite what you said earlier. You said,” he uses the cigarette to point at her, “that you took him on your cot and locked him onto it. I remember for two reasons. The first,” he inhaled, “I found it puckish and creative. The second,” he exhaled, letting the smoke twirl away from them both as the tip of his thumb started tracing his mustache, “I know for a fact they don’t keep cots in those jail cells. Too comfortable. A distraction from contrition.” He looks at her shoes. Her hands. Rolls his gaze up to her eyes. “Did you really have to sleep your way to freedom, or was that just a show for our more easily entertained party members?”

She’s enraged and embarrassed, but not too much to point out the obvious. “I don’t know, Emmrich. For a guy who remembers to bring a handkerchief to battle, I highly doubt you happened to forget your lighter on your desk.” In a flash of nerve and steel, she slaps his chest, feeling into the pocket of his vest and slipping out the matching, gold zippo. “Do you think I’m someone easily entertained?”

He looks at her nose, her chin, the bottom of her eyes, counting each lash as he counts his breaths. Lets himself smile. To relax her. To challenge her. To beg her. “I’m afraid if the likes of prison guards and roguish younglings can keep your attention,” he sighs, tossing the rest of the cigarette into the flames, watching it become engulfed, “then I couldn’t possibly attempt the conquest of your favor.” He knows what he’s just admitted. Feels it in the tips of his fingers as he wills them not to dance along his thighs or itch at his neck. Be calm. Be kind. Be careful.

“What would that look like? If you,” she’s shivering, “If you did attempt?”

“Likely frightening.” That makes her laugh. He’d do anything to make her laugh again. But he’d really do anything to shut up that laughter, afterward. Spin it into something breathy and relentless. He wonders if this is what it feels like once your mind is lost. Thinks of cellars and bugs and the stench and rot of insanity. He’d look so perfectly appropriate in creamy cotton, pulled tight, all to keep him from the frenzied need to keep touching himself, no matter how much it hurts, because the ghost of her memory is most present when he’s wanton and weak. It’s not a bad outcome. He would gladly take the isolation of the fractured mind, shattered glass reflections all of Rook,

Rook,

over the pounding loneliness he’s known all too well.

He watches as she looks at her hands, dirt chunking from under her nails, and she smiles something light and tempting. Maybe she wasn’t lying about that guard, after all. Who wouldn’t unshackle a maiden so sweet? He doesn’t care if she’s a siren. He’ll hold his breath until he chokes. “Truth be told, my dear,” here goes nothing, “to vie for your affections, I’d probably pester you with questions, act a fool and ignore any indication you might feel the same in the hopes you’d eventually leave me to perish in peace.” It breaks his heart to watch her frown. Don’t pity him. Don’t look at him. He’s not a wilting lily, he’s a dying ember who only needs the air from her lungs to lift him back to life. He was making peace with death, before her. It’s something he’ll never forgive her for.

She lifts a hand to his jaw, delicate and rough, thumb running under his cheekbones. “Well, if I were to be in a similar position, perhaps I’d darken your doorstep every day, lose my nerve if I catch your eye too long and fashion myself an expert lover in the hopes it’d catch your attention.”

She wants him and he’s a makeshift dragon tamer. Scrappy. Scrounging for any hint of interest. His desire is an archdemon he’s been holding back with shoelaces. “My dear, if your intentions are sincere, I fear what may become of me.”

A girl possessed, the blacks of her eyes blow wider as the sharp of her teeth begin glinting in the firelight. He’s choking. “You should be afraid.”

Once they’ve crossed the threshold of his door, she pushes him against the slab, lips shiny and breath shallow. Her fingers are clumsy with youth and he’s bumbling out apologies for the mess, for the cold, for anything that might make her leave. He wants to bring her by the fire, warm her up, take his time with his meal. He hears a rip in his dress shirt and considers offering a proper spanking, but before he can assume the position she declares “Get on the table.” He cocks a shoulder and tilts his head. Smiles. Mind blank.

“I beg your pardon?”

Her strength should come as no surprise and he regrets his yelp when his thighs scrape against the stone. He’s in briefs and briefly wonders if this is where she kills him. Lets him bleed out, a martyr, her sacrificial lamb. He’d keep his eyes on her as the lights go out, glad he could finally perform to her satisfaction. When she yanks the last bits of cover off of him, the cold much more biting and mocking, he nearly crosses his legs and asks if she’d like to join him for dinner sometime.

“Lie down and spread your legs.” He laughs. The look on her face says to shut up.

If she’s impressed by his figure she makes no show of it, stripping herself down and, like a lightning rod, gaining electric power with every item she removes. Once she’s as bitten by the cold as he is, puckered and goose-pimpled, she steps up onto the stone, between his legs, staring down at him. His mouth waters. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Tell me you need me.”

“Darling-”

“Say it.”

He feels himself getting harder. “I need you.” “I’m going to kill you tonight.”

“I know.”

“And when I’m finished, you’re going to thank me for it.”

“I will.”

She wastes no time warming him up. Her mouth is boiling on the tip of him and he angles to scrape the back of her throat if just to put her on the back foot. In response, she grips his hips, nails digging into the bone as she lowers and lowers and lowers until his toes curl and throat tightens. She’s a harlot and a harpy and his heartbeat is pounding through his head. Hands are pathetic and past conquests no match for her pretty little mouth. Her drool is dripping everywhere and he’s parched. “Let me taste you.”

“No.”

She scratches at his inner thighs, the soft little points where he’s hairless and shallow and the chills running down his scalp make him feel almost feverish. Good. He hopes he infects her. He hopes the little bit of poison that’s soon to fill her cheeks will spark delirium, binding her to him, his kiss the only antidote. Her hair is so shiny and he’s seeing stars. “Kiss me.”

She pops off and grips him like it’s a weapon. “No.” The back of his head thunks in anguish.

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll say anything, please, my darling, if I could just,” With a final lick he cums, shiny and sticky on his stomach, matting his hair. She leans over him, commanding and resolute. A demon. A creature of evil. A girl who will haunt him forever.

“Take me to dinner.”

“I will.”

“Buy me something nice, too.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll fuck you when you prove you’re better off unchained.”

“Thank you.”

That night, he dreams he’s trapped in a glass casket and she sits in the pews, smiling at him. He’s never slept better.

#so this is my first time I've set out to write smut specifically uhhhhhhlmk what you think! ahhh!#smut #rook x emmrich #emmrook #emmrich volkarin #dragon age the veilguard #datv

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asimpforthe80s · 7 months ago

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Found You, Andrei

Starring: Nikto x bestfriend!Reader

Warnings: mentions of: torture, going to the gulag, and Russian speaking. Smut: Reader riding him, unprotected p in v, and stroking his cock.

"I'm going on a mission," he said softly and leaned against the railing of the bridge, the dark and cold, murky waters of the Neva reflected in his pale blue eyes. He didn't explain anything — as usual because of his never-ending top secret assignments — but his words sounded like a death sentence this time.

"I won't be able to keep in touch for quite some time. I'll text you on your old number when I get back. Don't throw it away, рыбка."

He smiled faintly at you, trying to cheer you up a little when he saw an anxiety in your eyes. He squeezed your palm, putting a small photo card into it: there was an image of the two of you, smiling carelessly under a snow-covered scarlet mountain-ash. "You'll wait for me, won't you?" It was the last time you saw him.

You nervously smoothed out the crumpled corner of a worn photo, waiting for the next landing. The image faded a long time ago, but this is the only memento that was left of your dear friend. 6 years. 6 long years of searching, sleepless nights, smoked cigarettes, and endless stress. You've lost all your friends and family, sold all your possessions, and learned how to hold a gun. You have transferred from one PMC to another and visited, perhaps, every God-forsaken corner of the world. Hell, you even ended up in the Gulag, thinking that he was there, and managed to escape, taking advantage of the turmoil due to the escape of some crazy guy named Makarov. Now, you are one of the operators of the Shadow Company. You are stripped of your previous life completely, your ID is fake, and you don't even know if your dear friend is still alive. There's only a small bit of hope smoldering inside you.

Doing an intelligence mission, you split from the rest of the group to search through the abandoned gas factory. You ran into Nikto when you were storming a building. He now wore a mask, but you immediately recognized his icy blue eyes. It was your dear friend, your Andrei ... But he looked very changed. He was... Different.. Damaged… Broken.

"Nikto.." you said, instantly hugging him without caring about the danger signs in your head. The hug was unexpected, but not unwanted. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, like they remembered how to do it despite everything. But he pulled away quickly, almost roughly, as if afraid that you'd see something in his face. Or maybe just afraid of feeling something.

"You shouldn't be here." His voice was cold, detached. Yet, there was a hint of something else underneath, a flicker of warmth that made you wonder if it was real or just your imagination. "Go back to the others."

His hand reached out to push you gently, but there was no force behind it. Just a silent plea for you to leave before things got worse. Before he hurt you. "Nikto, you're coming with me." You said roughly, a complete contrast to the you he knew. "I'm not letting you disappear for 6 years only to find you and leave you again." You growled, grabbing his hand. "Nyet..." Nikto started to protest, but the grip on his hand was firm. A shiver went down his spine at the sound of your voice - it was different. Rougher. Harder. Not the soft, gentle voice he was used to hearing. But there was something else too - a hint of demand, of command.

And then he felt the hand on his, firm and unyielding. And he knew. He knew that this was it. That whatever wall he had built around himself was about to come crashing down. And he was terrified. But he also couldn't bring himself to pull away. Because despite everything, he needed this. Needed you. "You can take that new fucking attitude and burn it in hell.." you whispered as you started dragging him with you, taking him to your team. The roughness in your voice, the way you dragged him along, it was all so unlike you. But there was something about it that stirred something deep within him. Something primal and raw. As if a part of him was waking up after years of slumber.

"Nyet!" He protested again, but it came out more like a growl. He let you drag him, his body moving automatically as he followed you towards the others. But his mind was screaming at him, telling him to stop. Telling him that this wasn't right. That he should stay hidden, stay safe. But the feel of your hand on his, the sound of your voice, it was too much. Too compelling. "ты пойдешь со мной, хочешь ты этого или нет, Никто." You said, speaking his native language, 'you will come with me whether you like it or not, Nikto'.

The harshness of your words, spoken in his mother tongue, hit him like a punch to the gut. It was like a key turning in a lock, unlocking doors he thought he had sealed off forever. For a moment, he stood there, frozen, staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes.

Then, slowly, he nodded. He didn't know why he was agreeing to this. Didn't know why he was following you. All he knew was that he had to. Had to be with you. Even if it meant risking everything.

"Da..." He finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "Я... я хочу с тобой." He said, 'I... I want to be with you. You nodded. "Good.. cause I'm not letting you leave again, lyubimaya." The word 'lyubimaya', which translated to 'beloved', hit him like a punch to the stomach. It was a word he hadn't heard in years. Years of pain and torment had erased any semblance of love from his life. And yet, there it was. Coming from you. And it wasn't just in your tone, but in your touch. Your grip on his hand was almost possessive, as if you were staking your claim on him.

"Lyubimaya?" He repeated the word, tasting it on his lips. It was bitter but not unpleasant. For some reason, it made him want to lean into your touch instead of pulling away. "Yes, lyubimaya.." You repeated, taking him inside your team's extraction helicopter. The interior of the helicopter was warm and cozy compared to the cold outside. There was a sense of camaraderie among the men, a bond that could only be formed through shared experiences and dangers. Seeing you among them, giving orders, made his heart swell with pride. You belonged here. You were meant to be leading these men, not stuck in some office job.

As he sat next to you, he felt a strange sense of contentment wash over him. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. Maybe never. And for some reason, it scared him. "когда мы вернемся на базу, ты поешь, а потом мы пойдем в мое общежитие. ты займешь мою постель без разговоров." You said, telling him that when you got back to base, he was gonna eat, go back to your dorm, and take your bed without discussion. The words hung in the air between them, heavy and laden with meaning. His post. His bed. You were claiming him. Marking him as yours in front of everyone. And for some reason, it thrilled him. Excited him.

"D��..." He murmured, nodding slowly. "Я... я буду делать так, как ты сказала." He would do as you said. Without question. Without hesitation. Because in that moment, he would do anything for you. "Good, Andrei.." You mumbled, saying his real name. The use of his real name hit him like a punch to the gut. Andrei. A name he hadn't heard in years. A name that was as foreign to him now as if it were another language entirely. Yet, hearing it fall from your lips sent a shiver down his spine. A good shiver. One that made his heart race and his breath hitch.

"Andrei..." He echoed, testing the word on his tongue. It felt strange. Heavy. But also comforting. Like coming home after a long journey. "You're safe with us.." you said, still not letting go of his hand. Your words hit him like a bolt of lightning, searing through the fog of his mind and touching something deep within him. Safe. You were saying he was safe. With you. With your team.

The idea was so alien to him, so foreign, that for a moment, he couldn't comprehend it. Couldn't believe it. But then, he felt it. The tension easing from his shoulders. The tight knot in his stomach loosened. He was safe. Here. With you. "Now.. let me see you.." you murmured, reaching for his mask. Your fingers brushed against his mask, and for a moment, he tensed up. But then, he realized that you weren't going to hurt him. That you wouldn't do anything to harm him. So, he let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. He waited. Waited for the pain. Waited for the fear. But it never came. Instead, all he felt was your gentle touch. And it was... nice. Comforting. Almost soothing. As you took off his mask, you saw the many, many scars of his previous torture. Placing a soft hand on his cheek, you tried to assure him that he was safe and no one would hurt him. At least no one from your base. "Oh, Andrei.." you whispered softly in that voice he knew. Not in that rough and demanding voice he heard earlier. Your touch was soft, almost reverential as you traced the scars on his face. Each line and mark told a story of pain and suffering. But they didn't scare you. They didn't make you flinch away. They made you care. And that care...it was overwhelming. It was too much. Too intense. But at the same time, it was exactly what he needed.

"Oh, Andrei..." The way you said his name. It was like a caress. A promise. A vow. It was a name that held so much weight. So much meaning. And hearing it from your lips was... intoxicating. "любовь моя.. тебе больно.. столько шрамов.. дорогая.." you mumbled, pulling him in for a hug he so desperately needed. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. The warmth of your body against his own was like a balm to his soul. It was comforting. Reassuring. It was something he craved. Needed. Desperately.

"Да..." He agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Больно... Больно много." It hurt. A lot. But as you held him, he found himself relaxing. Letting go of the fear. Of the pain. Just for a moment. "And that's okay.. A... Andrei.." you whispered with a soft stutter, taking off your own mask, discarding it on the floor along with his. Your mask hitting the floor brought him back to reality. Back to the harshness of their situation. But seeing you discard your mask too...it meant something. It meant trust. Loyalty. Friendship. Family. All things he'd been denied for so long.

"Da..." He nodded, finally opening his eyes to look at you. Really look at you. No mask. No disguise. Just you. His friend. His family. You were crying.. but.. matching. The both of you had so many scars. "Just like we used to.. we're matching.." You cried. Your tears stung his eyes, but he didn't blink. Didn't flinch. He just stood there, soaking in the sight of you. Of your tears. Of your scars. Matching. Just like old times. Only now, it wasn't just physical scars. It was emotional ones, too. Scars from the past. From the pain. From the loss.

"But why?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why are we like this? Why did we have to become this?" You chuckled, drying your tears. "I wanted to find you.. I got desperate.. so I joined the same shit you did.. even went to the fucking gulag.." you cried. Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. Gulag. Fucking gulag. That place was hell on earth. And you went there. For him. Because you were desperate. Because you wanted to find him. Him. The monster that was Nikto.

"And you found me..." He muttered, feeling an odd mix of emotions. Pride. Relief. Fear. Guilt. All swirling around inside him like a storm. "I- I searched so many places.. и я наконец нашел тебя.." you said. Your words echoed in his mind. I finally found you. Those words were like a balm to his broken soul. A sign that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't alone anymore. That someone cared enough to look for him. To risk everything to find him.

"I'm sorry..." He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sorry for dragging you into this mess." You chuckled as you cried. "No, no, it's nothing.." you said. Your chuckle was like a slap in the face. It was unexpected. Unexpectedly human. Unexpectedly real. And it pissed him off. Made him angry. Angry at himself. Angry at the world. Angry at fate. But mostly, angry at himself for bringing you into this nightmare.

"No, it's not nothing," he growled, his voice low and gruff. "It's everything." You sighed. "Andrei.. it was worth it.. so many missions.. willingly going to the fucking gulag.. getting abducted and tortured during a mission.. fuck.. it was all for you.." you said. Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. Tortured. Abducted. Willingly going to the gulag. All for him. For the monster that he'd become.

"Я не достоин этого," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. 'I am not worthy of this.' You shook your head. "No, you are.. it was worth it.. cause I found you.." Your denial was like a knife twisting in his gut. Found me. Those words echoed in his mind. Over and over again. Like a mantra. Like a prayer. They were soothing. Comforting. They made him feel less alone. Less like a monster.

But they also filled him with guilt. With shame. With regret. Regret for turning you into this. For making you go through all of this. You hugged him once more. But this time it was more for your sake. You needed him just as much as he needed you. Your hug was like a lifeline. It pulled him out of the darkness. Out of the abyss. Even if only for a moment. It felt good. Too good. Dangerous almost.

But still, he allowed himself to enjoy it. To let himself be comforted. Because sometimes, you need to be weak. To let yourself be vulnerable. Especially when you've been hurt as much as he had.

The silence hung heavy in the air. Heavy with unspoken words. Unspoken regrets. Unspoken fears. It was comfortable. Almost peaceful. Almost. His thoughts kept drifting back to those moments. Moments where he was just... human. Not a monster. Not a killer. Just a man. A man who was scared. Who was lonely. Who missed someone. Someone who was sitting next to him right now. The silence was comforting. Familiar. The two of you were sitting on your bed, still in full uniform. "Want something more comfortable?" You asked quietly. Your offer hung in the air between them, a beacon of normalcy amidst the chaos. A simple question. An invitation to shed the weight of their uniforms, symbols of duty, and responsibility. He looked down at his clothes, then back up at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Da," he murmured, standing up abruptly. He began to undress, peeling away the layers of his identity - the uniform, the medals, the badges. Each piece was thrown carelessly onto the floor until he stood before you in nothing but his underwear. You nodded and went to get something more comfortable for him. Coming back, you had an oversized t-shirt and a paid of sweatpants. Which reminded him of something.. fuck. Those were his clothes. His clothes before he joined whatever the fuck he had joined. "Here." You said, handing him the clothes before going to change to something more comfortable, yourself. Your words were like a punch in the gut. A reminder of who he used to be. Of the life he'd left behind. He took the clothes from your hands without saying anything. Slipping into them, he could almost pretend he was back there. Back home. Before the torture. Before the nightmares. Before the pain.

As he watched you change, he couldn't help but notice how natural it seemed. How comfortable. Like you belonged here. Like you were supposed to be here. With him. A man and a woman changed together like it was normal. But it didn't seem weird. It felt normal. It felt like the time before the military. The sight of you changing in front of him, so casual and unaffected, brought back memories. Memories of simpler times. Times before the military. Before the torture. Before the nightmares. Before the pain.

For a moment, he forgot about the scars. About the pain. About the guilt. He just saw you. Naked. Vulnerable. Human. And it was beautiful. It was perfect. The feeling of the soft fabric against his skin was comforting. Familiar. It was like putting on an old pair of shoes. Worn in. Broken in. Perfectly fitting. It was a part of him. Or rather, it was a part of who he used to be. Before. Before the torture. Before the nightmares. Before the pain.

As he sat back down on the bed, he couldn't help but notice how different things were. How strange it felt. Yet, somehow, it also felt right. As you took off your shirt, he could see all the scars. Everywhere. Even your perfectly round tits had scars of torture. Your body was a canvas of pain. Every inch of your skin told a story. A story of torture. Of suffering. Of resilience. But he wasn't looking at the scars. He was looking at you. At the way your body moved. The way your muscles shifted under your skin. The way your nipples hardened slightly in the cool air of the room.

It was a fucking turn-on. Despite everything. Despite the scars. Despite the pain. You blushed as he stared at you. "What are you looking at?" You asked softly, not realizing that he was hard as a rock under the sweatpants. His gaze lingered on your body, drinking in every detail. The curve of your hips. The swell of your breasts. The way your skin glowed in the dim light of the room. He was hard. Rock-hard. But he didn't move. Didn't speak. He just kept staring.

You were beautiful. Perfect. Untouched. And he wanted you. Wanted you more than he'd ever wanted anyone or anything. You noticed his hardness pressing against the material of the sweatpants. "Fuck, Andrei..." You mumbled, biting your lower lip. Your curse made him shiver. Made him want to reach out and touch you. Made him want to take you. Right there. On the bed. Against the wall. Anywhere. Just to feel you. To hear you moan. To taste you. Fuck, to taste you.

But he didn't move. Couldn't move. Not yet. "I need you..." You whispered, closing the distance between both of you. You leaned in and kissed him softly at first, but then with passion. Your confession broke the dam. The floodgates opened. He pulled you closer, crushing his lips against yours. His tongue darted out, exploring the warmth of your mouth. His hands roamed over your body, tracing the contours of your muscles. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving marks.

And still, he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not now. Not when he finally had you. You moaned into his mouth as he explored your body with his hands. You pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, grinding your crotch against his hardness. The shift in positions only fueled his desire. Your weight on top of him, your body grinding against his, it was all too much. He groaned into your mouth, the sound muffled by your kiss. His hands found their way to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh.

He needed more. Needed to feel you. Needed to be inside you. His hands on your ass made you grind harder against his cock. You reached down and pulled down his pants, pulling out his hardness. You stroked it a few times, feeling it pulse in your hand. Your touch on his length made him gasp. Made him thrust up into your hand. He was hard. So fucking hard. Ready. Waiting. Wanting.

His hands found their way to your hips, gripping them tightly. He pulled you closer, aligning his length with your entrance. He was ready. More than ready. Your body was shaking with anticipation. You grinded against his cock, teasing yourself before slowly lowering yourself onto him. Inch by agonizing inch until you were fully seated on his lap. The sensation of you enveloping him was indescribable. He groaned, his head thrown back against the pillow. His hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you to move. To ride him. To fuck him.

He was yours. All yours. You started moving on him, your body rocking against his. Each movement brought a new wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You felt full. Satiated. Complete.

And you liked it. God, how you liked it. Each roll of your hips sent jolts of pleasure shooting straight to his dick. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. All he could do was feel. Feel you. Feel your body moving on top of him. Feel your walls clenching around him. Your movements became faster, more desperate. You were chasing that climax, that release. You wanted it so badly. Needed it. Craved it. His breathing grew ragged, and his grip on your hips tightened. He could feel his climax approaching, like a freight train bearing down on him. It was inevitable. Imminent.

And he wanted you to feel it. Wanted you to feel him. Your movements became erratic as your orgasm approached. You clenched your teeth, trying to hold back the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume you. But it was no use. It was too powerful. Too intense. "Andrei..!" You moaned as you reached your climax. Your cry of ecstasy pushed him over the edge. His own orgasm ripped through him, making his vision blur and his breath hitch. He threw his head back, his jaw clenched tight as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

And when it was over, he was left panting. Left spent. Left sated. You collapsed onto him, your body trembling from the intensity of your orgasms. You laid there, catching your breath while your body slowly returned to normal. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. His body was covered in sweat, but he didn't care. He just held you. Held you tight. And for once, he felt... complete. You lay there in silence, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. You snuggled against him, your body fitting perfectly against his. You closed your eyes, contentment washing over you. For once, he let himself relax. Let himself enjoy the moment. Enjoy you. His arms tightened around you instinctively, as if afraid you'd disappear if he let go. You nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent filled your senses, making you want to stay here forever. You felt safe. Comforted. Loved. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing in his ears. He could feel you nuzzling into his neck, could feel your breaths against his skin. And it felt... right. Perfect, even.

For once, he allowed himself to believe that maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

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