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wlfpet · 1 year

Note

Abby choking reader with her biceps!

AN; Sorry this took so long, its been killing me for fucking ever and I got stumped. Somehow I found a way to write something I could be a little bit proud of, so I hope ya'll like it!

content tags: Asphyxiation (2 in a combat context, one in an erotic context. r! receiving all three times,) fingering (r!receiving,) cunnilingus (r!receiving,) a normally degrading pet name used in a sexual context, abby is kind of mean in the beginning but warm sup at the end, reader is one of like a billion orphans that live in the tlouverse, sadge. mediocre action scenes. breast play (r!receiving,) abby gives r slurp and she didn't even pull her pants down

wc: 6.4k (woah...)

proofread?: i've rewritten this 4 times and never want to see it again.

The forest was dark and cold, wind whipping around you, through you, as you traversed deeper into darkness. It was getting dark, your radio had died a long time ago, and it had been hours since you had seen a WLF stronghold, or a stationary transceiver to call for help on. Your assignment was entry-level, sweep the grounds in WLF territory for any raider camps or pockets of traveling scars, but you were separated from your squad, and now, without any way to communicate with them, you had to find your own way back to the FOB before nightfall. You were turned around, in scar territory, alone; following the moon, sidearm drawn in your trembling hands. There was a ringing in your ears, cut only by the bumping of your anxious heart; pitifully, you wouldn’t be able to hear the cracking of rustling leaves and snapping twigs underfoot over the sound of your own fear.

There was a great cry as a shadow swung into your vision. You missed the blow narrowly, sliding backward as a body lurched into your vision. It rushed you, taking you by surprise, causing you to stumble as your pistol arm shot up wildly in the tight grip of your attacker. There wasn’t enough time for reaction, and before you knew it, you were carrying their weight. The two of you were thrashing, a bloody tug of war through the bushes and debris, you were fighting, the way that one fights before they die. It was a tornado of bodies, a cacophony of screams the clatter of a gun hitting the floor, and then the blackness of being blind as your head slammed into the trunk of a tree. Thick blood and spit shot from your mouth as you crumpled to the forest floor with a heavy thud, seeing stars.

You fought unconsciousness as you tried to regain your footing, but your assailant was too fast, grabbing by the collar of your jacket and dragging you across the tractionless, muddy ground. You were chest to the ground, pressed down with the full weight of two people as a hand fisted through your hair, holding your face to the dirt as you struggled with the last of your remaining power.

“Fuck– no, get the fuck off of me–!” You screamed, thrashing wildly on the ground, your torso pinned. An arm hooked around your throat. Your hand slapped wildly at the ground, looking for something, anything that could grant you escape. There was nothing; but as your fingers inched out, there was your gun. Before you could sweep it into your grasp, pressure bulged against your eyes, crushing your throat, tightening the skin of your face. Hands flew up, spurred on by true survival instinct to claw at the scar’s flesh, but the leather of your brown utility gloves only pawed weakly at the clothed bicep. Your lips pulled into a grimace, blood rushing to your brain as you fell in and out of consciousness. Like sick irony, there was nothing; but then, pressed to your temple was the cold metal of your sidearm. Your eyes squeezed closed, anticipating the bang.

“This is the part where you’d end up getting your brains blown out with your own pistol, rook.” The arm currently strangling you loosened, freeing you from its grapple. The disembodied voice- no, it was very bodied, actually, and still laying across you- jostled your temple with the dummy gun, exploding in mock recoil as a sardonic ‘–pchew!’ blew against your ear. It lifted away from you and you finally had the space to expand your chest more than a couple of inches. You rolled over onto your back, drawing a deep, reactionary breath, soothing the throbbing skin of your neck with a hand.

The woman towering over you in the darkness grimaced, unimpressed, leaning her weight against the tree trunk she had just used to nearly brain you. Anderson was your training captain; ruthless, built like an ox, and the top soldier out of anyone in the WLF, right hand to the Big Man, and you fucking hated her.

She was an unforgiving mentor; running you on drills long after everyone went home, failing you, hard, and was dedicated to kicking your ass for real every time you had a sparring match. This, in fact, was your third field scenario attempt with Anderson, and they never got better; the first time, throwing dirt into your face and ‘slitting your throat,’ then it was ‘shooting’ you in your abdomen and finishing you off with another to the chest, and now? Taken out after getting ambushed in a dark forest and having your head blasted open. She’d suck her teeth, cracking the vertebrae in her neck with a terse, ‘that’s how it is in the field, kid’’ as you walked behind her, winded.

“That… wasn’t a pass, was it?” You choked out, scooching yourself across the wet mud to sit up, drawing harsh, ragged breaths.

Anderson wrenched up a brow at you, unimpressed. “You really need to be told that wasn’t a pass?”

The matter-of-fact tone she took left you dumbstruck, crushed, burning from the inside out of embarrassment, the heat nesting in your cheeks mingling from the stinging pain from the fight. You were humiliated and more importantly, you knew she was right. That you had shit the bed, going 0 and 3. You wouldn’t be getting promoted to assignments, and if you kept dragging your feet, you’d be reassigned. But you could convince her, you had to convince her. “But everyone else from my class made mistakes, and they– they still passed!” You tried to seem firm and level-headed, but your throat got tight all of a sudden, and your voice was whiny like a child’s.

“Doesn’t really matter to me. I don’t train everyone else from your class.” She blew out flippantly, not even meeting your eyes, barely giving your pleas the time of day. It was her job to push you past your limits, to see how far from your comfort zone you were willing to go. To see how badly you could be beaten before you talked, how long they could torture you with guns or knives or burns before you gave in. But right now? She was more irritated than anything, and the truth she was biting her tongue on was that you were a completely lost cause.

Anderson cut the distance between the two of you and leaned in, closer than ever, towering over you like it was easy, looking at you as if she was seeing you from the inside out. Her smirk faded, falling to her barely-masked anger as she kneaded together her lips. Your eyes brimmed with tears as hers filled with indignation, annoyance, like you were an itch she couldn’t scratch; perpetually pissing her off. “You don’t have a clue in the fucking world, do you? The reality of what they do in the open city you’re in such a rush to get out to? What they’ll do to a wolf, out there?”

You did know, or at least you had heard stories. It was all common; rookies overhearing what deployed soldiers would bring back from their rotation, then telephoning it back in the barracks before lights out. The stories were always the same, scouting duos going out deep into the unclaimed territory, never to come back. It was no man’s land. it was suicide. After some days, they would stop calling into WLF frequencies. After some weeks, a new unit would be sent behind them, stumbling upon the bloated, swinging bodies. it would take another three days for recovery to get them back to the FOB, they would get buried in a large plot of land at the back of the stadium, reserved only for soldiers. It was nothing special, but the ones that were too high up would just stay there. Sometimes, it would keep you up at night, honest. You looked at your feet, almost submissively, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to leak. She was right, you fucked up, you kept fucking up. You forced your tiny voice to speak. “I’m sorry, I ju–”

“This a fucking joke to you, YLN?”

You looked into her eyes, she was tired of you. Tired of your constant excuses, how you never seemed to improve, how everything you did wrong ended up coming down on her shoulders. You had gotten bounced around from training class to training class on account of repeated failures, and at some point, they threw you at Anderson’s feet. She protested, she didn’t do fucking charity work but of course, the task manager gave a bullshit excuse, saying that was the direct orders from the big man himself, that if anyone could “fix” you, it was her. You were always fucking around, lackadaisical, terrible at your job. Always cornering her before the end of evaluations, begging for a good word, begging for extra credit. They called you ’tornado’ because you kept busting your ass during physical drills, which turned into ‘twitch’ because you couldn’t stop your gun hand from shaking during on-field drills. You were picky, even, complaining about the smell of the barracks on your first day in training camp.

Your mouth was open, gobsmacked, tripping on syllables, tongue dry all of the sudden, too dry, and you tried to blink back the wetness in your eyes before it dampened your cheeks. You couldn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. “No, I just– no, this, this is really serious to me. It’s really important to me.”

“But you want me to pass you? So that you can get your whole squad killed? So that they can ship your bagged-up body to the morgue? Fine, then. I’ll pass you. See? ‘You passed,’ easy– since we just like bullshitting each other.” The woman deadpanned, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, muscles bobbing under her skin, eyes dangerous, fed up. The harsh words had you simmering over with a quiet rage; at yourself, for fucking up from the beginning, and at your coach, for always being so hard on you.

“You’re not ready, kid, and I don’t think I can help you, either. Want my advice? There are a lot of other jobs they’ll give you at the stadium, but whatever it is here that you think you’re cut out for– you’re not.” She spoke through a tight jaw, and you could almost imagine sadness in her voice, but that couldn’t be right. She turned on her heels, heading back to the jeep the two of you rode out on, not waiting for you to follow behind her.

–

If she was nothing else, Abigail Anderson was a woman of her word. You had gone to pick up your evaluation records early in the morning, while the stadium was still quiet and everyone in the barracks was still asleep. It had become an odd kind of spectator sport to see how many consecutive fails you could rack up from mentor to mentor. In turn, it had become your ritual to collect your papers and make them disappear before anyone could ask. Your hands were heavy as you cracked open the envelope, opened it, and gazed over the lettering. There was a boxed-in ‘Instructor: A. ANDERSON’ in the top corner, and your face burned remembering the cold lecture that brought you nearly to tears.

whatever it is here that you think you’re cut out for– you’re not.

You hated her for it. For always being on your ass, for making everything so damned difficult. But you were disappointed in yourself for thinking that it would be easy in the first place. Disappointed that years passed by, watching from the sidelines as literal teenagers were deployed before you. Deep down, you knew she was right, that you should give up; but your eyes widened when you saw it.

INTERIM FIELD EVALUATION: PASS.

She did it to spite you but you didn’t fucking care, it was one step closer out of the program. You paced around, giggling to yourself; if anyone was up to see you, they’d think you were fucking insane. But no one was awake, and you’d be back in bed before all rise, so it didn’t matter. so you pressed the paper to your chest, as though you could absorb it through your skin. Fucking pass; you could lay down on the floor and die right here. You had to look at it one more time, just to make sure you weren’t dreaming. So you did, eyes flying all across the paper, your first pass in months; no, years and all you had to do was cry a bit. Wonder if Anderson would let it slide all the way to deployment.

Then you saw it.

CADET TRANSFER REQUEST

CADET #549226

From A. ANDERSON

To V. CHUNG

Fuck.

–

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Chung will give you all the passes you want.” You were towering over Anderson, who lay flat on the weight bench, adjusting the bar of weights over her head, angling and curling herself in preparation. She didn’t meet your eyes, only looking over a second in irritation as she saw you burst into the then-empty gym. You had planned to give her a piece of your mind, or at least beg and plead. It wasn’t working. She was flippant in the way that she always was, how she could reduce all of your feelings to petty quips and take the air completely out of your sails at once. She lifted the bar, barely any effort showing up as a kink in her brow, pressing it to her chest and then dropping it back down onto the stand jutting out from either side. Her muscles rippled, a thin mask of sweat dusting over her and twinkling in the light

that was a soldier, and she reminded you of everything that you weren’t.

“It’s not just about the passes. Everyone just–” against your will, a lump formed in your throat, and you turned to the side so that she wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you cry. “Everyone just fucking gives up on me.” You weren’t a stranger to being passed around, but it was something new that hurt; a unique level of disappointment at everything, at yourself, that made the tears pool and run down your face. Trained by the best of the best, and you still couldn’t hack it.

It really was a dead-end for you.

Everyone knew the jokes and the rumours of the cadet that just couldn’t make it, but nobody could pinpoint just why, no matter how hard life kicked you, you wouldn’t give up.

Being a child in a QZ was hard. None of you were happy, or living particularly well, but you had your family, and small joys, Until it all fell down, until FEDRA abandoned one post for another and you were left, a child, at the mercy of the world. You blew around, another fringe society, another QZ. Those fell too, and the only thing you could remember some nights was that everyone was gone now, and it was just you. That was when you joined the WLF. Because you wanted to save the world because it was your only choice.

You tried to work hard, waking up extra early to run drills, trying to build up your form or your reflexes against all odds. You were like a fish, the way you could hold your breath underwater. Your pistol hand still shook from the chronic anxiety of the life you had lived before, but you could take your sidearm apart and put it back together faster than anyone else. But nobody ever noticed those things, just your fuck ups. Nobody saw you, just saw twitch, or tornado, just a compendium of everything you couldn’t be.

If you couldn’t do anything else, then maybe the suffering you went wasn’t worth it. Maybe what happened to you was just common. You *had* to be a hero.

Or die a martyr.

The words rolled out before you could stop them, and you were blubbering, tears rolling down your face, a thick coating of snot and drool coating your lips and chin as you sunk down, crying. Your hands fisted that damned form, crumpling it, and it rippled and burst under your fingers. This really was pathetic of you, groveling and begging at the feet of a woman who didn’t care, and deep down you were still planning your strategy of how to exit this room now that you firmly couldn’t play it off. You couldn’t face her anymore, or anyone, for that matter because Anderson would definitely talk. Your only option was to defect, ride out at dawn with nothing but the clothes on your back, no, dig a hole in the stadium and live there, with nothing but a straw in your mouth for breathing, no, shit idea, maybe you should just swan dive off the high side of the FOB and save yourself all the trouble, no, mayb–

“Kid.”

And you were still talking, like a dumbass. “–and i know i fucked up but– if you could give me one more chance i just need one more chance you don’t understand how much this means to me how important this is to me– please i’ll do anything and i get it if you just want me to get the hell out of your way but i just thought i just thought i could i just really really”

“Kid, stop talking,” Anderson was holding your hands gently in her own. Looking up at you from her now seated position. There was still the ever-so-slight crook of indignation in her brow, but she was speaking to you, gently, leniently. She felt bad, and there was a black spot of shame growing on her back from how she had treated you.

She was remorseful, and there was a dark spot of shame growing on her conscience for how she had treated you. She was hard on you because you were just going through the motions and cutting corners a lot of the time, but there was a determination that hadn’t yet been broken down and you were dogged, like she was once; and deep down, she did have a soft spot for your annoying ass.

“I’ll help you. I’ll help you out” Anderson spit out, watching a spark ignite in your watery eyes. Before you got too excited, she put her hand up, holding all of your hopes in midair for just a moment. “But– fuck, stop crying. Thought I was gonna have to get you on a damn psych watch.”

You nodded jerkily, exposed once again in front of her, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your thermal shirt, a windy inhale passing through your nose and dislodging the mucus in your throat. “Shit– fuck, fuck. Sorry.”

Anderson stood from the bench, barely giving you time to react before she angled into a striking position, feet shoulder-width apart, planted firmly on the rubber floor. Her fists were clenched, muscles working in her arms and making her look ten times bigger as she stalked around you, chin down, scanning for an open. “What are you waiting for,” she chided, cracking her neck to the side. It was weird, like she was trying to… encourage you? “Scenario three, from last week– remember?”

Then she advanced, walking you backwards into an empty space in the room, striking at your head before you had a chance to react. You swooped down, diving under her extended arm to barely miss the shot that probably would’ve knocked you out.

“Put your hands up, rook– they’re not gonna wait for you.” Anderson grunted and slammed down with locked elbows; this was your in– and you charged, albeit off balance to make the first connection, a glancing blow to her chin. The two of you fought around the room, exchanging blows and blocks, kicks and punches. Somehow, you had managed your way into her blindspot and swung to try and land a grapple around her neck with an impassioned “I got you!”

It was then, like a flash of light that your arm was intercepted and you were turned over onto your knees, Anderson crouched beside you squeezing your neck in a submission hold. Her bicep pressed into your throat, that ragged pressure that tightened every muscle in your body and turned on that sheer animal instinct to survive. You clawed above you, nails catching on the flesh of her exposed chest.

“You don’t have to announce it, its not a damn movie.” She spoke, trailing off into a whisper. It was all over, you did it again, miraculously continuing your 0-for-infinity losing streak.

But she let you go, and it was crazy but you swore that her hand lingered in your hair for a second as she stepped away. You laid on the ground, heaving. Anderson looked over you, looking at the rapidly darkening red welts on your throat, bruises on bruises layered from yesterday night. In the back of her mind, she could hear laughter, a conversation over drinks while her team was on recess.

“You’re fuckin’ brutal on the kid, Anderson. Trying to kill her?” Chung laughed, taking a heavy swig from his beer. A hand clapped against her shoulder from behind, swaying her from side to side, sloshing liquid out of her cup and onto the wooden table they were gathered around. Before she could protest Manny’s voice cut through the raucous laughter ringing off the walls.

“Bet you two shift swaps that Abs makes YLN drop out of the program before deployment!” He cried, drunk off his ass, jabbing his finger in any general direction before loosening his spider monkey-like grip. Abby’s back burned, her jaw clenching unconsciously with thinly veiled anger, they were her friends, but fuck these guys, honestly. She forced a coy smile, becoming the face of drunken jest.

“You guys fucking done?” She tried to conceal the sound of her discomfort with a laugh, but it was tight and terse and frankly, after years together anyone at the roundtable could pick up on her unconscious cues.

“What, Abs, going soft on us? Or maybe… you’re tryna’ catch another type of body– huh? huh?”

—

She watched you, fisting your hands together on the floor in a quiet sort of frustration. Tears threatened to pool in your eyes but you blinked them back, cutting your eye at her for a split second and then looking away. It was embarrassing, of course, but at this point, you were defeated. Anderson sat down beside you, hooking her hand under your arm and lifting you to sit upright.

“Anderson I–”

“–just, Abby.” She whispered, palming your knee, trying her best to commit to her insurmountable task: being comforting. The woman watched as your face tensed up and then went slack as you dug teeth into your bottom lip, looking off into nothing. “It’s not going to matter more, just because you die. You know that, right?” You didn’t speak. Nails ran skittishly against your shirt as you ran your hands up and down your arms, trying to self-soothe, unable to hide your grimace.

“Yeah.” You nodded slowly, as though you were trying to stave off your own denial. “Yeah.”

The hand on your knee became firmer, heavier as it stroked over your skin, her thumb rubbing a small circle where it began to meet your thigh. “I was serious– when I was talking about other jobs, you know? You can just live a good life, and that can be enough. There’s nothing waiting for you outside of the wall, kid.”

If it were anyone else, you could’ve been angry, you would’ve lashed out; but it was coming from someplace real, one of the only times you had ever seen Anderson– Abby, be anything more than a cold, stony prick. She had been stern with you because she saw herself in that tiny rage you had, the anger just below the surface that she could see in your eyes right at this moment. Because when you’re that driven about anything, the only certain thing to look forward to is a darkness that keeps on coming. It was the hard realisation, and you swallowed heavy. “Guess not.”

There was a vulnerability in the air, and before you knew it, you were leaning into her touch, pressing your body to hers, side to side. Your superior didn’t move, didn’t keen away or tell you off, just sat there, never stopping the motion of her hand. It was a long silence between the two of you, but then she stopped, began to stand, and like your body wasn’t yours you grabbed her arm, willing her to stay without a single spoken word. There was this weird, small flash on her face that you couldn’t place, until she just nodded, using her strength to lift you to your feet as well.

“Coming?” Was all that she said, and you nodded. Yeah.

–

It was what you had always wanted, the big luxury box in the sky. It was as though you could see everything from your place at the window of Abby’s room, the barracks, where everyone was still sleeping tucked in the corner behind the greenhouse, the sun slowly overtaking the dark sky, the very tops of the skyscraper tucked into the clouds, the FOB, overlooking everything ominously.

“It’s all yours?” you asked, no higher than a murmur as you looked through the parted curtains.

“And Manny’s,” Abby dropped her bag in the corner of the room, using her foot to kick it under her bedframe. “On an overnight, though. So it’s just me. One of the many perks you have to look forward to if you become a top soldier.”

“Fat chance.” You quipped bitterly.

There were footsteps behind you, but you didn’t think much of it as you closed the curtain. You turned away from the window and in a second the two of you were together, the blonde placing a hand on the small of your back and taking your mouth into hers. It was as though you were covered in white light, how everything became so blinding, so warm, extremely surreal in a way you couldn’t place. You’d wake up in your bunk, you were sure of it. Had to wake up in your bunk. But as the wet of her tongue played over your lips, you thought, maybe you didn’t want to wake up. You could dream forever and that would be fine.

“You know, you’re really hard on yourself, rookie.” The taller woman breathed, pulling away to speak. “Wouldn’t be a good mentor if I didn’t give you a morale adjustment.”

You moaned, leaning into it, the thickness of her thigh now ghosting against the spread of your legs. Her hand came up to run fingers gently through your hair, thumbing away the thin layer of sweat that formed on the nape of your neck. Her cockiness did something to you, and it was as though you couldn’t get enough skin to touch as you gripped her bicep deeper, feeling the muscle bulge with her effort. Her tongue disappeared into your mouth, swirling against yours, depositing the slick of her saliva down your throat. It was heavy and wet, built up like her own body, and it dominated yours easily, just like she had done in the gym.

“You with me?” She peppered a soft kiss, groaning as she took a fistful of your thigh, heaving it up to lock against her waist, the seam of your pants unwittingly pressing into your crotch through now-dampened panties. She pulled from you and you wanted to chase her, a deprived whine ringing out of your throat before you could stop it. Unbeknownst to you, the noise sent a shockwave to Abby’s clit, and she could feel her channel begin to slicken. Fuck, you were pretty. Her eyes narrowed, looking over your features. This should be against her ethical code, probably against proper conduct guidelines, but she wanted you so bad it was infuriating. She heard Chung’s voice again.

…tryna’ catch another type of body?

Oh, fuck you, man.

You nodded, and a frown overcame her. “Needa hear you, kid.” You looked down, pressed your face into her chest, kneading fingers into her open grey sweatshirt. It was embarrassing to say, and a part of her wished that she was as bad as you had always said she was, that she would just… do whatever this is and not make you vocalise how much you wanted her. The pit of shame in your stomach got deeper, but she soothed a thumb over your brow and it was like you melted. “We don’t have to do anything if you d–”

“I’m here. I’m with you.”

There it was; the confirmation, the greenlight she needed to lift you up, both legs under her strong hands now, and carry you to the two pushed-together twin mattresses of her bed. She looked down at you, laying on your back, blown-out watery eyes squinted as she lifted your shirt up just a hair to reveal the plush skin beneath. “Fuckin’ hell.” She whispered to nobody specific, running a thumb against your torso.

Abby met your eye, asking, and you nodded. She exposed you easily, lifting your shirt up and leaving you in just a bra from the waist up. Deft fingers locked under the straps and she pulled her hands down, mouth agape as your breasts spilled forward. If she believed, she would’ve compared the sight to viewing the kingdom of heaven for the first time, singing angels and all. A calloused hand trailed up to palm one, a thumb rolling across the pliant bulb of your nipple, the sensation causing it to rapidly harden to a stiff point. She took it, rolling it between two fingers and her thumb as she leaned in, taking the other in her mouth and grazing it between her teeth. A ragged breath was forced through your lips as you tried to regain your spinning consciousness.

“Fuck, nghh– Abby, fuck.” You moaned out, delirious. The double stimulation didn’t stop, and instead, Abby slid her jaw forward, biting one nipple firmly and gripping the other between two knuckles to pull, and you cried out. She sucked as though she was nursing, the slopping popping noises of her mouth filling the air in tandem with your moans and whimpers.

“Goddamned gorgeous, you know that?” She groaned, slapping your free tit with her hand lightly before walking her fingers down to your belt loop. With one hand she slipped down your sweatpants to your ankles, leaving you in nothing but light, stained briefs. Your cunt had soaked pathetically through the fabric, clit standing at attention. You were so wet that the thin cloth was practically see-through, the rouge of your cunt catching Abby’s eye. Through your underwear, a calloused thumb toggled your clit, ripping a half-sob from your body.

It was as though you were an overflowing spring of endlessly pure water, how the wet spot grew and grew. You fucked your hips upwards, trying desperately to rock harder into the new assailant, but Abby lifted her thumb away, depriving you of the sensation. It was so much, everything was spinning; your head, the room, your soul out of your body. Your cunt clenched around air as she drew designs on your thigh with a finger absentmindedly.

“Gotta be patient, little.” She didn’t look up, but there was a smirk on her face and a smile in her voice as brought her thumb back down. “Gonna take care of you, don’t worry.”

Her finger ghosted over the wet spot in your underwear and you twitched unconsciously. The blonde captured a thin sheen of your drip between two fingers, stretching the line back and forth. “So fuckin’ excited for me.” She pressed her nose down into your crotch, and you closed your thighs reflexively. Fine by her. She took a deep inhale of your pussy, and lathed at the wet liquid with her tongue. The rough texture of the fabric dragged over your clit, bringing the little red bulb to a fever pitch, as she sucked and slurped through it, catching salty-sweetness in her mouth. Her tongue pathed its way to your covered clit, flattening roughly over the sensitive bundle. The dual stimulation was driving you mad; the hard abrasion of wet panties slipping between your cuntlips, in and out of your hole as she licked and prodded, and the firm muscle of her tongue kneading at the pliant flesh.

Like she was showing off a party trick, Abby maneuvered her tongue, skillfully weaving it inside of your underwear to taste your ambrosia from the tap. Rough hands grabbed hold of your ass, palming and gripping as she pushed your thighs up and over to situate your feet over your head in the perfect position where your gooey pussy was squished together, oozing directly into her mouth. You kicked the sweatpants the rest of the way gone, and they flew into the corner of the room, never to be seen again. There was a groan like an animal, and you weren’t sure which of the two of you was the source as Abby tore your panties open, the two halves drooping weakly, and pressed your feet next to your ears. She devoured you with newfound vigor, catching a second wind the moment your walls clenched around her tongue, fucking you in and out as hard and deep as possible.

“Abby! Shit, shit, more. Please.” You whimpered, looking down to see where her disappearing nose bumped against your clit over and over again. She wanted you to fuck her face, grinding her head back and forth so that her lips massaged yours, her tongue searched for every spot, and her nose abused your sloppy nub, driving you crazy with sensation over sensation. You were coming over the bend fast, too fast, and everything flashed white and black in spades as your body trembled. Again, her thumb came up to drum against your clit, and your orgasm tore you in two, red hot. Your juices siphoned into the blonde’s waiting mouth, and she drank from you like an oasis.

Her body came over, you, shrouding you in darkness and the rolled over to lay flat on the bed, scooting over to plant her feet on the very edge. You were still trembling, still drooling from the slit in your legs that was happily prepped and used. The throbbing shook your whole body as you tried to catch your breath, and Abby’s arm jutted out, pulling you across the bed and onto her, chest to back. She hooked her knees through yours, and you could feel the force holding you open to give full exposure to your greedy hole. She licked a hot stripe up your neck and you whimpered, biting your lip. She pulled it free with your thumb, replacing it with a finger that she fucked in and out of your hot mouth. “Wonder where this is going, huh?” She angled her knees down, spreading you further, your pussylips slipping apart, cool air running against your clit. “Gotta see if it’s just your hand, or if you have a twitchy pussy too, baby.”

The moniker that usually filled you with red shame was now engulfing you with hot-pink lust, your cunny leaking down onto the bed. You were dumb and fuck-drunk as Abby pushed one of her thick fingers into you, slowly at first in order to get you used to the stretch of the tight ring. She curled her knuckle to press against your g-spot and you saw stars. She sped up her filthy pace, the sloppy sounds of your wet cunt reverberating in the air. Then, it was instant, her strong, rippling arm coming around to clench your neck again, palm rubbing your head gently. Abby added another finger, palm smearing your clit harshly as she fucked you deep, pace quickening. Her fingers scissored back and forth as she closed her elbow tighter, cutting off your breath and inviting the pressure you were by now so used to. You couldn’t tell her you were on the verge of cumming, a red-hot fire in your stomach burning hotter and faster as the plowed through your juices.

You were suctioning her fingers, barely letting them slip from your folds. She pulled them out nearly all the way and drilled back in, tiny splashes of liquid raining down on the mattress. You ground your hips as best you could in the compromising position, chasing your orgasm, so close to your own personal bliss that you started panting like a whore with no concern. Abby pressed open-mouthed kisses to your cheeks, to your lips, the taste of you still on her and mingling with your own saliva. You were dizzy, be it the pleasure, the slowly depleting oxygen in your lungs, or the fact that your mentor was currently palm-deep in your pussy, but you couldn’t keep your composure.

Your walls clenched around her, and you could hear her muttering in your ear. ‘such a tight pussy, Twitch, baby. Such a good pussy.’ And it was like you were summoned, cunt spasming as you came hard and messy, squirt shooting from you and sprinkling loudly through the ground. She fucked you through it, releasing your throat as your vision blurred, not letting you close your legs and bringing her free hand down to rub your clit in tandem. You tried to buck away from her to no avail, your cunt clenching wildly, juices bubbling over, lips red and sore from the sustained abuse. Tears rolled down your face as you took hungry breaths, your deprived lungs fighting for all of the air they could get.

The two of you lay together, panting, hearts beating against the other, and Abby pulled her palm away from the throbbing expanse of your swollen, used cunt. She unhooked your thighs, and the pressure of closing your legs again sent a ripple into your pussy that made you whimper something fierce. There was a long, pregnant silence, and then you spoke up, cheekily.

“So are you going to still swap me?”

“Not sure… it’s, whadotheycallit–? A conflict of interest.” She said, turning over and throwing a heavy arm over your chest, rubbing your bicep absentmindedly.

“But I’ll tell you what, champ; I’ll make sure to put a special training session on my schedule whenever you’re up for it. If you’re up for it.”

#abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson ff #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby smut #abby tlou smut #abby anderson x you #abby x fem!reader #tlou smut #tiki writes #time to go lay my ass to sleep

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the-priestess-of-dawn · 5 months

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Grima and Final Blows

The other day I mentioned that I had an essay about Grima to write that I'd been putting off, and between that and all the great essays my fellow Grimleal scholars have been putting out recently, I decided to sit down and finally get it done.

So here you go. An analysis of Grima's difficulties with directly killing people.

Okay, so I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time, because one of my favorite things to explore when it comes to Grima is the gap between their villain act, which they actively play up in front of others in both Awakening and FEH, and their true feelings, which are hinted at in Awakening (particularly through the Future Past DLC) and made even clearer in FEH— their own evil actions are repulsive to them, and they wish they could live normally among humans, but they don’t believe they have any choice but to be the monster that “the fell dragon, Grima” is supposed to be. They are committed to this “fell dragon” character, to putting on a show for everyone, and they are so good at it that it’s easy to overlook that they… uh… aren’t very good at killing anyone important. Not directly, anyway.

Sure, Grima is responsible for numerous deaths. But what is their actual kill count? Well, in Awakening’s main game… zero. (Unless you count Chrom, but, as we witness, that was not a voluntary act on their part; Validar took control of their body. You could also make the argument that Grima “claiming the sacrifice” at the Dragon’s Table counts, but the problem with that is, although it’s obvious that Grima accepts the life force of the Grimleal members as a sacrifice, it’s not at all clear whether or not Grima personally kills them. Although it’s possible that they did off screen, it’s also possible that Validar killed them, or that they were ordered to take their own lives; there’s no reason Grima would have had to lay a hand on them.) In the Future Past, it’s… one, maybe one and half (Naga’s spirit, and Tiki, but only in body. More on this later.)

And it’s not as though Fire Emblem shies away from showing villains directly murdering people, Even in Awakening itself, the intro to Chapter 9 shows Aversa killing a Plegian soldier for delivering an unsatisfactory report, so it wouldn’t have been out of place to let Grima stab a few NPCs as a show of brutality. Especially seeing as Grima is the evil dragon final boss. As early as Mystery of the Emblem, we can see Medeus killing his cleric hostages to restore his own health if you fail to rescue them before trying to defeat him, and as recently as Engage, we get a whole cutscene of Sombron eating Hyacinth. Fantasy violence my beloved <3

Anyway, the point is, Grima could have been written to be much more violent and I don’t think anyone would have complained. Instead, though, Grima repeatedly— and consistently across the series— tries to avoid engaging in direct combat.

Let’s start with what Grima does in the main game of Awakening. We know that Risen pursue Lucina into the past, because we see them fall out of the portal with her in Chapter 1. We also know that those Risen, as well as the others that are appearing throughout the land, are not being directly controlled by Grima, because later in Chapter 13, as the Shepherds are leaving Plegia after meeting with Validar, Aversa, and the Hierophant, they are pursued by more skilled Risen, and Frederick notes that “Either they are learning our ways, or someone is commanding them…” So… It seems that sending the Risen—with or without specific orders—to attack while Grima is not themself present is a favored tactic.

But what about when Grima is present? Take a look at the Endgame: Grima chapter. Yes, you eventually get to engage Grima in direct combat. But not immediately. What Grima does first is…

Grima attacks the Shepherds with dark spikes from a distance, reducing everyone’s hp to 1. Now, here’s what happens next: Grima attempts to possess their past self, Robin hears the voices of their friends and breaks free, Naga heals everyone back to full health, and then the fight against Grima begins… Except actually, the Shepherds have to get to Grima first, because they’re at the top of the map and they’re not budging. Naga warns them that “Grima’s servants will beset [them] to no end.” and she’s not kidding. Grimleal reinforcements will spawn infinitely, and they can hit pretty hard. Even with everyone starting at full health, it’s possible to lose units to these Grimleal soldiers if Grima isn’t defeated quickly. Can you imagine what would happen if Naga hadn’t healed the Shepherds first?

Well, I’d guess that they’d probably all die to the Grimleal without Grima having to face them up close. Which was probably what Grima was going for.

This isn’t the only time Grima tries the dark spikes trick, either. Grima attempts this exact same move in the Future Past 3 when they face Lucina, Severa, Laurent, and Gerome.

Grima announces “With the next blow, I will kill you.” and then demands that they hand over the Fire Emblem as well as the gemstone they hold. The threat is very real. But…

Given that at 1hp, a gust of wind could take the kids out, would it not have been easier and faster to kill them and just loot their bodies immediately? And yet Grima lets the kids have an extended discussion about sacrifice, and even suggests that Lucina would indeed buy a little more time by running… Again, I cannot stress enough that Grima should be able to finish them off in one hit at this point.

So the plan was almost certainly to back off and let the Risen do the actual killing, even though that would be a lot less efficient under the circumstances. And when Chrom and the Shepherds arrive, Grima immediately turns their attention to them, saying “If it’s a reunion you seek, my soldiers shall welcome you on my behalf.” Then they once again pick a spot at the back of the map and refuse to move from it, forcing the Shepherds to fight through the Risen in order to engage Grima in combat at all.

And sure, Grima has some excuses. “I was hoping not to have to flex any muscle,” they say right before the dark spikes attack, as if to justify why they didn’t do it sooner. And of course they taunt Lucina over having to choose to whether to run as her friends sacrifice themselves for her or to stay and fight and die with them. “I must say I shall enjoy this either way!” Yes, Grima, we get it, you’ve made it very clear that you’re an arrogant asshole.

But is arrogance really all there is to it? If we look at what Tiki tells Grima in the good ending of the Future Past, it looks as though Grima’s arrogance has brought their own downfall. “If you had left Mount Prism alone, Grima, you might have stood a chance. Instead, you have brought the Awakening right to your feet.” However, when you think about it… Is Tiki’s continued existence not in itself a result of Grima’s repeated pattern of not really wanting to land a finishing blow? The game states that Grima did in fact kill Tiki… but only in body, not in spirit. This is, according to Tiki, because Robin intervened.

Now, the question I have is… Is it really possible that Robin could have intervened both against Grima’s will and without them having any idea? Honestly, it’s hard to tell exactly how aware Grima is of Robin’s resistance, because they lie about it a lot, e.g. stating that Robin’s spirit perished in sending Chrom back to his own world, even though just moments later, Robin is once again overpowering them. So, keeping in mind that Grima is a liar, was Grima really arrogant to leave Tiki’s body in Ylisstol, and to not make sure that her spirit was fully destroyed? Or was Robin simply able to capitalize on Grima’s propensity towards backing off?

Because surely the only way Grima could be unaware that Robin had acted against them is if Robin hadn’t actually acted against them. I don’t think I believe that Grima really wanted Tiki gone. Naga, sure—longtime nemesis and all. But if Grima had truly cared about seeing Tiki’s existence destroyed… Well, I doubt Robin could have interfered that much.

But maybe it could still be a matter of arrogance. Maybe Grima just didn’t think Tiki’s spirit could do anything with Naga’s spirit gone, and thus didn't care to pay attention to her anymore once she seemed dead enough.

If that’s true, it doesn’t explain why Shadows of Valentia Grima exhibits the exact same habits when fighting Alm and Celica, despite never having been outside of the Thabes Labyrinth at this point in their life. As opposed to the various Terrors throughout the rest of the Labyrinth, which chase Alm (or Celica) down in the overworld to force a fight, Grima is immobile in their room, and will wait patiently there indefinitely until the player chooses to engage. You can even evacuate from the dungeon.

But if you do choose to fight Grima, it proceeds much like the battles against them in Awakening go. The main difference is that they actually will move from their starting position this time, if you position someone in their range. That still requires a fight against (proto-)Risen who are spawning in from the sides to stop your party’s advance.

So… Now it’s starting to look like Grima actively prefers this one particular trick… And it’s a fundamentally defensive maneuver, which makes perfect sense from SoV Grima’s standpoint (they were attacked out of nowhere, after all), but is not really an obvious standout strategy for Awakening Grima, whose taunts and threats suggest an aggression that would be better supported with a more offensive strategy… Consider, too, that Awakening Grima is in fact being even more defensive than their SoV iteration, since they don’t move towards you at all.

With all that in mind, it really, really looks like Grima doesn’t want to fight, especially in Awakening. Not that they don’t intend for the Shepherds to die—on the contrary, they’ve set everything up so that the Shepherds will eventually be overwhelmed—but that they don’t want to land the killing blow.

(And gee, I wonder what might be fueling their reluctance? Being controlled and made to kill your best friend by your own hand wouldn't be totally traumatic or anything, right?)

And then... Funny thing here, I’ve been procrastinating writing this essay for a long time. I originally started thinking about it shortly before the Depths of Despair banner was released in FEH, so imagine my surprise when I saw this characterization hold up in the writing of Fell Exalt Chrom’s Forging Bonds as well… The Grima there says that Chrom was the one to kill the rest of the Shepherds. Now, it’s pretty clear that it was through Grima controlling him, but that’s not the point. The point is that once again, Grima didn't have to do any direct killing.

Look, if it had only ever happened once, I could buy that maybe Grima was just underestimating their opponents, that maybe they thought they could get away without having to put very much work in. But for Grima to operate this way so many times, so consistently, and to their own detriment? No...

Grima doesn’t like direct combat. Grima has trouble even when it’s a fight they asked for.

And when you think about it, that makes their reaction to Robin choosing to land the final blow themself in the sacrifice ending all the more understandable.

“…YOU WOULD… NOT DARE!”

Because Grima would not dare. Grima has always preferred to let someone else land the final blow.

#grima #fire emblem awakening #fe13 #grima studies #honestly realizing that main game grima doesn't kill anyone kind of shook me #future past grima only has naga and tiki... neither of which we get to see on screen so tbh grima might have weaseled out of them too #expiration has 5 range after all. naga could have just taken some dragon breath to the face from afar. we truly have no idea what grima did #to my knowledge the only time we see grima actually try to KILL kill (not dark spikes 1hp em) is... rearmed grima in the forging bonds stor #not her specific forging bonds but the general overarching one for that banner #which i have major problems with for other reasons anyway #and which might be retconned by feh itself bc thrasir said arcane weapons should be avoided at all costs yet... so many rearmed heroes now #so i don't feel too bad ignoring that one #but yeah like... writing this essay made me feel for grima even more #um... you know that one quote that the robin who's part of the day of devotion duo with chrom has...#“Having someone to express your love to is an amazing thing. There IS more to life than constant battle!”#yeah. i think about that quote and i think about grima's defensive fighting style and i. feel things.#to exist always on the defensive...#such an exhausting life they lead

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