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plush-rabbit · 2 years

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Eating Out - Brothers’ Ed.

Request: Hi, I hope you’re having a good day! Could I get some eating out headcanons like you did for Beelzebub but for all the other brothers? Thank you so much!

A/N: I think most of my things turn into short stories so this will be a mix of my headcanons at how they eat/a mini story w/ no dialogue. Enjoy! (afab reader, but gn pronouns!)

Lucifer:

While he can be giving, and takes great pride in making you feel good, he is also one to tease. He knows your body better than anyone else will ever get to know, knows just where to touch you to give you a strained, bashful smile. Lucifer kisses so softly and wickedly, exposing all of you with just his tongue. There’s no need to rush when you’re before him, when you’re with a body heavy with lust, that even if you could go anywhere, you would choose to stay in front of him with parted legs. His tongue parts through you, reaching deep inside of you, and he’s thankful that of all his attributes that are less than human presenting, it’s his tongue, and just how much you enjoy it without having to warm up to it. He can be soft, and loving, and make you release without begging, but then again, he wants to know just how far he can push you, just how much until you’re whining and begging for him- pleading with a raspy voice and desperation so thick on your words that it burns a hole in him.

You’ve teased him all day long and at first it was cute- you trying to be coy and letting your hands linger too long around his neck, but then the antics grew. Your hands grab at his thigh under the table, you sent him pictures when you knew he was around Diavolo when you knew that he would always open a message from you no matter where he is. It excited him; knowing just how much you wanted him, knowing that the result would end with you bent over his knee as he worked his fingers inside of you- with your bum sore and flushed from his hand. You didn’t even try to deny punishment, grabbing his hand eagerly and following him to his study with a growing smile pulled on your lips. You smile at him behind closed doors, and it doesn’t take long to undress you when you lean close to him. His gaze is cold, and his smile is pulled taut as he pushes you on his couch.

It’s a sight to behold to see someone such as himself on their knees. His hands are gloved and the texture is smooth on your legs. Your gaze is wide and he’s sure that you must think your punishment won’t be severe- that you might actually come out of this unscathed. But his smile is mean, and his reddened eyes predatory and filled with blood as he dips his head between your legs. There’s no need to tease you when you know what’s to come. His tongue is flat, licking a long stripe from the bottom of your sex, the tip sliding against your entrance, until it reaches at your clit, pulsing with want. You’re already aroused, dripping onto the seat without shame. He keeps your legs spread, leering over your exposed cunt, watching as it beads with your excitement and shining under the light. It’s a sight that he commits to memory, wanting to always remember just how perfect every part of your body is- something suiting both you and him.

He’s gentle at first, leading you in security. Your heavy sighs and moans fill his ears and for a moment, he forgets just how he wanted to tease you. He leaves himself there, kissing your sex so sweetly that it makes a chill run down your spine. His face is buried, breaths and tongue filled with your essence. You’re all that consumes him as he feasts upon you, his tongue tasting and slithering its way inside of you, feeling your gummy insides mold to him, clenching tightly around his tongue. Your hands are fisted in his hair, and you’re croaking out his name in a prayer, calling him and claiming just how close you are and he stops himself. He sees how your body falls and hears the pitiful want in your voice and once more, he repeats the process- teasing and kissing you so nicely, and making you want him, and just when he can feel the familiar twitch and tightening of your body, does he pull away with heavy eyes and deep breathing.

Arousal has soaked the seat and filled his stomach. You’re shaking and trying to rub yourself against his buried face and he is much stronger than you will ever be. You’re tired, voice raspy and low, your nails having clawed on the couch, and cunt wet with slick and his spit. This is turning out far more pleasurable- seeing the frustration and anguish clear on your expression and he has a smug grin. Lucifer is taking great joy in seeing just how long he can deny you your own pleasure. It’s a sight that rivals that of your own quivering cunt that flutters around nothing. Dipping his head back down, he grins into you, and feels just how much you need him. Your cries are getting louder and finally, you’re apologizing for trying to tease him. You promise to be better and he knows that it’s a false promise but when you call his name with tears, he can’t help but give in to you and your wants. He rests his face there, not pulling away when he feels your high approach and letting it spill on him and spill onto the couch. Your body collapses, and you thank him under your breath.

Mammon:

You are a shining light to him, and he needs you to know that. Giving to you, brings him immense joy. He eats feverishly, his mind blank, only your sounds of pleasure and the calling of his name echoed, and he doesn’t need anything else but you. His hands are on every part of you that he can hold- tight around your waist, interlaced with your hands, cupping at a breast and tweaking at your budding nipples- he just needs to touch you. It’s this primal urge in him to mark you- to rub his scent over you and let everyone know that you are his. Sex only enhances that urge- getting to feel your skin, delicate under his nails, and spilling with red when he digs them just a bit too deep, only to be kissed away. He moans and whines, letting you know that being before you is a pleasure on its own. It’s sloppy and messy, and it feels so good to know that he’s making you feel good- that you’re holding onto him and begging to kiss his lips that are touched by your arousal.

He isn’t sure what it is when he’s with you, but there’s just something there that leaves him always wanting you. He wants you in every type of way- beside him, infatuated, clinging to him- just simply there. You’re his, and he is yours and whatever you ask of him, there’s very little chance that he would actually deny you. So, when you ask to go for a drive with just him, he’s more than happy to fulfill that request for you. His hand is on your thigh, and his eyes are on the road and every so often, he casts a glance towards you- watching as you tap your hands with the beat of the song and stare out the window. You’re in the outskirts of the town, the glow from the buildings is nothing more than just that- a blur of lights together that are dim. You give him a cheeky grin, and it takes just a little bit of flirting for both of you to move to the back of the car, limbs entangled with one another in a cramped space. Your lips are on him, and the space is tight, and you're clutching onto him, kissing at every inch of his exposed skin and he’s taking it all in, savoring the feel of your lips against his skin.

Maybe it’s his sin, or maybe it’s you that has him so unsatisfied, so unhappy with what he is given, but he needs more, craves it and needs it like he needs air. It’s you that he needs in the back of his car, his body bent and cramped as you lay on the seat with your sex exposed to him. A chaste kiss is pressed against your thigh, followed by his lips pressed against your sex, hands on you grabbing and massaging at your thighs, feeling the plush skin soften and mold to his hands. It’s messy almost immediately, drool slipping past his pursed lips and staining your glistening cunt. His head spins, and his muscles are cramped and he just needs you before him, air be damned. He could live off of you forever, could never come up for air if it meant that you would continue to look at him with half-lidded eyes and a parted lips.

Nails pinch at your plush skin, marks appearing immediately and he can feel your body tense and jerk with every random touch. Your body is bent as he's sure you're going to feel that later, but at the moment, he cares for nothing but how you look at the moment- hair disheveled, face flushed with pleasure, his hands on you, and your eyes fixed on him. In that moment, you look better than any other prized jewel he’s ever laid eyes on. He’s suckling on your clit, swirling his tongue over the engorged bud that pulses erratically. You’re calling his name and he’s nodding along, moaning murmured words into your heat, asking what more could you want of him, what more could he do just to have you here with him in the back of his car.

Desire burns in him, greater than any flame, greater than anything he’s ever felt before and it’s because of you. He yearns to taste you, to memorize you- all of you- till he’s sure he could find you blind. You’re kept close to him, unable to squirm away both from the tight space and his hands. He holds onto you- letting his nails rake down, lines swelling over where he touched, and burning in its wake. Hearing the way you hiss and feeling how your cunt humps at his face in a desperate attempt, has his heart racing, beating against his ribs like a panicked bird. Your arousal seeps onto his tongue and smears across his chin, and with the lewd wet, clicking sounds, it is evident that you’re close. Your hands clutch at the crown of his head, and his name is croaked past your lips, and he lifts his head to watch your eyes shut tight, your mouth parted as your other hand twists around the seatbelt. Your orgasm is sweet, filling his mouth and lingering on his tongue and as you shake and you let your body slack, he is still kissing you- letting his tongue lick at your slit, wanting to taste every bit of you that you have left for him. Mammon looks up at you with eyes that match yours and his hands are on your thighs, and he kisses softly, lets his tongue drag against your rim and lips purse around your budding clit as he feels your hands soothe over his now knotted hair.

Leviathan:

Whether its the first time or the hundredth, Leviathan can be hesitant towards sex. His nerves and anxiety gets the best of him, and it leads to every touch being shaky and hesitant, a grip that’s just a bit too tight and it’s his face that’s flushed rather than yours. However, while the beginning of giving to you can be slow and ponderous, he gets into it fairly quickly. It might be due to years of repressed and perverted thoughts, but once he has a taste of you, he’s extremely focused. Your pleasure is the things that keeps him going- keeping his face to your sex, letting his tongue unfurl inside of you and take all that he can from you. Having you so close to him fuels his pleasure- hearing such perverse sounds and knowing that he's the cause of it all, knowing that he could taste and feel all of you and that you’d want him because it’s his name that it repeated and cried into an empty room. He is anything but silent, moaning and praising, the sound of his tongue clicking and moans filling the room and matching your own cries.

Of course you’d find him in his room, his headset on as he yells into the microphone before angrily stepping onto the ground in quick, repeated motions. You voice your concern- a hint of a playfulness that he isn’t having fun, and concern that maybe he should take a break. He doesn’t need much convincing afterwards, choosing to shut down everything until his reflection stares at him through the monitor. The bed- or futon, but he decided that futon sounded too immature- whines under his added weight. He buries his head into your stomach, eyes closed and a headache slowly beginning to form between his brows. Your hand scratches at his scalp and the soft, hypnotic motions has his mind feeling heavy, and it’s almost disgusting how this seemingly innocent moment of comfort has something beginning to ache in his trousers. Perhaps that’s the perk of being a shut-in- it doesn’t take much to get him going, especially when it’s you.

It’s embarrassing to ask you- almost as if it’s some shameful thing- but he cups your sex with his hand and looks at you with red pooling on his cheeks and on the tip of his nose, and you don’t deny him. Desperation soaks in him as he removes your clothing, and it’s so apparent that he wants you, that he just needs you at this moment. With your sex exposed in front of him, your knees bent and your index just teasing at your clit, he goes drunk on your cunt without taking a single taste. His mind goes blank- and suddenly he’s just aware of you- you heartbeat- your heavy, slow breathing and the way that your fingers ghost over your clit and your other hand clenches at the bedsheet under you. His mouth is dry and his tongue is heavy, and he can’t form a single coherent thought that doesn’t involve you and your cunt.

He is drunk off your arousal- pupils dilated and hands holding you to his face as if he had never touched you before. His mouth suckles on your clit, feeling the swell of it throb on his tongue and he yearns to hear your moans- to feel your back arch and legs cross over his back to keep him in place. If that’s where you want him, he’d never leave- he stays there, hands holding onto your bum and nose nuzzled to your clit as his tongue sweeps over the rim of your entrance. He can feel your twitches and your muscles tensing and he’s stuck between staying with his head resting between your thighs, or watching you, but then if he were to let go, he’d miss all of this- miss feeling so connected to you with just a single part of him.

The deepest, and most intimate part of you is exposed to Leviathan and any other time, it would have reduced him to a flustered mess, except that today it reduces him to a desperate mess that only seeks to touch you. It’s his name that you are calling. No one else’s but his and he takes that so well, moaning and nipping gently at your vulva, letting his tongue lick over the superficial wound when your cry is just a bit sharper than usual. He just can’t help it. He needs to hear you cry- he needs this. His mind is swirling, spiraling in depravity as he stretches his tongue as far as it can go- licking at your cervix and pulling back and strands of spit connect from his mouth to your lips and you look so filthy and all he can think about is stretching your further. His hands meet your sex, slick coating his fingertips and it’s his meal wasted. With his face pressed so close to you, he can feel it all. He feels your high, feels your walls tighten around his tongue, the way that your clit pulses and the sweet essence that fills his tongue with ambrosia and honey. He hums in content, pushing his face deeper into sex, parting only when you call his name. He wants more- needs more. He needs all of you at this very moment, needs to show you just how far his love goes.

Satan:

It’s no surprise that Satan would excel at whatever it is he does. He’s precise, knowing exactly where to touch you, knowing where to kiss and which part of you is most sensitive. He wants to see every part of you- wants to know that he’s the one that is causing such obscene sounds to sing past your lips. Even if you’ve already reached your peak, he holds you there, tongue and mouth still fixated on your sex. He doesn’t dare to let go; doesn’t dare to kiss away from you, to leave your sex alone and quivering without anything there to keep you warm. You’re there till he lets you go, until he’s gotten his full, until he’s sure that you would never forget him and that way that he makes you feel; that even if you’re alone, you’d remember him and that way that he felt.

While it can be argued that he has his own library stuffed into his room, it still isn’t rare for either of you to be caught in the library- either one of you focused on a book or simply just wanting to be read outloud to. It is rare, however, for the two of you to be undisturbed, the house empty of all inhabitants, only to leave the two of you alone. You sit on a chaise lounge, snuggled at the corner with your phone in hand- your partner placing stacks of books on the table, and his eyes catching yours every now and again. His steps are quiet, the books neatly organized and unblemished from the years of care. You only spare him a smile when he makes his way to you, and when he’s on his knees before you, do you actually give him all of your attention. Your eyes are wide, curiosity tilting at your head that friends him of a cat, and when his name escapes your lips, does he grab at your leg and whisper a spell to give him easy access to you. His name is repeated in a familiar chastising tone, and he can only give you a mischievous grin that is placed against your knee.

He leaves a trail of kisses from the outside of your knee, curving slowly to the inside of your thigh. His eyes are closed, and even so, he remembers where every freckle lies, craning his neck to kiss at each, running his hands and curving them around your thigh, waves of cellulite running under his palm. Meeting you sex, he kisses you, spreading your folds with his tongue and gripping you in his palms. He revels in the way that you sound- every swish and lewd squelching that runs on his tongue as he pulls you close to him. He’s humming and nuzzling his way against you, savoring every taste and spill onto his tongue. Even if he’s just begun, you’re already gripping his hair, knitting your hands and scratching his scalp.

There is no need for him to breathe when he has you right here, when he’s so consumed by all of you. His tongue runs against you, massaging as far as it can reach, moaning and nodding along when you cry and call his name. When you tell him that you’re close, he keeps at his pace, his nose buried into your sex and heart beating against his ribs as you squirm and cry. His nails pierce into your skin, pink crescents adoring your body, your cunt pulsing with want and breaths heavy as you call for him, and only him, begging for him. He releases a hand from you to work its way between his mouth and your cunt. He enters you with ease, massaging your inners with his index and middle finger. He is insatiable, your arousal dripping onto his chin, and onto the chaise lounge, and onto the carpet.

Your cries are louder now, and you’ve spilled onto his mouth and tongue, staining him with your orgasm. Your body shudders, shaking with the afterglow, and when he keeps kissing at your sex, you try to pull away, muttering out how you’re still too sensitive and the ever caring lover that he is, he continues to kiss you. He hooks a leg and holds you steady, preventing you from squirming away and he only pulls away from you to watch as your cunt trembles and flutters around nothing, leaking with syrupy strands, a pulsing want burning him from the inside. Your lips are puffed and his own must match yours, and your sweet voice calls out to him, a whimper to kiss you and perhaps you want him to actually kiss you, but he could never get enough of you and your taste. He wants to make you feel good in the way that you do for him. He holds you close, savoring every taste and twitch that you give to him. His mouth never stops, and he is passionate and slow, eating in a way that makes you twist and cry.

Asmodeus:

Every kiss of his burns- a warmth that washes over you and lulls you closer to sin, a familiar warmth that starts as you heart quickens it’s pace, heat rushing to the shell of your ears, to the pit of your stomach and aching at your sex. Asmodeus is a giving lover- making sure to take his time, never wanting to rush such a sweet meal, always pulling you closer to his mouth, kissing at every inch of exposed skin. Your skin is dotted in his marks, a breath of love whispered as he moves to kiss you once more. Never wanting to rush, he takes his time until you’re whining, breathless with a hint of desperation laced into your words to finally touch you.

You lay with him, your lips puffed and gloss smeared on his lips and stained into the clothes. It’s a rare moment where neither of you are bothered by an outside force, simply stuck in a room together where you now are stuck to him, hands trailing over his body and holding onto his thigh, close to where his own cock has already begun to ache. Your breaths are heavy, and despite that, you can only pull away for a moment before you’re back to him. Every kiss kindles the flame inside of him, and the taste of your lips is intoxicating, spinning his mind until his lungs are empty of air and his mind is consumed by you.

Just a simple touch to your thighs is enough to have you moan into his mouth, trailing your lips to kiss at his neck and beg just beneath his ear. He hasn’t even begun to fully touch you, and you’re already clinging to him, begging for more and he could never deny you- not when you ask so sweetly. You lay on the bed, and your clothes and his are discarded over the floor of the room. His palms sink into your soft thighs, manicured nails lightly scratching at your skin as he kisses from your collarbone, down between your breasts, to your navel and finally breathing upon your sex, letting the tip of his tongue swipe at your trembling bud. He feels how much you want him, can sense it past his own sin and sense it in the connection that he has with you. He so desperately wants you- he kisses the pulse in your core, feels the way that your feelings beat against him, and tastes you.

Perhaps it is mean of his to tease you so much- especially when you’re writhing under him and calling his name with a croak, wanting him to really taste you, but he can’t help it. He adores the sound of your voice, the frustration and how your sex twitches every time he so much as breathes against it- against you. His lips kiss at the inside of your thighs, his tongue soothing over where he bites. Your heels dig into the comforter, and hands twist the fabric and reach for anything to just hold tightly. There’s a desperate want in him, something so primal and so him, that he needs to touch every inch of your skin, to kiss and bite until he’s satisfied. It’ll always go past his sin with you, past anything that you could ever begin to fathom and he’s leaving his mark on you, decorating you with everything that he is. Your hands run through his hair, and he can feel how warm his own body is, sweat slick against his forehead and burning his cheeks. He’s grateful that you can’t see him in this moment, and though you would find him beautiful, he needs the moment of pure lust and adoration to be just his for a moment.

Deciding that you’ve been teased just enough, he finally meets your sex with his tongue. The tip of his muscle swirls around the pulsing bud, every beat of your want and hunger vibrates against his tongue. His mouth trails down, tongue slipping into your entrance, tasting your sweet arousal that pours out in honeyed strands and slips down his throat and warms his own desire. The tip of his nose brushes against your clit with every push and swirl of his tongue and lips, every moan that trembles past your lips pushes him deeper against you, smothered by your sex and thighs. Blood rushes to his ears and his face is sticky with your arousal, and you are shameless and inviting, calling out his name with such amour, chest heaving with every breath and moan. Asmodeus pulls away with a lazy cunning smile and wet lips, your body shaking in the afterglow, and without waiting for you to calm from your high, he returns to your sex, his index and middle finger squirming inside of your silky walls.

Beelzebub:

Eating Out - Beelzebub Ed.

Belphegor:

Belphegor’s sin embeds itself into his whole being, it makes his whole body feel heavy as if he were carrying weights on his shoulders. Everything is such a chore to the youngest brother, and it shows in his movements. Sex isn’t always so slow, but it’s the lead up to it that makes it feel as if he’s intentionally teasing you, pushing you to the brink with every lick and feel of his touch. He’s slow, kissing at your sex with such a heaviness, his tongue swiping against your folds and face buried into your sex. It’s all so sweet and tantalizing, making your body arch and curl, hands fisted into his hair as he can feel your sex throb against his tongue. He doesn’t mean to tease you, but it isn’t as if he's sorry about the results.

It’s late and both he and you should be asleep, but he can’t help it. You couldn’t help yourself to him, kissing him and grinding your hips over his. His eyes are closed, heavy from sleep and your own lust that fills his lungs and lingers on his tongue. It would be silly of him to deny you anything, not when you’re kissing him so sweetly, not when your own taste is more alluring than sleep at the moment. You’re on your back and the covers are pushed to the side, teetering towards the edge of the bed and his hands make quick work to discard you of your clothes. You’re so warm, so soft and supple under him. His fingers sink into your thighs, into the soft mound of your stomach and without wasting a second, he dips his head between your thighs.

Slick already wets his lips, and pools on his tongue as the tip of this tongue licks a strip against your entrance. Your muscles twitch, a reflex as his tongue teases against your leaking cunt, arousal beading out in pearly strands. He lifts his head, nose grazing over your clit in a way that feels too hot and not enough, and his mouth latches on, suckling on the erect bud. Hands knit into his hair, his name mixed into moans as his cheeks hollow. He releases you with a pop, eyes half-lidded and face flushed; his erection is uncomfortable and strained in his pants, but it’s far too much work for him to actually do anything more than hump at the bed. Kisses are pressed against the inside of your thighs, close to the swell of your mound where his cheeks nules against it with every peck. Your thighs tense around his head, jerking under him and twitching with every kiss and pull until you’re trying to steer him with your hands still in his hair.

You’re needier than before, whining and thrusting your cunt into his face, trying to find any form of friction and he’s partially to blame. He’s going so slow, kissing your sex as if it were the first time, as if he were really kissing you. It’s all wet- slick and drool stuck to his chin as you whine his name in a breathless pitch. You’re pulsing- throbbing with such a force that for a moment, he thinks you’ve been really pent up, but that thought is quickly washed away when you start muttering about how close you are. At that moment, all he can focus on is getting you there. The tip of his tongue swirls the bud, vibrations sent to your core as he moans so lightly against you. He swipes down to work his tongue inside of you, swirling around your entrance and inside of your velvety walls that twitch and leak with your arousal.

Nails drag down on your skin, and he keeps you still- as much as he can anyways. Your moans are growing, echoing against the walls and reverberating in his ears, his mind only filled with you and everything silenced by you. He keeps himself fastened between your sex, unrelenting to give up his own space, never wanting to part from you without feeling everything that you can give to him- every spasm and twitch memorized by his tongue, your taste forever embedded in his mind, and he understands what it’s meant to be hungry as he seeks your high. He commits al of you into his memory- your sounds, and the way you call his name, breathless and strained but still full of want and need. Your orgasm washes over him, spills onto his tongue and he lets out such a needy whine with his lips still kissing at your sex. A warm color spreads from your chest to your face, and you stare up at him with a lazy smile. Belphegor can feel his own smile begin to twitch into life as well. With his lips still slick with your arousal, he kisses you, undoing his pants and letting the tip of his cock slide between you.

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bucketsofmonsters · 5 months

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A Diplomatic Error

cw: enemies to lovers, kidnapping, being tied up, manhandling, size difference, non-human genitalia, oral sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

male orc x fem reader

Word count: 9k

You were headed to another counsel meeting. You never really stopped attending them, despite the fact that they never listened to a word you had to say.

Your father said it was good for morale. You didn’t understand how watching someone sit around and not help was good for anyone’s morale, but you knew better than to question him.

The halls of the palace were quieter than you were used to. Almost everyone had been called to the front lines, even your closest guards had gone. You weren’t used to walking alone, nor were you accustomed to the typically lively castle looking like a ghost town.

So now you walked through the castle halls, more alone than you’d ever been before, no one there to wait on you, to protect you, to watch over you. Something in you said it should have felt freeing.

It didn’t. It just felt lonely.

As you walked, moving slowly as you wallowed in self-indulgent pity between war meetings, a pair of hands reached out of nowhere, one snaking around your waist to pull you back into the shadows while the other clamped firmly over your mouth.

When the guards had been sent away, you’d been assured that you’d be safe. It wouldn’t exactly be easy for a hulking orc to sneak in undetected. At least that's what you'd been told. With a massive hand that dwarfed your face locked over your mouth, suddenly the idea didn’t seem so ridiculous.

You thrashed under the figure's unwavering grip to no avail. He easily held you in place, barely needing to put any effort in to stop your desperate bid for an escape.

You weren’t one for swooning but suddenly a faintness came over you. You reached up to grab at the only stable thing in reach, hands wrapping around the figure’s arm, trying to keep yourself upright.

Your knees began to buckle and only then, mind slowed by whatever he’d dosed you with, did you begin to suspect foul play. Maybe something on his skin that humans were weak to, maybe something in the air. Was he holding a cloth? You didn’t think so. But then again, he seemed so far away not, even pressed up against you as he was.

You blinked your heavy eyes and when you opened them, you were thrown over a large shoulder. You watched the road behind you as the creature holding you strode along, still blind to what was ahead. His hand was wrapped around your waist, keeping you firmly in place, jostling you only slightly with each step.

It took you a second to gather your bearings enough to start struggling. Once you did, you started pounding on his back. It was a futile gesture but you were nothing if not persistent. At the very least, he knew you were awake now.

His shoulder shook under you as he chuckled. “Good morning, princess,” he said, his gravelly voice carrying across the road.

“Put me down, you brute!” you shouted, trying your best to kick your feet under heavy skirts. If you'd known you'd be getting kidnapped today, you'd have worn something lighter.

He paused and for a moment you thought maybe he'd listen to you. But you knew better than that, knew you'd have no say in any of this.

“As you wish.”

Your feet were planted on the ground, although he still had a heavy arm on your shoulder, holding you in place. A silent promise: you weren't going anywhere.

You whipped around, eager to see what was in front of you instead of the increasingly distant road you'd been traveling on.

You got your first look at the front of your captor, no longer flung over his shoulder.

Despite it being part of the little information you already knew about him, the first thing you noticed was that he was massive. He towered over you, with a broad frame to match. Tusks stuck out of his mouth as he sneered down at you, marring an almost handsome face.

You’d never actually seen an orc in person and despite years of being at war with them, it struck you suddenly that they were real. They were real and in front of you, no longer threatening figures discussed in crowded rooms you weren’t supposed to speak in but instead a real man in front of you with his hand on your arm. It radiated warmth, applying a firm pressure that told you if he wanted to he could crush you underhand.

In front of you, next to your very real captor, was a camp. The sort of camp you imagined soldiers slept in. You had no idea which side of the border you were on, disputed or otherwise. You hoped you were still in your own kingdom, but you had no way to know. It all looked the same from here.

Amidst the massive canvas tents milled a dozen or so orcs. At your sudden appearance, they’d stopped what they were doing, all peering at their new guest.

As they all stared at you, you panicked. Your feet started moving before your brain did. You managed to slip out from under your captor's grasp just in time to feel his hand dart forward, pushing you into the mud before you had a chance to get anywhere.

As you lay in the dirt, you heard something that sounded like orders being barked in a foreign tongue.

And then you were being hauled to your feet. You didn’t have the presence of mind to be upset at the manhandling as you looked down at your body, the front of you almost completely covered in mud.

You didn’t even have time to protest that before he cut you off. “Come on, m’lady. We have much to discuss.”

You crossed your arms, about to demand more respect from him before you were being lifted again and all you could manage was a surprised little squeak.

You watched helplessly as you were hauled into a nearby tent, all of the towering soldiers staring at you as you went.

You were deposited less than graciously on the floor of the tent, left to flounder and find your bearing on your own as your captor moved to look at you.

The tents were incredibly spacious, at least for someone of your size, the roof towering above you.

He leaned down in front of you, tone condescending as he spoke. “Here’s what's going to happen. You’re a bargaining chip for us. We’ll get you home as soon as your father allows it, princess.” He said your title like an insult, spat it at you in a way that made you flinch.

“And in the meantime?” you asked, trying your best not to look afraid. You'd make your way out of this with your pride intact. Well, as much of your pride as you could still manage to salvage as you stood there, covered in mud.

You could barely see the deep red of your dress under the grime. You didn’t even know how much of it was from your fall and how much you’d picked up on the road.

“In the meantime,” he said, “you will sit around until we need you.”

“Perfect.” You stood, futilely attempting to brush off your skirts as you did and taking a step towards the entrance of the tent. “Well, I should go find a place to rest until I am needed.” It was a long shot but you at least had to try.

Your captor followed you as you backed slowly out of the tent. “I don’t think you understand what’s going on here.”

“What’s the harm in it? Where do you think I’m going to go?” you shouted, gesturing around you at the thick woods. “If I had a death wish, there are far better ways to satisfy it than getting lost in the forest. Attempting to kill you, perhaps.”

He nodded. “It would be more honorable, to die in combat against me.”

You groaned. “Yeah, sure, that’s what I meant. It’d be so honorable of me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find somewhere to rest, maybe even clean myself.”

You managed to make it about two steps before his arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you as if you were a ragdoll.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The words were hissed into your ear as he walked. You thrashed in his grip but it didn’t matter, he hauled you along just as easily.

You were thrown into a new tent next to a massive wooden pole, staked into the ground in the center.

He leaned down next to you, grabbing your arm, easily resisting your attempt to pull it away from him. As he easily held your wrists in one hand, the other reached back to pull out a length of rope. His hands were surprisingly nimble, threading rope around your wrists and securing you to the pole at the center of the tent with little difficulty.

When he let his hands get a little too close to your face, you bit them as hard as you could, locking your jaw down on him. There wasn’t any strategy behind it, you couldn’t escape or go anywhere, but the way he hissed and yanked his arm back filled you with a little bit of self-satisfaction. That had to be worth something.

He didn’t stick around long after. It seemed you had managed to piss him off at some stage in the kidnapping process. You couldn’t imagine when.

Your first night in the orc camp was spent restlessly, pulling futilely at your bindings as you sat there on the floor. You tried not to wallow in your misery. This wouldn’t be forever. Your father would get you out of here, one way or another. Until then, you could put on a brave face.

As the sun began to rise, the orcs’ curiosity in you seemed to reawaken.

Occasionally a soldier would peek in the entrance of the tent, never for more than a few seconds, or you would see them silhouetted against the canvas, hovering nearby. When you got particularly frustrated you’d shout at them, the snorts of laughter your yelling drew from them only making you angrier.

But anger was good. At least anger felt productive.

You’d become accustomed enough to the curiosity of the soldiers that at first, when your captor returned, you didn’t notice it was him. It was only when he strode towards you and began to undo your bindings that you realized who he was.

The second your bindings were undone, you made a break for it. You didn’t make it far. Your captor held you by your ankle, dangling you upside down, your various muddied skirt layers falling to cover your face as you struggled.

“This will be easier for you if you behave,” he said, and you could hear a layer of irritation in his voice.

You would've spat in his face if there weren't layers of fabric hanging in front of you.

His attempts to right you were thwarted by your thrashing until you figured out what he was trying to do and attempted to still yourself as much as you could, if only to get your feet on the ground again.

“We’re moving,” he said as you steadied yourself when returned back to solid ground. “I can carry you or you can walk.”

You opted to walk, both to preserve your dignity and to attempt to plan an escape.

The soldiers were shockingly efficient, completely packing up the camp faster than you’d imagined possible.

And then you were on the move.

You had to move swiftly to keep up with them, none of the soldiers willing to slow for you.

Your captor stayed diligently by your side, occasionally shooting you looks that seemed intended to tell you you had no chance of escape. You ignored him.

After about an hour of moving quietly, out of breath from all the walking, he was the one to break the silence.

“You’re slow.”

“Your legs are longer than mine. Besides, it's hard to walk when you’re covered in filth” you said, struggling under stiff, heavy skirts.

“And who is to blame for that?”

You gave him a pointed look. “In fact, I think you’ll find that you are.”

“You shouldn’t have run,” he said with a grunt.

“You shouldn’t have pushed me!”

He rolled his eyes and then you were being hauled off the ground again. You yelped in protest but were quietly a little grateful as he sat you on his shoulder. If you had to keep moving at their pace all day, dressed as you were, you might’ve passed out.

It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t keep up with a well-trained group of soliders. If anything, they should be impressed you managed to keep pace as long as you did.

Your hand rested on his other shoulder as he moved, trying to keep yourself steady, but realistically, you knew he wouldn’t let you fall, his arm holding you easily in place. You were just glad you were being allowed to sit this time instead of being thrown around like a sack of potatoes.

You spent the rest of the day like that, sitting on his shoulder as they traveled. As the sun began to set and the others began to set up camp, you expected to be set down.

It seemed you were wrong.

Instead of placing you on the ground or even tying you up again, he began to pace off in the opposite direction of the rest of the camp.

Nerves began to take over you. He may have said nothing would happen to you, but you did not relish in the thought of being alone with him, let alone him intentionally dragging you away from the rest of his compatriots.

You began to squirm again and his arm tightened, holding you in place. “Settle,” he said, his voice low and calm.

You did not listen.

Eventually, he did set you down, although you did not think your thrashing encouraged him to do so.

As he did, you noticed the sound of a swift-moving river just behind you.

He nudged you towards the river. “Clean. You’re too slow.”

“What?”

“You wanted to be clean,” he said, nudging you again. "You should clean”

“It’s a river.”

He looked at you like he was worried you’d hit your head. “It is.”

“And you expect me to wash in there? It’s full of dirt!”

He chuckled and you considered biting him again. “You’ll survive, princess.”

You groaned but decided that anything was better than the mud you were caked in. It was running water, at the very least. You weren’t certain why, but it did feel a little cleaner that way.

You considered bathing fully clothed but you’d heard too many stories of women drowning, weighed down by layers of dresses.

You began to pull at your dress, stripping off some of the upper layers, glaring at your captor as you did. It was too much to ask to be left alone, you knew that much, but it was still humiliating to get undressed in front of him like this.

You only took off as many layers as you needed to ensure you wouldn’t drown. You were almost fully covered but still, you felt exposed.

At the very least, he seemed largely disinterested in what you were doing, only sparing you the occasional glance.

You covered your chest as you moved towards the water. He looked down at you as you did, head cocked to the side. “What are you doing?”

“The skirts are heavy, I can’t wear them in the water or I could drown.”

He scoffed. “Little weakling. That’s not what I asked though, why do you hide? You’re covered.”

“I’m being forced to strip to my underwear, of course I’m covering myself.”

He stared back, clearly still confused, and you realized as you looked at him that the idea of being properly dressed was probably not the same for him. He was covered, but largely in leathers and furs, with far more skin exposed than you would ever have, even now in your underskirts.

“Listen,” you said, trying not to be too antagonistic, as it seemed he was truly trying to understand. “It’s different for us. Especially for me, I’m supposed to be covered perfectly at all times. Maybe you should give me new clothes.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked dismissively.

Any patience you’d been trying to put on for him snapped. “Sorry, I forgot you’re a heartless brute, I don’t know why I asked.”

And with that, you stormed off into freezing cold water.

The mud caking your skin began to wash off as soon as you touched the water and you let out a sigh of relief. The river looked to be snow runoff from a nearby mountain, it certainly felt cold enough for it, but for now all you wanted was to be clean.

You looked down as you scrubbed at your skin and your skirts and as you did, you realized the whites of your underthings had become translucent in the freezing water.

You turned and caught him staring, both looking away as soon as your eyes met. You turned your back to him immediately, feeling tears pricking at your eyes, trying to cover it up with the water that was rushing over you. It felt like you had nothing left, like this was the ultimate humiliation.

When you turned back to look at him once more, he was gone, not making so much as a sound as he left.

You weren’t foolish enough to think he’d truly left you alone, but you appreciated having at least the pretense of privacy. It was shockingly… kind?

No. You pushed the thought out of your mind as quickly as it occurred to you. You would not start thinking like that, not about the man who had kidnapped you.

You finished bathing quickly, the chill starting to set into your bones.

As you waded out of the river, he was still missing. It was evident where he’d been, massive orcs weren’t exactly built for stealth, but still he was nowhere to be found.

In his stead, you found a pile of clothes lying on the bank of the river. As you lifted them, the first thing you noticed was while they were far too big for you, they were too big by human standards. It was an old shirt, well worn, and a pair of pants you’d have to find some way to tie to keep up properly. They were slightly torn and upon closer inspection, you found speckles of a dark rusty substance splattered across the shirt.

Someone’s blood. From who’s side, you’d never know.

You tried not to dwell on what had happened to the owner of these clothes to leave them in the orc’s possession. They were yours now.

They were far more practical than your fine skirts had been, even if they didn’t quite fit properly.

As you pulled them on, you hesitated, holding your skirts. You didn’t need them any longer, but it felt like a waste to just leave them here.

But you had no time for sentimentality right now. You cast them aside, opting to forgo your shoes, despite the lack of new ones. Your shoes from the palace were not exactly built for forests and rough terrain. They’d only slow you down.

As you finished dressing, situating yourself in the unfamiliar clothes as best you could, you looked around nervously. You could find no sign of your captor amidst the unfamiliar foliage, but you had more than enough reason to doubt yourself. You felt lost amidst the thick trees surrounding you, it was hard to tell where you stood. You didn’t know what to look for or how to orient yourself, trapped in a foreign landscape.

You did what you could, checking for any onlookers, peeking through the trees, and once you’d made your decision, taking off.

You had no idea where you were, or where you were running to, but anywhere was better than here. There were surely search parties looking for you and even if you were on the other side of the border, orc civilians or soldiers who were unfamiliar with your status were a better bet than your current captors.

As your bare feet pounded down on a floor of sticks and rocks, you tried to ignore how cut up they were getting.

You were faster this way. That was what counted.

You focused on moving as fast as you could, the determination drowning out the pain until suddenly, the sharp rocks and twigs were underfoot no longer. Your brain took a second to catch up, feet still moving down to try and push off of a ground that was being pulled further and further away.

“Predictable little thing,” said a familiar voice beside you. “What happened to attempting to best me in combat? I didn’t take you for a coward, princess.”

A frustrated scream escaped you, cutting through the peaceful quiet of the forest.

Despite your protests, he continued to haul you back towards the camp, tying you up as soon as you reached your tent, a practiced routine for the two of you by now.

You had the night to sleep off your anger before morning came and you were on the move again.

Your captor did not wait before lifting you onto his shoulder and this time, you did not fight him. It was preferable to running to keep up with them, especially on newly damaged feet.

It felt strange to sit there, without struggling or screaming, just moving in silence. So instead, you spoke.

“Do you have a name?”

“Drakar,” he said. His voice was low but with your position atop his shoulder, it was easy to hear him, even over the bustle of moving soldiers.

“Thank you for the clothes,” you tried again, wanting to start up any sort of conversation to break the silence.

He didn’t even grace you with words this time, giving you a simple acknowledging grunt in return.

His answers remained brief, with no apparent interest in engaging in conversation. Eventually, you stopped trying.

When you came to a stop and the soldiers began to set up camp around you, you waited for your chance.

The second Drakar turned his back to you, you were off.

Another orc caught you in a heartbeat, hoisting you off the ground until Drakar could come fetch you.

He dragged you off with a huff, scowling at you as he set you down. “Why do you continue to fight and run? I’ve told you of our plans to trade you, you’ll fare better with us than on your own in the wilds.”

“I have no desire to be a bargaining chip against my own people. Besides, I’m no fool. I know good things don’t often happen to soldier’s prisoners.”

He scoffed. “Your soldiers, maybe. We have honor, unlike them. And you call us the monsters.”

“Monsters? Maybe. Uncivilized at the very least.”

“I assure you, your soldiers in my country are living in no more luxury than we are here.”

So you were still in your country, not yet over the border. If you could just get away, your chances were good. “Well, then they’re uncivilized dogs just like you,” you spat.

He never seemed to find your outbursts anything other than vaguely annoying or passively amusing. Right now, he seemed inclined towards amusement, despite your latest escape attempt. It was for the best, that tended to work out better for you. It was irritating nonetheless. “Perhaps.”

Your enlightening conversation was cut short as a horn sounded, a familiar announcing horn. The sound of one of your people. Drakar’s head perked up and before you understood what was happening, your legs were being bound together, untethered but severely limiting your movement. You might be able to move like this, but you couldn’t get far.

He did not feel the need to explain this to you or threaten you with hunting you down, trusting you to come to your own conclusions as he strode off in the direction of the horn.

You might not be able to run, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do anything. The least you could do was try to gather information, so you could be useful when you were saved.

If you were saved.

You managed to scoot your way towards the back of the tent Drakar had retreated to, out of sight of any of the soldiers, just close enough that you could peek under the thick fabric of the walls.

Drakar’s back was to you. You could barely see the messenger from your spot on the floor, his body blocking your vision. You could just see the tip of a feather, presumably stuck in a hat, bobbing as the messenger spoke.

As you got close enough to listen in, you caught Drakar mid-sentence. “- does your king think about our terms for his precious daughter?”

You held your breath, trying not to get your hopes up. This was a war. They couldn’t just be giving in to the first demands given. This could be a long, arduous process. You understood that, would never blame him for it. The country came first.

“The king rejects your terms.” You tried not to let it get to you. You knew this would probably happen, could understand exactly where your father was coming from. The messenger continued on, unaware of your quiet heartbreak. “Furthermore, he would like to close negotiations on this matter.”

You could not hold in the gasp that came at his words. You saw Drakar stiffen and knew he’d heard you, knew he’d figured out exactly what you’d been doing. A moment passed and he untensed his shoulders and continued on. You silently thanked him. You were in no state to face anyone right now.

“What do you mean close negotiations?” he asked, and you choked back tears.

You cursed yourself for putting yourself in such a tight spot. You didn’t think you could manage a quiet escape, at least not without being noticed, not in your current state, so instead you sat, a captive audience to a discussion of why your family had given up on you.

The messenger cleared his throat. “We do not negotiate with beasts.”

“So he chooses instead to abandon his daughter with them?”

The messenger disregarded his words entirely, his voice squeaking as he cried out, “You creatures will pay for the loss of his daughter.”

“She is not lost yet. He is choosing that fate for her, not I,” he hissed out.

“I have said all I was bidden to say. Do you have a message for the king?”

“Tell him if I see him or any of his scrawny little messengers again, I’ll rip them in two.”

With a little yelp, the messenger retreated. Drakar stood for a moment, the sound of his heavy breathing filling the tent.

After a moment, the canvas of the tent was lifted and your hiding place was revealed. You sat, crumpled, on the ground, bile rising in your throat.

That was it. There was no one coming.

He hauled you to your feet, undoing your bindings.

“What did you ask for me?” you asked as he undid the ropes, keeping you propped up on him as he worked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” you snapped. You needed to know what was so much more important than you, what you’d been given up for. “You will tell me. I’ve earned that much.”

“A full retreat. It never would have been taken, it was just supposed to be a start to the negotiations.”

“Hmm.” It was a ridiculous ask, obviously so. But to dismiss you completely? To not even try?

Drakar pulled you out of your thoughts with a question. “Would you even want to go back now? If I let you go?”

Your brows furrowed. “You can’t let me go. It would show weakness, show you’ll roll over if your terms aren’t met.”

“I know, it was just a question. So what do I do with you now?”

You shrugged. “You could kill me.”

“No. We won’t be doing that. I should have killed him, though. The audacity of them sending a little snot-nosed fool to tell me negotiations were over. I should’ve gutted him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He spared you a look that said more than you were sure he wanted it to, rage and concern both written across his face. “I had other things on my mind.”

He tried to speak to you again but you’d begun to shut down. It was all too much, you could do no more.

It didn’t seem too unreasonable a reaction. Your life had just ended, severed by your father without even a real rescue attempt.

But even if you’d shut down, the world had not.

And so it continued. Drakar seemed to have decided you were still useful somehow because every day you were hauled along with his troops, and every day you were given your own little tent.

He didn’t keep you tied up anymore. It wasn’t because you’d become docile, you’d attempted many escapes and he’d found you and brought you back every time. You weren’t entirely sure why you were no longer being tied up. Maybe it was because you weren’t valuable anymore.

You didn’t fully understand why you hadn’t been killed yet. What more could you do for them?

As days passed, the grief lessened to more practical thoughts, thoughts about your future. What was there for you now? Why were you still here? What else could they want from you?

You wanted answers.

You stood and stormed off. Several of the soldiers around you went to grab you until they realized that you were not headed out, but instead towards Drakar’s tent, letting you continue on your warpath.

You started to shout as soon as you entered the tent and he whipped around to face you. “You should kill me. Why won’t you kill me? What do you want from me? Whatever it is, I won’t give it. I have nothing to give. I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.”

He watched your outburst with a level of amusement on his face that made you want to attack him. “Are you done?”

You ran at him, trying to claw at him, bite him, anything. He restrained you easily, pinning you against him, but still, it fed something in you, trying to do something.

You felt him chuckle behind you and if you weren’t pinned down, you would have attacked him again.

“See,” he asked, and you felt the rumble of his voice through his chest. “You’ll be fine. You’re a fighter.”

“I will not fight for you,” you spat.

“I don’t expect you to. But you will fight for you. Nothing is over.”

He released you from his grip and before you could decide what to do with your newfound freedom, someone came crashing into the tent, armor shining a bright silver. He stood, ready to attack, sword in hand, but the second he saw you he froze. “You’re dead,” he choked out, words muffled through the metal of the armor.

You didn’t have a chance to respond before Drakar had thrown him halfway across the camp, orc soldiers rushing over to finish him off. He didn't stand a chance.

You stared at the spot he had just been in, processing his words, before slowly turning to Drakar.

“What was that?”

“An attacker. A foolish little man.”

You shook your head. “No not… why did he think I was dead?’

“Princess, the whole world thinks you’re dead.”

You head snapped up to look at him. “Why?”

“Because I told them.”

You reeled back. “Why would you do that? I didn’t ask you to say that.”

“Your people didn’t seem to care.”

“Oh, thank you so much then. As long as they didn’t care, then it’s fine. You speak of honor and then do this. Why? To torture me? Make sure I have nowhere to go and ensure that I know I am not loved?”

You’d had enough of this conversation, turning heel and storming off without another word, set on putting as much distance as possible between you and them.

You vaguely heard orders being barked to follow you, but that didn't stop you from running.

It didn’t change anything. No matter how far you ran, you had nowhere to go.

Drakar didn’t follow you himself, instead sending someone else to do his dirty work. A few orcs stood behind you, easily able to keep track of you and match your pace.

You weren’t even given a full hour of feigned freedom before one of them had picked you up and started pulling you back towards camp. You fought them the whole way.

You were set down in front of him, the whole process embarrassing. You straightened your ill-fitted pants as you desperately tried to regain any ounce of dignity.

Despite your appearance, he didn’t seem amused. “You shouldn’t run.”

“So you saw fit to have me kidnapped? Again?”

“I had to tell them you were dead,” he said, pushing past your outburst.

You scoffed. “You didn’t have to do anything.”

“I have orders to kill you. The negotiations failed, my people wanted you dead. It was the only way out of this for you.”

Oh. There was no reprieve for you on either side. You’d known your father had signed your death warrant with his refusal to negotiate but now the orders had been given.

“Then why am I still here?” you asked, your voice smaller than you would’ve liked.

“It is not just. I will not kill you.”

“So what now?”

“No one knows what you look like,” he said, his voice soft and low. “It doesn’t have to be over.”

It didn’t matter. Both sides had condemned you. You had your life, but nowhere you could live it. “I have nowhere to go,” you said, sounding braver than you felt.

“You’ll find somewhere. Until then, there’s always room for you in my camp. I displaced you, the burden of this wrong falls to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “And none of your men will send word that you’ve kept me here?”

“As long as they get to keep staring at you, I can’t imagine they’d mind.”

Your nose wrinkled at his words. “These are your honorable men? Letting me stay for the right to keep ogling me?”

“It’s not so odd. They’re fascinated by you, such a strange little thing.”

You supposed you were strange and foreign to them, as they were to you. But surely you weren’t the first, not with the combat they must’ve seen. “You’ve seen humans before.”

“Some of them haven’t. At least, not living ones that aren’t trying to kill us.”

“Who said I’m not trying to kill you.”

He snorted. “Well, you’re doing a piss poor job of it.”

“And if I stay? I won��t fight my own people, even if I was trained in combat. You’ll just carry around dead weight?”

“You’re hardly dead weight. I don’t even notice you up on my shoulder half the time.”

“You know that’d not what I mean.”

“I do. There are towns over the border where you could stay.”

You looked up, curiosity gleaming in your eyes. “They’ll take me? A random human?”

He nodded solemnly. “They will, if you wish to depart. If not… I am the reason your people forsook you. I do not regret it, I did what needed to be done, but I regret what has come to pass to you because of it. You’ve faced this better than I ever thought a human would. They’re cowards to have cast you out, I will not follow in their steps. It may not be what you’re used to, I am no prince and we are no humans, but you’re welcome to stay at my home. You will never be a princess again, that was taken from you. I took that from you. It is only fair to give what I can in return. It is not much, but it is what I have.”

You smiled, swallowing down the lump in your throat and willing away the misty feeling in your eyes. “Thank you. I’d love to stay, if you’ll have me.”

It was no great concession from you, you weren’t exactly drowning in options, but it felt like choosing it all the same. It was no less of a choice than your last home had been, born into it and forbidden to ever really leave.

This was being offered to you. You were being given the opportunity to say no. To run.

As much as Drakar had angered and frustrated you in the past week or so, you weren’t sure you’d ever been given this much respect. Real respect, not the fake respect of being placed in war rooms and told to be silent.

You gave him a final nod and a smile, adding a curtsy that you pulled yourself out of halfway through when you thought better of it, tripping over your feet a little as you did.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you and you wondered how you’d never noticed it before.

You went to bed that night feeling lighter, freer than you were used to.

As you left your tent the next morning, you almost tripped over a deer carcass left in your doorway.

You backed away slowly, rushing over to Drakar’s tent.

He was barely dressed for the day, the sun having only half risen past the horizon, and gave you a smile and a nod as he saw you rush into his tent. “Good morning, princess.”

You barely let him finish his sentence before you blurted out, “Someone left a dead animal outside my tent.”

He froze, his shoulders tensing.

You watched, waiting for a response and getting none, before adding, “Should I be concerned? It felt like a threat. Maybe they don’t like that you lied for me, that you're protecting me. Maybe they don’t like me like you think they do.”

“It’s not a threat,” he said with a swift shake of his head.

“How could you know?”

He explained it through barred teeth. “It’s an orchish courting gift. You’ve caught someone’s interest.”

Your breath caught in your chest. “Oh.”

“Oh indeed.” None of the tension had left him and he made no attempt to hide his irritation. “It’s odd, an orc taking an interest in such a frail little thing.”

You rolled your eyes. He was clearly upset that one of his soldiers had become distracted with you, maybe even disgusted at the prospect of one of them taking interest in a human of all things. Clearly your bonding the day before hadn’t taken you that far.

“I don’t know, I’ve heard I can be quite charming.”

He ignored your statement completely, shifting closer to you as he spoke. “You should stay close to me until I can find out who left it and tell them off.” He was being strangely protective almost, the disgust you’d assumed would be there instead entirely absent.

“Why would you tell off my suitor? Surely I should do that myself. Besides, why do you even ca-”

Oh.

The reality of why someone courting you would make him protective set in and you looked up at him with wide eyes

You couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that plastered itself across your face. “Well, maybe I’ll accept it. I’ve got no future now, it couldn’t hurt to have a big, strong orc husband.”

He stood a little straighter as he understood the implication. “You seek protection?”

“Hm, I do, thank goodness I’ve finally found a suitable option, I was really starting to worry.”

Frustration flashed through his eyes as he realized what you were doing. “Fine, we should go find this suitor so we can tell him how graciously you’re accepting this courtship. I, for one, will be glad to be rid of you. Now you’ll be someone else’s problem.”

“We should. Unless there’s something you’d like to say?”

His nostrils flared as he glared down at you. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure? Nothing on your mind? Nothing like, I don’t know, having feelings for the, what is it you keep calling me? The weakling you kidnapped?”

He avoided meeting your eyes as he spoke. “Your force of will is admirable. The odds were against you but still you fought.”

You fought the urge to coo at him, at how flustered he looked and how it seemed like he was forcing out every word. You had no doubt he would rather have left you an animal carcass. You preferred it this way.

“I’m going to need you to be more direct than that.” Your voice was patient and kind and you could tell it was making things a hundred times worse for him.

“I had intentions to look into human courting, to find something familiar for you amidst so many new things you’ve been forced into. But given the situation, I suppose I can just tell you.”

“Tell me what?” you asked. You were going to make him say it, you didn’t care how long it took.

“About my intention to court you.”

You giggled at his pained face and he relaxed a little, looking down at you with fondness in his eyes. You wondered when that had begun. You wished you’d been paying attention enough to notice.

“What now?” he asked. “How do your human courtships go? I will do what I must.”

You thought about it, amusement flickering through you at the thought of Drakar trying to uphold the proper etiquette required while courting a princess. But the courting process was long and strained and if you were being honest, you preferred the brutal honesty you’d been given here at camp. “Frankly, I’ve had just about enough of how humans do it. What about you? We can skip the dead animal bit, but what comes next?”

He looked you up and down, some gears turning in his head that you were not privy to.

“I will have to be gentle,” he said, before hauling you over his shoulder and bringing you over to his bed of furs on the floor.

Your eyes widened as the implication set in. You’d been far from the perfect princess, having your fair share of trysts with guards and servants over the years, but this was a different beast.

And then he kissed you and you stopped thinking altogether.

It was desperate and urgent, his lips figuring out how to move against your smaller ones and you reached up, pulling his face closer as he set you below him on his makeshift bed.

He ground down on you, clothed hips moving to meet yours. Your disparate sizes meant to do so while kissing you he was contorted at a strange angle but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

He stopped kissing you, rushing to pull off his off pants, and his cock slapped against your stomach, thick and hard and hot and you wanted him inside you now.

But when it fell against you, it hit just above your belly button and you thought that perhaps your eyes were a bit bigger than your stomach.

He seemed to realize the impracticality of it at the same time you did, a hearty laugh escaping him. “Don't worry, princess, I'll get you nice and stretched out.”

You chuckled nervously. “I don’t know if stretching will be enough.”

He slid down, hitching your shirt up and pressing a gentle kiss on your stomach. “I won’t hurt you. If you’re not ready, that’s fine. There are other things we can do.”

He shifted both of you with ease, pulling you to sit on his chest as he laid back on his bed. You looked down at him, brows furrowed. “What about your traditional orc courtship.”

That pulled another laugh from him. “What part of this do you think has been traditional? The closest we got to traditional was when you bit me.”

You flushed red, recontextualizing the memory and wondering how many of the things you’d been doing to anger him had also been part of traditional orc courtship.

While you were busy blushing, he’d set to work on your pants, wrestling them off of you as he easily manhandled you. You barely helped, halfheartedly kicking them off. You remembered how much you hated being picked up by him when this had begun and how much that had changed. You were loathe to admit it but every time he lifted and moved you so easily, something stirred inside you.

As soon as he got your pants off you were pulled roughly forward, his hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulled you onto his mouth.

He ate you out with just as much urgency as he kissed you with, wasting no time before sliding his tongue through your folds.

His grip was unforgiving, pulling you down so all of your weight was on him.

His tusks dug into your inner thighs and he seemed to pull you impossibly closer as his tongue thrusted up inside of you.

Even his tongue was almost too thick, you walls stretching to accommodate it. You hands grasped at his hair, needing something to hold onto.

His mouth locked over your clit, sucking hard before moving back to thrust inside of you again, hands rising to play with your sensitive bud of nerves as he did.

As you began to fall apart above him, writhing against the onslaught of sensation, he only doubled his efforts.

You arched your back, your thighs clamping down on either side of his head, hips shifting with the waves of your orgasm that suddenly overcame you. He was content to let you ride it out, grip loosening to let you have your control as you moans filled the tent.

You came down slowly and it took a few moments to realize you were still sitting on his face.

You moved to sit beside him on the furs as soon as you did, your face warming.

You shifted your head to rest against him, staring down at his cock as you did. It was impossibly hard and practically pulsing with need, and you made a decision you hoped you wouldn’t regret.

“You know, it can’t hurt to try.”

He sat up immediately, eagerness evident in his face. “You’ll stop me if it’s too much.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.

You gave him a knowing look. “Of course I will.”

He shifted you, lifting you over him and you were happy to give over control. You trusted him.

It felt even bigger pressed up against your entrance than it had on your stomach and you took a deep breath. You waited but as nothing happened, you realized that Drakar was waiting for your signal.

No nodded and he began to lower you, incredibly slowly. As it pushed inside, you knew the girth was more than anything you’d taken before, but it was manageable. The stretch bordered on painful but it was slow and careful enough that you had time to adjust.

And then, as it went further and further, it became too much,

You winced long before he’d bottomed out, about half of it inside you. It was bordering on too painful and you pressed your hands against his chest, shaking your head. “No more,” you said quietly, already weak from your last orgasm.

He didn’t seem to mind, holding you steady as he pressed you close to him, muttering quiet praises to you.

You slowly adjusted, not ready to take more but more than happy with what was already inside of you.

You shifted your hips a little, pushing it against a perfect spot inside of you, letting out a quiet moan as you did.

He put a stop to it fairly quickly, holding you still. “I think I’ll just keep you there. You’re perfect, taking me so well.”

You writhed, trying to get the stimulation you were becoming desperate for but he held you steady easily.

So you tried a new tactic. “Want more,” you said, voice soft and sweet. If that didn’t work you’d try yelling at him, see how that fared.

“Careful, I promised I wouldn’t hurt you. You damn humans, so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile, you’re just too big.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Despite his words, he began to slowly move, shifting out of you before pushing in again, careful to not push past the point where you’d stopped him.

He moved you up and down like it was nothing, careful even as he began to speed up, hips shifting a little to meet you, chasing after your warm cunt as he pulled you back up.

His breathing grew shaky as he did and despite feeling overwhelmed with sensation, you fought to keep your eyes open, to watch him come undone.

As his grunts became more and more unruly, your walls clenched around him at the sight.

He immediately pulled you up, leaving just the head of his cock inside of you as he filled you with thick ropes of come.

His breathing was ragged and his grip on you tightened slightly, pulling you even closer to him.

He looked down at you, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, before pulling you off of him and settling back with you resting on his chest.

You made an absolute mess of him as he did, with no chance of keeping the frankly absurd amount of come inside of you.

He didn’t seem to care at all.

“We’re making a mess,” you said, despite suspecting the objection would fall on uncaring ears.

“You said you wanted an orcish courting, the mess is traditional.”

You weren’t sure if you were cut out for a traditional orc courting, already squirming as your thighs were coated in his spend.

But his chest was warm and his breathing steady and you couldn’t help but settle into the comfort of it.

“I'm gonna fit all of it someday,” you said, meaning it fully.

He laughed. “Brave little thing, aren’t you? Dreaming big.”

You snorted.

“What happens now?” you asked as you snuggled further into him.

“You reject that fool's advances.”

You hummed happily. “I will. I guess I’m lucky I caught your eye, don’t know if I would've survived this if I hadn’t”

“I meant what I said. I wouldn’t have let them kill you. It wouldn't be right. And you would’ve managed even without me. You wouldn't be the first human to sneak away to our side.”

That surprised you. “I wouldn't?”

He chucked, hands running through your hair. “You wouldn't. We're a more accepting group, I've found. Although you are a weak little species, we don’t have much use for you. You’re lucky you're pretty or I don't know if we'd put up with you.”

You scrunched up your nose. “You didn’t decide to court me because you thought I was pretty though.”

“No,” he said, like you both already knew the answer. “I decided to court you because no matter how many times we stopped you, you never stopped trying to run, to fight.”

You sat up with a sudden urgency. “If I said I wanted to go home, to my father, would you let me?”

You watched the panic flash across his face and some selfish part of you hoped it was panic over losing you and not panic over the consequences that could come if you showed up alive after his order to kill you.

He sat with it for a while and you let him, in no rush to pull an answer from him.

Finally, he seemed to find whatever he'd been searching for. “I would.”

“Good,” you said, a smug feeling welling up in your chest, right beside the warmth that had begun to fill you at his answer. “Then I'll stay.”

He tried and failed to hide his smile. “Good. Does that mean you’re done running from me?”

You grinned, knowing full well it didn’t. What would be the fun in that? “We’ll see.”

“I’m sure,” he said as he shifted the two of you, wrapping you up in furs to protect your modesty before picking you up once more, with one arm under your knees and the other below your back, keeping you close to his chest. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, princess.”

#orc x reader #orc #terato #monster bf #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #orc boyfriend #orc romance #Bridal carries are also called princess carries and I think it’s so cute that that’s how he picks her up at the end #This wasn’t even the prompt that won the orc poll lol #This is not a democracy apparently

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