Please read the rules before making a request, I’d hate to disappoint anybody!
Hey, all my fellow monster fuckers lovers! Here’s the masterlist for all my stories. If I’m new to you, feel free to hit up my ask box with questions, headcanons, random stuff to chat about, or requests if they’re open!
I think it’s cool to name my stories after what role the reader assumes, so that’s what they’re named after. I’ll format my story links like this:
Title - Pairing - Citrus Rating
Here is a useful post explaining Citrus ratings.
Here is a link to my AO3
I’ll try to keep this list up to date as quickly as I can. Check under the cut for the full list, and thanks for reading! You’re awesome!
Stories
The Orchardkeeper - F!Reader x M!Minotaur - Lime [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]
The Thru-hiker - F!Reader x M!Mothman - Lemon [Part 1] [Interlude] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]
The Middle Prince - M!Reader x M!Tiefling - Lemon [Link]
The Skateboarder - F!Reader x F!Orc - Lemon [Link]
The Murabito - F!Reader x M!Ningyo - Lemon [Link]
Drabbles, Requests, & Drabble Requests
Werewolves and Chocolate - F!Werewolf x M!Human - Orange
Flirty M!Orc x Small Chubby Shy F!Reader - Lemon
Del Toro M!Fishman x Intimidating Jumpy F!Reader - Lemon
M!Dryad x Dom F!Reader - Lemon | [Part 2]
Gothic Vampiric M!Demon x Crass Smol F!Reader - Lemon
If it's alright can I have an orange story of a guardian angel realizing he is falling in love with a fem reader that he has been charged to protect? I want to be sweeter than sugar cookies :>
Hey there, thanks for the request! The writing I've been doing behind the scenes has been super serious and not sweet at all, so I appreciate the break from that you've given me! I love the idea of angels, especially the "BE NOT AFRAID" looking ones, so I hope you like it!
M!Guardian Angel x F!Reader
The silver lines traced across your skin like delicate spiderweb frost on the windows. You ran your fingers over the newest one—a thin curve that wrapped around your forearm, added last month when Sariel had stopped you from stepping in front of a taxi while lost in thought. The scar caught the lamplight, shimmering with an inner pearlescence.
Your apartment felt too quiet, too empty. The radiator clicked and hummed in the corner, fighting against the winter chill that seeped through the old windows. You pulled your oversized sweater tighter around yourself, curling deeper into a well-worn armchair.
"Sariel?" Your voice barely carried above the whisper of falling snow outside. "I know you're here. You're always here."
The air shifted, grew heavier, warmer. Light bloomed in your peripheral vision—the familiar white-hot glow of his halo casting sharp shadows across the walls. You didn't turn to look right away. After years of his presence, you'd learned to let your eyes adjust gradually to his radiance.
"You have a question." His voice resonated through your bones more than your ears, like a bell tolling inside your head—in a good way.
"I do." You traced another scar, this one along your collarbone—from the night he'd first revealed himself, when he'd stopped an intruder from breaking in. "Why am I marked like this? I've never seen anyone else with scars like these."
The light dimmed slightly. You turned to face him then. His human torso was tense, muscles rigid beneath skin that looked surprisingly normal—blemished, soft. Below that, midnight black crystals like obsidian glass enveloped his form closely, his slender legs gliding against each other restlessly with a sound like wind through glass chimes. His halo flickered like a candle in the wind.
"Others don't have these marks?" He asked, though it wasn't really a question—it was stalling. The way he wouldn't meet your eyes told you he already knew the answer.
"No. I've never run into anyone with them, and you've mentioned plenty of other people have guardian angels, too. A lot of other people."
Sariel drifted closer to your chair, his crystalline feet pointed at the floor, grazing it imperceptibly. His fingers—long, elegant things that tapered to points like icicles—flexed and curled.
"I..." He paused, the flame of his halo dimming. "Perhaps I should have explained sooner."
You leaned forward, heart quickening. "Explained what?"
"Most guardians..." He gestured vaguely with one hand, sending prismatic reflections dancing across the walls. "We typically maintain distance. Observe. Intervene only in the most dire circumstances."
"And you don't?"
"I am..." His massive form seemed to shrink somehow, like a child caught sneaking cookies. "I am perhaps more... involved than I should be."
You glanced down at the dozens of silvery marks decorating your skin. "More involved?"
"The marks appear when we touch the mortal realm directly. Most guardians reach through the veil only rarely, only when absolutely necessary. I..." He turned away, his crystalline lower half grinding against itself. "I find myself reaching for you far more often than I should."
You forced a laugh, trying to break the heavy silence that had settled over the room. "What, are you just not very good at this guardian thing? Need the extra practice?" Your fingers drummed against the arm of the chair. "Or maybe your magic isn't as strong as the others?"
The crystalline chiming of his lower half stopped. His whole form went still, like a statue carved from light and shadow. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
"My abilities are..." His voice cracked, a sound like breaking glass. "They are more than sufficient."
Your attempt at humor shriveled in your throat. Sariel's mouth—the only part of his face visible below the obsidian crystal that covered his eyes—twisted into something that made your chest ache. His lips pressed together, corners pulling down in a grimace that looked foreign on his usually serene features.
"The Firmament has rules," he said, each word falling like lead weights into the space between you. "Guidelines for maintaining appropriate distance from our charges."
You pulled your knees up to your chest, making yourself smaller in the chair. "Distance?"
"Physical. Emotional." His hands clenched, the pointed tips of his fingers scraping against his palms. "We are meant to protect, not to..." He trailed off, turning away.
"Not to what?"
The light from his halo pulsed, casting wild shadows across the walls. "Not to feel."
Your heart skipped, then raced to catch up. "Feel?"
"Each intervention leaves a mark," he said, gesturing to your silver-traced skin. "But the marks are meant to be rare. Precious few. Evidence of dire necessity." His voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper. "Not... not evidence of excuses to touch. To be close. To feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingers."
The radiator clicked off, leaving the room in perfect silence. You could hear your own pulse thundering in your ears.
"Sariel..."
"I should have requested reassignment months ago." His shoulders hunched, his crystalline shrug grinding against itself. "When I first realized I was finding reasons—making reasons—to reach through the veil. When I started lingering here, watching you read, listening to you hum while you cook." His voice cracked again. "When I began to want things no guardian should want."
You uncurled from the chair, taking a step toward him. He drifted backward, maintaining the distance between you.
"The Firmament has strict policies regarding guardians who develop..." He stopped, his grimace deepening. "Who allow themselves to form attachments. To develop feelings for their charges."
"Feelings?" The word came out barely above a breath.
"I have failed in my duties," he said. "Failed to maintain proper distance. Failed to..." His head bowed, halo dimming to barely a flicker. "Failed to keep from falling in love with you."
Your mouth went dry. The words hung in the air between you, heavy as lead, precious as gold. You sank back into your chair, mind spinning.
"How..." You cleared your throat, tried again. "How common is this? Talking to your guardian, I mean."
Sariel's crystalline form shifted, scraping against itself. "Most humans never know we exist beyond abstract concept. They attribute our interventions to luck, instinct, divine providence." His mouth tightened. "They certainly don't have conversations with us in their living rooms."
You glanced around your apartment—at the stack of novels on the coffee table, the half-empty mug of tea gone cold, the cat bed in the corner that had never held a cat because your apartment management didn't allow pets. Everything looked smaller somehow, more hollow.
"And the other guardians? Do they ever...?"
"No." His voice cut through the air like a knife. "We are meant to be distant protectors. Silent watchers." His halo flickered. "Not... whatever I have become."
The radiator kicked back on with a clang that made you jump. Outside, snow continued to fall in absolute silence. No cars passed by—everyone else was tucked away in their homes, probably sharing dinner with family or cuddling with lovers on the couch.
"I've never..." The words stuck in your throat. You swallowed hard. "No one has ever..."
Sariel drifted closer despite himself, his light casting warm shadows across your face. "I know."
Heat rushed to your cheeks. Of course he knew. He'd been there through every awkward first date that went nowhere, every crush that fizzled out, every lonely night scrolling dating apps until your eyes hurt. Sariel had been there, observing.
"That's kind of pathetic, isn't it?" You forced a laugh. "The first person to fall in love with me isn't even a person."
"You are not pathetic." The temperature in the room spiked, his halo flaring bright enough to make you squint. "You are brilliant and kind and..." He caught himself, dimming again. "And I should not be saying these things."
You stood up, legs shaky. "Why not? You've already broken all the other rules, apparently."
"Because." His voice dropped lower, resonating in your chest. "Because every word makes it harder to maintain what little distance remains between us."
The silver scars across your skin seemed to pulse with their own light. You counted them—twenty-three visible ones, plus however many were hidden under your clothes. Twenty-three times he'd reached across the veil just to touch you.
You stared at your scarred arms, mind racing to process everything Sariel had just confessed. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe. Love. He'd said love. The word felt too big, too new; like someone had just tasked you with unraveling a riddle. You had no idea where to start.
"These marks," you said instead, running your fingers over a particularly prominent scar that wrapped around your wrist. "Do they show up every time you touch me?"
Sariel's crystalline lower half shifted, the obsidian fragments catching the light from his dimmed halo. "Not necessarily. Only when I reach through the veil to intervene. To save you from harm." His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I may have rationalized undue necessity during those interventions."
"So you could..." Your throat went dry. "You could touch me right now? Without marking me?"
The temperature in the room fluctuated wildly—hot then cold then hot again. Sariel's halo pulsed with each shift.
"I could," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
You stood up from your chair, legs trembling. The distance between you felt like miles and millimeters all at once. His hand hung at his side, those long crystalline fingers catching the light from his halo, throwing rainbow refractions across the walls.
Your own hand rose, hovering in the space between you. "Can I...?"
He didn't move, didn't speak, but his halo blazed brighter. You stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his form. Your fingers brushed against his.
Cold—but not unpleasantly so. Like touching a glass of ice water on a hot day. His "skin" felt smooth, harder than yours but yielding slightly—more than earthly crystal would. You slid your palm against his, marveling at how his fingers dwarfed yours, how the pointed tips curved protectively around your hand.
"Oh," you breathed.
Your heart hammered against your ribs. This was different from the brief contacts when he'd saved you—those moments had been pure adrenaline, over before you could process them. This was... this was something else entirely.
His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, each movement sending shivers up your arm. You'd held hands before, of course—awkward first dates, consoling friends, helping seniors cross the street. But this...
"I've never..." The words caught in your throat. You swallowed hard, tried again. "I've never felt like this before."
Sariel's grip tightened fractionally. "Neither have I. In all my centuries of existence."
Your fingers traced the crystalline ridges of his palm, feeling every nuance of impossible geometry beneath your touch. It felt good. It felt right—but a nagging thought wormed its way to the surface.
"Could you get in trouble for this?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "With the... what did you call it? The Firmament?"
Sariel's thumb stilled its circles on your skin. His halo flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls. "I... I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"The rules are clear." His free hand gestured vaguely upward. "We are not to form attachments. Not to reveal ourselves except in the direst circumstances. Not to..." He squeezed your hand gently. "Not to indulge in physical contact beyond what is strictly necessary for protection."
"But the consequences?"
"I've never witnessed them firsthand." His crystalline legs shifted again, anxiously. "Other guardians who found themselves growing too close to their charges... they always requested reassignment before it came to that."
You tried to pull your hand away, but his fingers curled around yours, keeping you close. "Maybe you should—"
"No." The word resonated through your bones, his halo flaring bright enough to make you squint. "I am selfish, indulgent. The others had the strength to walk away when they felt the first stirrings of attachment. But I..." His thumb resumed its gentle circles. "I savored every moment. Every excuse to reach through the veil. Every chance to feel your warmth beneath my fingers."
Heat bloomed in your cheeks. "But if there are rules—"
"Rules enforced by whom? I've never seen it. Never heard of actual punishment." His free hand rose to hover near your face, not quite touching. "Perhaps I am rationalizing. Making excuses. But I cannot..." His voice cracked, a sound like breaking glass. "I cannot imagine walking away now. Not when you're finally here, finally aware, finally..."
Your other hand rose to meet his, pressing his palm against your cheek. The cool crystal of his skin made you shiver. "I don't mind."
"You should." But he didn't pull away. If anything, he drew closer, his tall form curving around yours like a shield. "You should be horrified that your guardian has become so compromised. That I've allowed myself to feel these things, to want..." He trailed off, his mouth twisting.
"To want what?"
His halo pulsed, sending waves of warmth washing over you. "Anything you're willing to give."
You tugged gently at his hand, pulling him toward the armchair. "Come here. I want to try something."
His crystalline form chimed as he drifted along with you. "What are you planning?"
"Have you ever sat down before?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard. His halo flickered. "I... no. We don't typically need to rest."
"Then it's time you learned." You positioned yourself in front of the chair. "Here, like this."
He stared at the worn fabric, head tilted. "I'm not certain my form is suited for—"
"Just try?" You squeezed his hand. "For me?"
His crystalline legs shifted, scraping against each other. With careful movements, he lowered himself into the chair. The obsidian-like fragments of his lower half arranged themselves awkwardly, more like a pile of black glass than proper legs.
"This feels... strange," he said.
"Scoot back a bit." You guided him deeper into the chair. "There. Comfortable?"
"I'm not sure that word applies to my existence, but..." His halo pulsed softly. "It's not unpleasant."
You bit your lip, gathering courage. "Room for one more?"
Before he could answer, you settled yourself carefully into his lap. His hands flew to your shoulders, steadying you with that impossible gentleness you'd come to associate with him. The crystal of his form felt cool through your clothes, but not uncomfortably so.
"Is this... acceptable?" His voice wavered slightly.
You leaned back against his chest, feeling the strange mix of soft human skin and hard crystal. "More than acceptable. How does it feel for you?"
His fingers flexed against your shoulders. The tension that had been radiating from him since his confession began to ebb away, like ice melting in spring sunshine. "Warm," he said finally. "You're so warm."
"Good warm?"
"Yes." His arms slid around your waist, pulling you closer. "I've watched humans embrace countless times. Observed the comfort it seems to bring. But I never understood until..." His halo brightened. "Until now."
You shifted slightly, getting more comfortable. His crystalline form adjusted with you, somehow both solid and yielding at once. "What else do you think about it? Being able to sit, to hold someone?"
"It's..." He paused, considering. "Grounding. I've spent centuries floating, observing. This feels more... present. Real." His chin came to rest on top of your head. "I like feeling the weight of you. Knowing you're truly here, not just someone I'm watching from afar."
The radiator clicked off again, but you barely noticed. Sariel's natural warmth enveloped you like a blanket. His fingers traced idle patterns on your arm, leaving trails of pleasant tingles in their wake.
"I like it too," you said, letting your eyes drift closed. "Having you here. Being able to touch you, to see you." You laughed softly. "Though I still can't see your eyes."
"Perhaps someday." His arms tightened fractionally around you. "For now, this is... more than I ever dared hope for."
You hummed in agreement, feeling more relaxed than you had in years. His presence behind you felt right somehow, like he'd always belonged there. Like all those years of watching over you had been leading to this moment, this simple act of sitting together.
A sudden crash from the kitchen made you both jump. Your empty mug had fallen off the coffee table, rolling across the floor.
"Sorry," Sariel said, his halo dimming. "That was my fault. I sometimes forget to maintain corporeal boundaries when I'm distracted."
You twisted in his lap to look at him. "You knocked over my mug with your... what, your aura?"
"Perhaps." His crystalline form shifted awkwardly. "Though in my defense, you are quite distracting."
"My guardian angel is clumsy," you said, trying not to laugh. "All those times I tripped over nothing or dropped things—was that actually you being flustered?"
His halo flickered rapidly, like a failing lightbulb. For the first time, you felt embarrassed warmth forming underneath his glassy exterior. "I choose not to speak on such things."
Hey, you doing okay? Been taking care of yourself?
Personally, I’ve been okay. It’s a really weird spot that I’m in; I’m writing a lot, like more than I ever had before. But I’ve been cutting writing and throwing away a lot of it too. It’s incredibly frustrating to go on a roll and write 5,000 words in an evening and come back to it the next day only to be unhappy with 4,500 words of it. I’ve been thinking about going straight to publishing a book with what I’ve been writing, and the pressure I’ve been putting on myself has never been higher. It’s not all bad, and I think high standards are what my readers deserve. And given my ability to look back on what I’ve written and cringe, it’s probably good for me too.
Not gonna lie, I’m drunk at the moment and not as good at collating my thoughts, but I really appreciate that people on the internet are still thinking of me. As for the stories that I’ve left unfinished, I want to finish them just as much as you want to finish reading them. There’s just an awkward growth period where you have the skill to write, but the taste to tell you need to rewrite what you just put on the page. So I’m working on what I’ve got, and I’m feeling okay about it! I’m just struggling with the gap between the quality I can put out and the quality I know the story needs. So I really do appreciate the asks. And requests are much easier to write than the outlines that have been stewing in my head for years, so keep those coming. But eventually, some day, I’ll put out more prose, whether that’s finishing one of the stories on here or a book. So thanks for keeping tabs on me and keeping your follow. I’ll have more coming someday.
If your requests are still open, then can I get a smug buff male demon and a shy chubby female reader? Rating grapefruit. With some dubcon and an emphasis on breasts.
Shy Chubby F!Reader x Smug Buff M!Demon
Note: Hey! Thanks for your request, it was actually a lot of fun to get back into writing some good ol' smut. Not sure how active I can be on this blog right now, but if anyone is okay with waiting then send your requests please! I really do enjoy writing them when I can; I've been doing a ton of writing lately, just not this kind of stuff, so it's nice to have a reason to come back to it. Also this is really long for a request tbh, I hope that's cool.
Content: Dubcon (honestly kinda light; I can't seem to stop making things end up cute and sweet) and breast play, as requested.
"It's called 'Temple of the Body?' Really?" You asked, immediately skeptical of any gym too fancy to have the word "gym" in its name.
"Yeah, it's a good gym! It's got everything you could ever need, it just happens to be in Honeycomb," Phoebe seemed a little too defensive of her gym of choice—you could practically hear her petals bristling—but the Dryad always was eager to convince you of things. "You know how Ishtar followers tend to wax poetic about stuff like that."
"Honeycomb isn't exactly a neighborhood that's nearby, Phoebe. It's almost on the opposite side of town from me."
"You'd rather work out alone than drive an extra…" Phoebe's taps on her phone screen as she mapped the route attacked your ear. "...fifteen minutes and have me as a gym buddy?"
"No, but…" You couldn't quite explain your apprehension. Of course, going to any gym was daunting, and needing to pay for a membership didn't help.
You chewed your lip, searching for the right words to express your unease. The idea of working out in Honeycomb, a neighborhood known for its devotion to Ishtar, sent a wave of anxiety through you. That was the only part of town where you had seen a community recreational center host "naked swim days" and let people post flyers advertising weekly orgies.
"It's just... Honeycomb is a bit... woo-woo, isn't it?" You finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.
Phoebe's laughter sparkled through the phone. "Oh, come on! It's not like everyone's walking around naked or anything."
You winced, wanting to say "they kind of are." Honeycomb's reputation for body positivity and sensuality was well-known throughout the city. The thought of your softer curves standing out amidst a sea of chiseled abs and defined muscles made your stomach churn.
"I don't know, Phoebe. I'm not exactly... Honeycomb material." Your fingers absently plucked at the hem of your shirt, suddenly hyper-aware of the way it clung to your midsection.
"What are you talking about? Everyone starts somewhere!" Phoebe's voice softened, a hint of concern creeping in. "Is this about the whole Ishtar thing?"
You sighed, sinking deeper into your couch. "Maybe? It's just... you know how people are there. All touchy-feely and confident. I'm not sure I'd fit in."
"Hey, that's not fair. Ishtar followers aren't all about perfect bodies, you know. It's about loving yourself as you are."
Your skepticism must have traveled through the phone because Phoebe quickly added, "Look, why don't you visit on the next Tuesday—Trial Tuesday, when newbies can try it out—and see how you feel? Just because people in Honeycomb look nice and act confident doesn't mean they're douchebags. They do follow the goddess of love, after all."
You let out a long sigh, your resolve crumbling under Phoebe's enthusiastic persuasion. "Alright, alright. I'll give it a try. But just one visit, okay?"
"Yes! You won't regret it, I promise." Phoebe's excitement bubbled through the phone. "Oh, and don't forget to mention my name at the front desk. They know me there."
Your stomach twisted. "Wait, you're not coming with me?"
"Ah, about that..." Phoebe's voice took on an apologetic tone. "I've got a work thing that day. But you'll be fine! The staff there are super friendly."
Great. Now you'd be venturing into unknown territory alone. "Some gym buddy you are," you grumbled.
"You've got this," Phoebe assured you. "Text me after and tell me how it goes!"
The day of your gym visit arrived all too quickly. You stood in front of your bedroom mirror, tugging at the hem of your new workout top. The fabric clung to your curves in a way that made you both self-conscious and oddly confident. Turns out, all it takes to look like a gym goer is to put on gym clothes.
Your eyes traveled over your reflection, taking in the sight of your body wrapped in still-returnable athletic wear. The leggings hugged your thighs, accentuating their shape. You turned to the side, observing how the high-waisted band looked painted on to your stomach.
There were a couple things going through your mind; anxiety gnawed at the edges of it, whispering doubts about how you'd measure up in a gym full of the Honeycomb crowd and Ishtar followers. But beneath that, a strange note of confidence too. The outfit, despite its snugness, was incredibly comfortable, and knowing you'd be dressed the same as everyone else helped a bit.
You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. "It's just one visit," you reminded yourself, meeting your own gaze in the mirror. "You can do this."
Grabbing your gym bag, you headed for the door. The drive to Honeycomb seemed both endless and far too short. As you pulled into the parking lot of Temple of the Body, your heart raced. The building loomed before you, its architecture fitting in with the Honeycomb aesthetic to a tee; a stone facade covered in elaborate geometric inlays, flowering vines and planters, and—of course—nude relief sculptures of Ishtar. She didn't look like you at all.
You sit in your car for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. Part of you wants to turn around and drive home, but Phoebe's encouragement echoes in your mind, as does the potential nagging if you bail. With a final deep breath, you step out of the car.
The automatic doors slide open, unleashing a wave of cool air with a hint of lavender. You approach the front desk, where a smiling woman greets you; she definitely fits in with the Honeycomb crowd, her dyed blue hair and tattoos complementing her body, which definitely belonged in a gym.
"Welcome to Temple of the Body! How can I help you today?"
You swallow hard, willing your voice not to shake. "Hi, I'm here for a... a trial visit? My friend Phoebe recommended this place."
The woman's smile widens. "Oh, you're a friend of Phoebe's? Wonderful! Let me get you set up with a trial pass. Remember, there's no commitment and you can always come back next Trial Tuesday if you're still not sure."
You take a tentative step into the lobby, your eyes sweeping across the space. The interior of Temple of the Body is a far cry from the utilitarian gyms you've seen in your own part of town. Warm, earthy tones dominate the decor, with splashes of vibrant greens from potted plants scattered throughout the sandstone-like interior alongside more of those damn nude Ishtar statues.
As you peer into the main workout area, your breath catches in your throat. The first thing that strikes you is the sheer diversity of the clientele. Humans mingle with metahumans of all kinds—you spot a towering Minotaur spotting for a petite Naga on the bench press, while a group of Dryads lead a yoga class in a glass-walled room with poses that would kill you.
Your eyes are immediately drawn to the brawny. A human woman with abs you could grate cheese on effortlessly pulls herself up on a set of rings. Nearby, an Orc with biceps the size of your thighs curls a dumbbell that looks heavier than you.
But as you continue to scan the room, you spot a few bodies that look more like yours. A human man with a round, doughy build jogs on a treadmill, his face flushed but determined. In the free weights section, a literally thicker Dryad, her bark-like skin adorned with moss, performs squats with perfect form.
You watch as another group finishes up a class, laughing and chatting as they towel off and head to what is presumably the locker rooms. The camaraderie is palpable, with people of all shapes and sizes offering each other high-fives and chatting like old friends.
The receptionist gently touches your arm. "Would you like a quick tour before you start your trial session?"
You nod, still a bit conflicted. Everything you've seen so far is living up to Phoebe's promises, but the anxiety in your gut is far too resilient to be defeated this quickly.
"Great!" She looks around, eyes searching the gym floor, before finding her target and pointing at what you can only describe as a mountain of a Demon as he sits on a bench, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. "That's Zeke, one of our personal trainers. He'll tell you all about the gym and guide you through your workout today, if you'd like."
"Uh…" You stammer. Everything and everyone has been welcoming so far, but you'd be lying if you weren't a bit intimidated by Zeke. Much of his deep crimson skin is on display thanks to his scant tank top and tiny shorts, crowned by a pair of curling onyx horns.
The receptionist notices your hesitation and gives you a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Zeke may look intimidating, but he's a sweetheart. He's Phoebe’s trainer, and actually our most popular one for newcomers."
Before you can protest, she calls out, "Hey Zeke! Got a new member here who could use a tour."
The massive Demon's head snaps up at the sound of his name, and a broad grin spreads across his face as he spots you. He stands, his impressive height becoming even more apparent as he makes his way over.
"Hey there! I'm Zzikaerax, but you can just call me Zeke," he says, his voice a deep rumble that you can almost feel in your chest. "Welcome to Temple of the Body!"
You introduce yourself, your voice sounding small in comparison. Zeke's presence is overwhelming, not just because of his size, but because of the sheer energy he exudes. His crimson skin seems to radiate warmth, and his onyx horns gleam under the gym's lights.
"First time here, huh?" Zeke asks, leaning in close. You catch a whiff of something spicy and intoxicating. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."
The receptionist chimes in, "Zeke's a lust Demon, but don't let that worry you. He's all about helping people feel good about themselves and their bodies."
Zeke nods enthusiastically. "That's right! Nothing makes me happier than seeing someone fall in love with fitness and their own body. Sweat is just foreplay for success, as I always say."
As he speaks, Zeke places a large hand on your shoulder, guiding you towards the gym floor. His touch is warm, almost hot, and you're not sure if it's because of his demonic nature or if it's just your own nervousness causing you to fixate on the contact.
"So, what are your fitness goals?" Zeke asks, his face inches from yours as he leans down to hear your response. "Strength? Flexibility? Or maybe you just want to feel more confident?"
You stammer out a vague answer about generally just getting your heart rate up, acutely aware of how close Zeke is standing. Is this normal in Honeycomb? You know that followers of Ishtar tend to be more physically affectionate, but you can't help the way your body reacts.
As you walk through the gym, Zeke's hand remains on your shoulder, occasionally sliding down to the small of your back as he guides you around equipment. His touch is gentle but firm, and you find yourself unsure whether to lean into it or step away.
"And over here we have our cardio section," Zeke says, gesturing with his free hand, "the second best way to get your heart rate up." He winks at you, and you feel a flush creep up your neck.
As Zeke guides you onto the gym floor, your heart races, and not just from anticipation of the workout. His massive hand rests on the small of your back, warm and impossibly large against your skin.
"Let's start with some basic stretches," he rumbles, his voice low and intimate. "Gotta make sure you're nice and limber."
You nod, not trusting your voice. Zeke positions himself behind you, his presence looming large.
"Arms up, reach for the sky," he instructs. As you comply, his hands ghost along your sides, ostensibly to check your form. "Good, now bend forward, try to touch your toes."
You lean down, feeling exposed. Zeke's hands slide down your back, fingertips tracing your spine. "Breathe deep," he murmurs, so close you can feel his breath on your neck.
With each new stretch, Zeke's touch lingers longer, grows bolder. He guides your hips into position for a lunge, fingers splayed across your waist. When you rotate your torso, his palm presses flat against your stomach, steadying you.
"How's that feel?" he asks, voice husky.
"Good," you manage to squeak out, unsure if you're referring to the stretch or his touch.
Zeke moves to face you, demonstrating a shoulder roll. "Like this," he says, reaching out to manipulate your arms. His fingers trail down to your wrists, circling them gently before releasing.
You can't ignore the heat radiating from his skin, the way his eyes seem to drink you in. Is this normal for a trainer? For a lust Demon? For Honeycomb?
"Last one," Zeke announces, moving behind you once more. "We'll do a standing backbend. Don't worry, I've got you."
His massive hands span your ribcage as you lean back, trusting him to support your weight. You feel the solid wall of muscle against your back, his breath hot on your ear.
"That's it," he encourages, "just relax into it."
You hold the position, hyper-aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Zeke's thumbs rub small circles on your sides, a gesture that feels more intimate than instructional.
As he helps you straighten up, his hands linger, sliding around to your stomach. You stand there, pressed against him, breath coming quick and shallow.
"How do you feel now?" Zeke asks, his voice a low purr.
You swallow hard, mind reeling. The warmth of his touch, the spicy scent of his skin, the raw energy emanating from him – it's all too much, too intense. And yet, you can't bring yourself to step away. Probably because you're so dedicated to this workout, right?
"Um… good," you admit, though 'good' at best is a lie of omission.
"Good!" Zeke gently claps the small of your back, sending more shivers up your spine. "Stretching is important to do before any exercise, whether it's a session at the gym or something more impromptu."
Zeke steps back, giving you space to breathe, to think. His smile is warm, inviting, as he moves into an open area of the gym. "Let's start with some basic strength exercises," he says, beckoning you to follow.
You mirror his stance as he demonstrates a squat, feet planted firmly on the ground, shoulders back. His muscles shift beneath his tank top, a mesmerizing display of controlled power. You try to focus on his form, on the way his knees bend and his hips hinge, but your eyes are drawn to the expanse of crimson skin stretching over hard muscle, the way his shorts cling to his thighs, barely containing the thick outline of his cock.
"Like this," he encourages, dropping into a deep squat. You mimic him, feeling the burn in your thighs, the stretch in your glutes. His eyes are on you, watching, assessing. You flush under his gaze, a mix of exertion and something else, something hot pooling in your stomach.
"Good," he praises, standing up. "Now, lunges."
He demonstrates the movement, one leg stretched out behind him, the other bent at the knee. His shorts ride up, revealing more of his thigh, the curve of his ass. You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away to focus on your own form.
You lunge forward, wobbling slightly. Zeke's hands are there instantly, steadying you. His touch is hot, searing through the thin fabric of your leggings. "Easy," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "Take your time. It's not a race."
You nod, trying to ignore the heat of his hands, the way your heart is pounding in your chest. You lunge again, slower this time, more controlled. Zeke's hands follow you, guiding you, supporting you.
"That's it," he says, his voice like velvet. "You're doing great."
You can feel the sweat trickling down your spine, the flush in your cheeks. Zeke's eyes are on you, intense, focused. You can't look away, can't break the connection. There's something in his gaze, something hungry.
He steps closer, his hands still on your waist. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the spicy scent of his skin filling your nostrils. "You're strong," he says, his voice a low growl. "You just need to believe it."
You stand there, frozen, heart pounding. Zeke's hands slide around to your back, pulling you closer. You can feel the hard planes of his chest against yours, the thickness of his barely-contained cock pressed against your stomach.
"Zeke," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're not sure if it's a protest or a plea.
He leans down, his breath hot on your ear. "Yes?"
Your hands are on his chest, his heart thudding under your palm. You can feel the power in him, the raw, untamed energy. It's frightening. Intoxicating. You're not sure what you want, what you're doing. But you're pretty sure you don't want him to stop.
"I...I don't know what I'm doing," you admit, your voice a whisper.
Zeke's lips curl into a smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "That's okay," he says, his voice a low purr. "I do."
His hands slide down to cup your ass, pulling you against him. You gasp, your eyes widening. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Trust me," he says, his voice a soft growl.
And you do. You trust him, even though you barely know him. Even though he's a lust Demon, even though you're in the middle of a gym, even though this is all happening too fast. You trust him, because somehow, inexplicably, it feels right.
His lips brush against yours, a soft, gentle touch that sends sparks shooting through your veins. You melt into him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his horns. He groans, a low, hungry sound that sends a hot shiver coursing through you.
You're vaguely aware of the other people in the gym, of the clank of weights and the hum of conversation. But it all fades away, lost in the heat of Zeke's kiss, the feel of his hands on your body, the press of his cock against you.
He breaks the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes are like molten lava, hot and hungry. "You're doing amazing for a newbie," he growls, his voice a low rumble.
You can't speak, can't think. You look around, and nobody seems to be paying you any notice. All you can do is feel. Feel the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, the hardness of his cock. Is this sort of thing normal here? Is rutting your cock against someone the Honeycomb way of saying hello? Do the people around you just think Zeke is your boyfriend or something?
Zeke's hands slide under your top, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. You shiver, your breath hitching in your throat. His touch is like fire, burning away all your doubts, all your fears. Still, nobody is looking at you two. Not like you would be able to care right now, anyway.
"Zeke," you gasp, definitely a plea this time.
He smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. "Yes?"
You can't answer, can't find the words. But you don't need to. Zeke knows what you want, what you need. And he's more than willing to give it to you.
His hands slide up, cupping your breasts through your sports bra. You arch into his touch, a moan escaping your lips. He chuckles, his thumbs circling your nipples, plucking a gasp from your lips.
"So…" he rumbles, lowering his hands and resting them on your hips, "we could stay out here, do some more core exercises… or we could take this somewhere else."
"Somewhere else?" You manage to get out. Zeke's eyes finally lose their lock on you, and you follow his gaze to a doorway towards the back of the gym.
You follow Zeke's gaze to the doorway at the back of the gym that you saw the class exit through earlier. He leads you towards it, his hand still resting on your hip, fingers tracing small circles that send shivers up your spine. The doorway is unassuming, blending into the wall, but as you step through, your breath catches. It leads to the locker room—just one.
The room is vast, tiled in shades of blue and green, with lockers lining one wall and showers along the other. Steam fills the air, and the scent of soap and something more primal hangs heavy. In the center, there are benches, mats, and towels scattered about. And people. Humans and metahumans in various states of undress, some showering, some intertwined with others, touching and moaning with satisfied pleasure.
Your eyes widen, taking it all in. Zeke's lips curl into a smirk as he watches your reaction. "Welcome to the real Temple of the Body," he rumbles, his voice echoing off the tiles. "This is why our members keep coming back."
He guides you further inside, his hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back. You can't help but stare. A Naga, her scales shimmering under the water, is entwined with a human in one of the shower stalls. On a mat, a Minotaur, his gold septum ring glinting, kneels behind a Dryad, his hands exploring her bark-like skin as his massive cock grows from soft and drooping to hard and leaking.
"Zeke, what..." you start, but his finger presses against your lips, silencing you.
"Shh, no judgments here," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. "This is a reward for working hard, for improving yourself every day."
He steers you to an empty bench, his hands on your shoulders, gentle but firm, pushing you down. You sit, the tile cold against your thighs. Zeke stands over you, his crimson skin a stark contrast to the pale blue of the locker room.
"You're curious," he says, his voice low, commanding. "I can see it in your eyes. You're shy but you want to be just like them."
You swallow hard, unsure how to defend yourself against an accusation so true. Zeke takes your silence as consent, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them apart, making room for him. Looking between his horns, the Minotaur from earlier has the Dryad speared on his cock, bouncing her on his lap as she cries out.
"Let's start slow," he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your leggings. He tugs, and you lift your hips, allowing him to pull them off. The tepid, humid air hits your skin, sending goosebumps racing up your legs.
Zeke's hands roam, cupping your calves, kneading your thighs. His touch is firm, possessive. He leans in, his breath hot on your inner thigh. "You smell delicious," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin.
Your heart hammers in your chest as his hands move higher, gripping your hips, thumbs digging into your flesh. His eyes are fixed on your breasts, heaving with each ragged breath. He licks his lips, a hungry, primal gesture that sends a surge of heat through you.
"Look at you," he growls. "So soft." His hands move up, cupping your breasts through your sports bra. You gasp as his thumbs find your nipples, circling, teasing. The fabric is thin—too thin to even tell it’s there.
You squirm under his gaze, his touch. It's too much, too intense. But Zeke holds you firm, his hands demanding, his eyes commanding. "Don't move," he orders, his voice harsh. "Let me explore you."
His hands move to your back, unhooking your bra with a swift, practiced motion. He pulls it off, baring you to his gaze. You shiver, resisting the urge to cover yourself. Zeke's eyes drink you in, his pupils dilating.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he rasps, his hands cupping your breasts, lifting them, squeezing them. His touch is rough, just shy of painful, but it sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you.
He leans in, his tongue flicking out, teasing your nipple. You gasp, arching into the warmth of his licks. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. "Sensitive, aren't you?" he murmurs, before taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.
You cry out, your hands finding their way to his horns, gripping them tightly. Zeke groans, the sound vibrating against your skin. He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. "You like that?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. "You like it rough?"
You nod, breathless, unable to speak. Zeke's lips curl into a wicked smile. "Good," he says, his hands gripping your breasts, squeezing and kneading them. "Because I like it rough too."
His mouth finds your other nipple, biting, sucking, as his hands continue to explore your body. You're lost in a sea of sensation, drowning in the feel of his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours.
Zeke's hands slide down, gripping your hips, digging into your flesh. He pulls you to the edge of the bench, pressing his body between your thighs. You can feel the hard length of him, the heat of him, even through his shorts.
He grinds against you, his mouth finding yours, kissing you deeply. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming you. You moan into his kiss, your hands still gripping his horns, holding on for dear life.
Zeke pulls back, his breath ragged, his eyes wild. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy," he growls. "I want to taste you."
His hands move to your thighs, spreading them wider. You're exposed, vulnerable, but you trust him. You want this. You need this.
Zeke leans in, his breath hot on your core. You tremble, anticipating his touch. But he hesitates, his eyes meeting yours. "Is this okay?" he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle for a moment.
You nod, breathless. "Yes," you manage to gasp out. "Please."
The gentleness disappears. Zeke's hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. His breath is hot on your skin, sending shivers up your spine. You can feel his hunger, his desire, in every touch, every movement. His long, forked tongue flicks out, rough against your clit, and your legs shake in response. A gasp escapes your lips, your hands grasping at the bench, searching for something to ground you.
Zeke's tongue works magic on your flesh, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. You can't help but squirm under his touch, your hips bucking against his mouth. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates against your skin. "Eager, aren't you?" he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with amusement and desire.
You flush, a mix of embarrassment and arousal heating your cheeks. Zeke's smirk widens, his tongue circling your clit with a teasing slowness. "Don't fight it," he growls, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. "Let go. Submit to it."
Your breath hitches in your throat, your body tensing as his tongue flicks against you, relentless and demanding. The pressure builds, coiling and ready to snap. You can feel the eyes of the others on you, watching, waiting. It's overwhelming, intoxicating, pushing you closer to the edge.
Zeke senses your hesitation, your resistance. He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours, intense and commanding. "Look at them," he orders, his voice harsh. "They're all watching you, wanting you. They can see how much you need this, how much you want it."
You do as he says, your gaze flicking around the room. A Naga's eyes are locked onto you, her hand moving faster and faster over her slit, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The Minotaur has turned to watch you, his cock hard and dripping as it presses against the Dryad's ass. She looks at you too, her eyes eager as she takes a break from the Minotaur's pounding.
"See?" Zeke murmurs, his breath hot on your skin. "We're all the same, really. Even your Dryad friend loves bouncing on my cock after a run on the treadmill."
His words break down the last of your resistance. You let go, surrendering to the sensation, to the desire. Your body tenses, your muscles clenching tightly, and then you're falling, tumbling over the edge into a sea of pleasure.
Zeke's tongue never stops, never relents, drawing out your orgasm, wringing every last drop of pleasure from your body. You cry out, your voice echoing off the tiled walls, joining the rest of the searing hot orgasms around you. Your body shakes, your legs trembling, your hands gripping the bench so tightly your knuckles turn white.
As the waves of pleasure subside, you collapse back onto the bench, your body limp and sated. Zeke lifts his head, his lips glistening with your juices, a smug smile on his face. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Good girl," he praises, his voice a low purr. "You did so well."
You can't speak, can't form words. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest. Zeke stands, his body towering over you, his cock hard and straining against his shorts. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.
"But we're not done yet," he rumbles, his voice dark. "Not until I've had my fun with these."
Zeke's hands claim your breasts again, his fingers splayed possessively over their softness. He seems entranced, his gaze locked onto the generous curves, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of your collarbone before dipping down to circle your nipples. You can't ignore the raw hunger in his eyes, the unapologetic want that has him captivated.
"Fuck, I could get lost in these things,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that resonates through you. His hands are rough, kneading and squeezing, as if he can't get enough of the feel of you. You gasp as his fingers pinch your nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you.
He releases you, only to hook his thumbs into the waistband of his tiny shorts. With a swift, confident motion, he pulls them down, revealing his cock. It springs free, thick and hard, the tip glistening with precum. You stare, your heart pounding in your chest. It's intimidating, the size of it, the thickness, the weight. Not to mention the heavy balls hanging beneath, full with his lust.
Zeke chuckles, a sound like distant thunder, as he sees your expression. "Don't worry," he says, his voice a soothing growl. "I'm don't feel like pussy right now." He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want to fuck these lovely, heavy breasts first. I want to slide my cock between them until I paint your face."
His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of relief and anticipation. You look up at him, your eyes wide, your lips slightly parted. Zeke smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. He straddles the bench, his powerful thighs framing your body, his cock jutting out proudly.
"Come here," he orders, his voice gentle yet commanding. He guides your hands to your breasts, encouraging you to cup them, to lift them to meet him. You do as he says, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh, your heart racing. Zeke groans, his eyes darkening as he watches you. "Fuck, that's hot," he murmurs. "Always wanted to do this."
He shifts closer, his cock resting heavy and hot on your breasts. You look down at it, a bead of precum dripping onto your skin, marking you. Zeke's hands cover yours, squeezing, molding your breasts around his cock. He starts to move, a slow, steady thrust that sends his cock sliding through the valley of your breasts.
The sensation is strangely gratifying. The heat of him, the hardness, the wetness of his precum slicking the way. You look up at Zeke, his face a mask of concentration and pleasure, his horns casting dramatic shadows on the wall behind him. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his body tensing with each thrust.
"Fuck, you feel amazing," he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. "Your skin, your softness... it's driving me crazy."
You can't look away, can't break the connection. You're entranced, caught up in the raw, primal rhythm of his body. Your hands surrender to his commands, squeezing your breasts tighter around him, creating more friction, more pleasure.
Zeke's thrusts become faster, more urgent. His breath hitches, his body tenses. He's close, you can feel it. You can see it in the wildness of his eyes, the strain of his muscles. His cock swells, the tip turning a deep, angry red.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he grunts, his voice barely more than a growl. His hands move to your face, cupping your cheeks, his thumbs tracing your lips. "I want to paint your face with my cum. Get ready!"
Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You're nervous, excited, aroused—too many things all at once. But you trust him. You want this. You want to feel him, to feel the heat of his seed on your skin.
Zeke's body goes rigid, a roar ripping through his throat. His cock pulses, hot streams of cum shooting out, painting your breasts, your chest, your face. It's dirty, it's raw, it's intimate. You gasp, your body trembling as you feel the heat of him, the possessiveness of his mark.
His breath slows, his body relaxing. He looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Fuck, you look good like this," he murmurs, his thumb smearing a drop of cum across your cheek.
You can't speak, can't form words. Your body is still trembling, your mind still reeling. Zeke leans down, licking some of himself off you before his lips brush against yours in a soft, gentle kiss.
He pulls back, his eyes searching yours. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft, the gentleness from earlier returning.
You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yes," you manage to whisper. "I'm okay."
Zeke smiles back, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "Good," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Let's get you cleaned up, then."
Zeke stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your legs still shaky, and he leads you towards the showers. The room is filled with steam, the sound of water hitting tile echoing off the walls. You pass by a Succubus, her midnight blue skin glistening as she moves under the spray, her hands braced against the wall as a Satyr fucks her from behind. She hisses in pleasure, her spade-tipped tail coiling around his leg, pulling him deeper.
You look away, a blush heating your cheeks. Zeke chuckles, squeezing your hand. "Don't be shy, babe. Everyone's just enjoying themselves here."
He leads you to an empty showerhead, turning the knob until water cascades down. He tests the temperature, adjusting it until he's satisfied. Then he turns to you, his hands on your shoulders, guiding you under the spray.
The water is hot, soothing your muscles, washing away the sweat and cum from your skin. You close your eyes, tilting your head back, letting the water run over your face. Zeke's hands are gentle as he lathers soap onto a towel, washing you with careful, deliberate movements.
"You did good out there," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Pushed yourself. That's what this place is about. Pushing limits, finding boundaries."
You open your eyes, looking up at him. His horns are dark against the bright tile, his eyes intent on his task. He's being gentle, caring, but there's still that self-assured smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. It's like this was his plan from the beginning; while you were losing control, feverish and horny, this was just another day at work for him.
"It's weird," you admit, your voice soft. "Being here, doing... this. It's not what I expected."
Zeke laughs, a deep, throaty sound. "That's the point, babe. Expect the unexpected. That's where growth happens."
He runs the washrag over your breasts, your stomach, between your legs. His touch is clinical, but there's an intimacy to it that sends a warm flush through you. He's taking care of you, in his own way.
Next to you, the Succubus cries out, her body writhing as she comes. The Satyr grunts, his hands gripping her hips as he finds his own release. You watch, your breath hitching, as they slow, their bodies still joined.
Zeke follows your gaze, a small smile on his face. "See? Everyone's just here to feel good. Nothing to be embarrassed about."
He turns you around, washing your back, your ass. His hands are firm, confident. You can feel his cock, hard again, pressing against your hip. But he makes no move to take things further, content to just wash you, touch you.
"You're tense," he says, his thumbs digging into the muscles of your shoulders. "Relax. Cooling down is just as important as warming up."
You take a deep breath, trying to let the tension go. Zeke's hands move to your neck, your scalp, massaging gently. It feels good, too good. You can feel yourself melting under his touch, your body leaning into his.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice approving. "Just let go."
He turns you back around, rinsing the soap from your body. His eyes meet yours, his expression soft. "You're strong, you know that? Stronger than you think."
You shake your head, a small smile on your face. "I'm not strong. I'm... I'm just me."
Zeke's hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. "You can be both."
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It's gentle, chaste, a surprising contrast to his earlier roughness. You kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
When he pulls back, his eyes are soft, warm. "Feel better?" he asks.
You nod, a sense of contentment washing over you. "Yes. Thank you."
He grins, his smugness returning. "Told you I'd take good care of you."
He turns off the water, grabbing a towel from a nearby shelf. He wraps it around you, his hands rubbing your arms, warming you. You step out of the shower, your eyes sweeping over the room.
The Minotaur and the Dryad are gone, their shower empty. The Naga and the Satyr are cleaning up, their bodies slick with soap, their movements languid, sated. You watch them, a sense of peace settling over you.
–––
You grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles still flushed from the shower's heat and Zeke's touch. The city lights blur past as you drive home, the rumble of the engine echoing your pulsing heart. With a trembling hand, you dial Phoebe.
"Phoebe," you say, voice tight, "you could've warned me about the gym. And Zeke. And the locker room… and everything else!"
A soft laugh echoes through the line. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I thought you'd find it exciting. A little adventure."
"Adventure?" You scoff, but your voice lacks real anger. "Phoebe, it was an orgy. And Zeke... he was..." You trail off, remembering his hands, his tongue, his commands.
"He was what?" Phoebe asks, her voice laced with amusement.
You sigh, admitting, "He was intense. And I... I bought a membership."
Phoebe laughs again, a sound like leaves rustling. "I knew you'd like it. Zeke has that effect on people."
"You could've told me," you grumble, but there's no heat in your words. You find yourself curious, eager even. "You know, told me anything at all."
Phoebe hesitates, then begins, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Told you what? That he loves fucking me after a run? That he says he loves how my body moves, how my vines pulse with magic when I come."
You swallow hard, your body already heating at the image. "Okay, first, TMI. Second… your vines… do they really do that?"
"Mm-hmm," Phoebe hums. "It's like every nerve ending is on fire. He likes to run his tongue along them, make me shake and shiver."
You shift in your seat, your body aching at the mental image. "Goodness." A small gasp escapes your lips.
"You okay?" Phoebe asks, concern in her voice.
"Fine," you breathe. "Just... remembering."
Phoebe laughs softly. "Good memories, I hope. Did he stick it in you on your first day?"
"No, and I'm glad he didn't, honestly," you chuckle, a nervous reaction to the heat rushing to your cheeks. "Um, Phoebe, I should go. I'm almost home."
"Alright, girl," she says, her voice warm. "But don't think you're getting off that easy. We're having coffee tomorrow, and you're telling me everything."
You laugh, a mix of embarrassment and excitement bubbling up. "Fine, fine. But you're buying."
"Deal," Phoebe agrees. "Get some rest, you'll need it for your next session."
Pulling into your parking spot, you kill the engine and sit for a moment. Your body aches in places you didn't know could ache, but there's a satisfaction underneath it all. A sense of accomplishment, of pushing your boundaries.
You make your way inside, dropping your gym bag by the door. In your bedroom, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. You look... different. Flushed, alive, and a little bit of something else in your posture. You smile at your reflection, remembering Zeke's words. "You can be both."
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.”
And also a quick drawing of Luxe, who wants to tell you all they hope you have a happy Valentine’s Day and to do something fun for yourselves today >:))))
Could you please write a Valentine’s Day fic with a Cupid fellow whose job is to shoot arrows on already enamoured/infatuated people to give them that final push to confess to their beloved. When on his rounds he meets reader for the first time and perhaps for both of them it sparks an interest and budding love for the other. Gender-neutral reader please, if that’s alright. Thank you so much for reading and it’s alright if you can’t I just thought I might ask. I hope you have a lovely day and forever after that! 💕❤️💘
Hiya! Can I just say you did a lovely job including all the info and descriptions! Did you actually read my lil faq list?? ;u; ) Thank you so much for that!
But ah, sadly, I thought about this for a few days, tried to brain storm some ideas, I even did some concept art to brainstorm some more monstery designs. I just can’t find a spark for this one I am sorry! ;-; ) It’s a supercute premise and I love designing characters / clothes with a heart / love theme. I just couldn’t grab any motivation, I’m sorry about that, I hope you have a lovely day though! ; o ; )
I included the art in the offchance you may enjoy the drawings!
In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.
I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!
From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!
I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.
The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.
(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)
If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.
The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.
insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box
add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box
delete -> self explanatory
on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic
The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.
Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.
As soon as the year turned it's gaze towards November, it began to snow.
Standing huddled in a blanket, you peer outside, watching the clumps of fluffy snow fall to the ground. The house had breathed in a chill that made you pull your blanket to yourself tightly, trying to hide any patch of skin that was not covered.
Today was the first day of many days, that you planned on busying yourself with baking. The oven eventually huffed it's piping hot air into the house as you handled a portion of dough. Rolling it out underneath a wooden rolling pin before gently lifting the sheet and settling it into a pie plate.
You scooped a hearty amount of apples, cinnamon and sugar into the pan, before carefully cutting more dough into strips to carefully create a lattice above the filling. A rush of heat greeting your face as you bent over, and opened the door. The pie was set into the oven, and it's gaping mouth was closed tightly.
You sat reading until the pie was ready.
As you heard the telltale chime of the timer, you began to get ready. Pulling on boots and a coat, before you grab a pair of oven mitts and lift the pie from the warm depths.
It was already waiting for you, as you stepped out of your cozy house, pie in hand. The fluffy snow dropping on your nose and eyelashes, still, you could see a tall figure in a billowing cloak. They had ventured closer to your house than you remember from previous years, and you were able to make out a long skeletal face and large twisted horns like black bramble.
It never approached you directly but still you smile, setting the pie down on the porch railing, and giving the tall dark figure in the distance a little wave. You duck back inside, shaking your head from the snow that had gotten stuck in your hair.
The pie was gone when you had returned with a warm cup of tea. It left large inhuman footprints in the small amount of snow that had collected on your porch. And as always there was something left on your porch railing, a little bundle of something in brown paper and carefully tied with twine.
Happy Holidays!! Whatever holiday you celebrate, or if you are just celebrating the passing season, I hope you have been warm, safe, and surrounded by those you love.
I have been so busy with so much this December I haven’t been able to write much, but here is a winter illustration based after this mini monster story I wrote in Novemeber! I hope you like it!
writing is hard, dude. right now it’s the hardest thing in my life. i know what it’s like to do something that’s difficult, something you don’t want to do. i’ve started going to the gym. The gym! i hate the gym, and i never hate it any less each time i go. but i do it anyway because i know it’s good for me.
but writing? i want to write! i daydream about things i want to write. my daydreams have lore, and i do all the googling necessary to make sure my daydreams are consistent. but when it comes time to put the pen to paper? i can’t do it. when the blank page stares at me i feel like i can’t breathe, like i’m trapped. i can push past that feeling at the gym and keep going, the whole time thinking “god, i hate going to the gym,” so why can’t i push past it when i’m doing something i actually want to do? idk. if i ever push past this it’s going to be fuckin sick with all these ideas that’ve been stewing in my brain since forever. but for now i’m just wondering how i managed to burnout on something without actually doing it
