#Upright Orc

[bucketsofmonsters]

A Diplomatic Error

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

male orc x fem reader

Word count: 9k

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

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

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

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

It didn’t. It just felt lonely. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not going anywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But anger was good. At least anger felt productive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you were on the move. 

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

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

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

“You’re slow.”

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

“And who is to blame for that?”

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

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

“You shouldn’t have pushed me!”

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

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

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

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

It seemed you were wrong. 

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

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

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

You did not listen. 

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“It’s a river.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were faster this way. That was what counted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you were saved.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it. There was no one coming. 

He hauled you to your feet, undoing your bindings. 

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

“It doesn’t matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. “You could kill me.”

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

“Why didn’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted answers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will not fight for you,” you spat.

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

“An attacker. A foolish little man.”

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

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

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

“Because I told them.”

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

“Your people didn’t seem to care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know that’d not what I mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He froze, his shoulders tensing.

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

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

“How could you know?”

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

Your breath caught in your chest. “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About my intention to court you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he kissed you and you stopped thinking altogether. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know, it can’t hurt to try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t seem to care at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snorted. 

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

“You reject that fool's advances.”

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

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

That surprised you. “I wouldn't?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

You are the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; when a mix of common folk and soldiers drag you from your bed you are already resigned to whatever fate they have chosen for you. You are dragged out in your sheer silk nightwear and forced to your knees in the mud of the main road. Glancing up you see the figures opposite, the enemy, the great hulking orcs your husband angered. Above you, you hear frantic talking - frantic, useless. None of you speak their tongue.

Finally, in desperation, you crawl forward and bow your head, pulling your hair aside to bare your neck. Surely that cannot be misunderstood. You are willing to give your life for peace. The townspeople are hardly going to let you live either way.

(You are the chieftain of an orc clan reluctantly drawn into this skirmish as a matter of honour, and when the humans drag out a small, helpless one of their own and offer it you hesitate. It is dressed in silk and wears jewels at its neck and throat, which means it is important. As grotesque as the practice is to you, your sense of pride, you know they often exchange hostages between themselves. You glance at your second, who visibly rolls her eyes but nods. Any excuse to go home.)

The orcs do not kill you there and then, but take you; you cannot tell yet if that is a mercy or a misfortune. You are bound at the wrists and ankles and flung over an orc soldier's shoulder like a sack of grain, and passed between many of them during the journey. In their own language they joke and laugh as they pass you over, sometimes pinching at the bare skin of your thigh where your clothes have hitched up.

At their camp you are deposited in the tent of the chieftain. You have heard rumours of what they do with captives, and between being ravaged until broken or eaten alive you do not know what to hope for. You merely lie there, limp and trembling slightly, until you hear the sound of someone entering. The hulking orc chieftain looks at you, tusked face unreadable, then drags you upright by a fistful of your hair to briefly press a flask to your lips. When you have gulped nearly all the water he drops you, grunts and leaves. He does not return to the tent the entire night. You know this, because the low buzzing terror in the back of your mind doesn't let you sleep.

(You hardly know what to do with the little thing. Your comrades say it is easy to carry but odd, it is full grown by the look of it but doesn't struggle at all or even try to bargain in its babbling little language. Maybe it is unwell. You order it placed in your tent and give it water yourself, but it shows no more signs of life, dull-eyed and staring at nothing. You decide to let it sleep and go back outside to drink until you pass out under the stars and the warm summer skies.)

On the second night you are taken to a river before camp, and following the example of those around you, you wash yourself; as you return to the riverbank you find your clothes gone. The orcs watch you, even the smallest of them half-again your size. You swallow your fear and walk naked back to the chieftain's tent. Once there you lower yourself to your hands and knees on the bedroll, bare skin still damp from the water. You cannot stop him from taking you, but perhaps it will hurt less or be over faster if you comply.

The orcs chieftain makes a brief, almost hissing sound at the sight of you, but does not leave this time. Their hand brushes across your back and you can feel their claws retracting. They touch and inspect you like a prize hound and you keep your eyes to the ground, tears of shame welling up. Then he presses two large, blunt fingers inside you, and you brace yourself. He fingerfucks you lazily for a minute or so before suddenly growling something you don't understand and turning you on your back, so you scramble to reposition yourself and hold your legs wide. He cradles your face in both his hands as he slowly sinks his swollen cock into you, larger than you think you could ever take and stretching you painfully yet unable to look away from his face. Your husband used to force you to look at him like this only when he wanted to watch you cry, so you brace yourself for the firm hold to turn into hard slaps that leave your ears ringing.

(The little thing washes with the others and you are approaching the tent with an armful of fabric in what you hope is close to their size when you are hit with the unexpected sight of them uncovered in your tent, positioned as any orc begging to be bred would be. You have to smother a gasp and restrain yourself; it has been too long, and little thing's fragile shape and delicate features are somehow all the more appealing for their strangeness. But you were raised well, taught that all parties must agree before partners bed each other; you don't know their tongue to ask them. You seek permission from their body language instead, first touching their back, the curve of their ass and leg, then with tentative fingers in their soft tight little hole. They do not flinch or try to flee, and they wetten for your fingers. Surely you can continue? Forgetting yourself you ask out loud.)

You wait to be hit. It doesn't happen. You wait to used rough and hurt inside; it doesn't happen either.

The looming figure of the great orc warrior above you moves with an almost incongruous care, pressing into you slowly and then simply resting there until your body becomes accustomed enough to his huge cock that he can start to move without tearing you. It's almost as if his gaze on your face is tracking the small hitched breaths or softening of your expression to know when he can begin to carefully thrust. Yet that makes no sense to you. Men have never used you so gentle, why would a savage orc do so?

He is big enough it does hurt some little but that sensation is soon overwhelmed by another, unfamiliar and disorienting; a low heat building your abdomen, a curl of pleasure that makes you whimper. Another growl comes in response, so you try to quieten, but his expression - it is so hard to read, so different, but he does not look angry.

(You are confused and troubled, but the tight heat of the little thing is so perfect around your cock. They are acting like a new prospective mate, taking your body like a mate would, but when you watch their face to try and find the answers you'd normally seek out loud there is something missing. You fuck them very gently, as such delicate pretty things should be treated, and forget yourself enough to apologise out loud when they whimper. You promise them in words they don't know that you want to make them feel good, you will stop if they struggle even once, that they are safe with you.)

The orc chief finishes with a single deep thrust and you can feel your abdomen swell with how filled you are, a little of their cum already beginning to leak down your thighs. He pulls away and you instinctively curl in on yourself, protective - the sound he makes in response is urgent but more distressed than angry. He paws at you to uncurl, look at him again; as you tilt your face up and force your body to relax he huffs and lowers his great head between your legs. Before you can even process it his rough tongue is on you, and you can feel the smooth dangerous weight of his tusks against your inner thighs. The rush of banked pleasure is equally unexpected, as he coaxes a climax from you that leaves you shaking. Afterward you are gathered up like a doll in his arms, and for the first time in three days actually believe you may be safe. Very, very, tentatively, you reach for his face and pause halfway in question.

(The little thing flinches only afterwards, but it does flinch and you immediately fight back a rush of guilt and worry. Rank be damned, the clan will not stand for taking any person unwilling, even a human one. You try to comfort them with small touches, check their face for signs of what's wrong. They are unreadable. You check between their legs and can tell they did not quite find pleasure yet, so quickly duck your head to correct it. Perhaps that is what was wrong, because when their body responds they do not flinch away from being held close. They even reach for your face, and after you nod encouragingly they trace their tiny fingers over the ridges of your skin and kiss nervously at the smooth curve of your tusk. You thrill, but say nothing; maybe they have no idea what an intimate gesture that is. You just happily nestle close.)

You were the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; now, it seems, you are claimed by the warrior chief who bested him and the bedmate of a mighty orc who is gentler with you than said husband ever was and - slightly endearingly - buries his face in the crook of your neck with a low rumbling sound not unlike a purr when sleepy and post-coital.

.

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW In This Chapter!) - PART 4 -

PART 5 (NSFW)

~

Odd things started happening.

You unlocked the door to your shop, and you could hear a pin drop. And that’s just it. It was quiet. Something so small, so simple. But you noticed it immediately. The hinges of the door had been oiled. You opened and closed the door so many times… you probably looked quite mad to onlookers. You gasped when inside the shop you noticed another repair. The window. The one you had boarded up, fixed good as new. Instead of relief, a wave of worry was beginning to wash over you. Was this a joke? Was Milo doing this just to let winter take it all away? Or giving you a taste of what you could have if you surrendered to his advances.

The thought began to cross your mind recently. The days were beginning to grow longer, and the sun grew more stifling. Spring was melting into summer. You and your mother were beginning to find proof of pests and varmints making a feast out of the fields. When you had your sisters and your mother was stronger, winter wasn’t such a frightening thought.

tap tap tap. You looked around the shop. A mouse? Tap tap tap.

You looked to the window, and there he was.

”We keep meeting each other like this.” His voice muffled through the glass. “You’re a lot more bold without your friends around.” You retorted. His smile faltered, “I’m a coward.”

You laughed. This orc hunter? Cowardly?

”Here.” He held something up into the window. A lumpy burlap rucksack. “It’s Turmeric. But… for growing. In the dirt.”

You walked over and opened the window. “Why?” You were cautious, you didn’t trust “gifts” from men anymore. He tossed the bag on your counter, “Those golden eggs you gave me, the boys said they were just like home… thank you.” His gaze was so piercing, you felt your face grow hot. “How much for these?” You tore your eyes away from him towards the burlap bag.

“Nothing. Just keep making them, and I’ll tell everyone to come here and keep buying them!” He seemed absolutely giddy. “This orc must really love pickled eggs.” you thought to yourself.

“I see Milo around here pretty often.”

”You’ve been watching?” His face got very red at your reply. “Well regardless,” He didn’t deny your accusation, “He seems real sweet on you.”

”He can go fuck himself.” You hissed. Khargaad’s eyes widened. “I refuse to give him what he wants and I think it’s nearly driven him mad.” He looked at you expectantly, like he was hanging onto your every word. You paused before you went on with your rant, “How do you know him?” You realized you should know if the two were chummy before cursing Milo’s name.

“When you hunt big game, you end up meeting the people with enough money to pay you to hunt said game. But we are not friends, if that’s what you’re getting at.” You sighed in relief. “Hey,” you said changing the subject, “come in here and pick something out. On the house. I really appreciate these.” You patted the burlap sack. He grinned and shimmied his way through the doorway. You hadn’t had the chance to fully appreciate his size. He had to crouch to fit beneath the low ceiling, but you guessed he must be 7 feet tall standing fully upright. And his arms, oh his arms. Big and thick like two tree branches. You were staring. You didn’t realize it before you caught his eye and yanked yourself back behind the counter, counting your coins.

He quietly pondered over all of the jars of pickled vegetables. “What’s in this?” You heard him ask. You didn’t bother looking up from your coins, “It’s written on the label.”

”Are you kidding?” His voice lacked any light-hearted tone. You glanced up from your counting. He looked at you, then at the label, then back at you again. “Don’t you remember? What those two said when you mentioned the recipe?”

“That you were illiterate?”

”No, they said I couldn’t read, y/n.” Was he yanking your chain right now? That’s what you just- “OH… oh. I thought… they were kidding.” The words eked past your lips. The poor orc had a pained look of embarrassment on his face. Before he could even conjure up of an answer, the words tumbled out your mouth like a turned over bushel of apples.

“I’ll teach you!”

He peered over at you, his cheeks were very flushed. “No one has ever tried to teach me before.” You smiled very sweetly at him, “And I have never grown turmeric in my garden before. But here you are. And here I am.” It only took him one and a half strides to meet you at the counter across the room. “What can I give you in return?” It almost sounded like he was pleading.

You chuckled, “It’s a gift, Khargaad.” He was so close now that you could smell the smokey leather scent coming off of him. You probably should have been embarrassed to take such a noticeably large inhale of it. But it was too lovely for you to care. You couldn’t have known his own sensitive scent receptors were going haywire this close to you.

“I should go now. Thank you. I’ll be back.” He said shortly. He left so quickly he forgot his jar of pickled vegetables.

~

He had to leave. Had to. You smelled so sweet. He felt awful. Thinking like that. About you.

He found himself in the forest, back pressed up against a tree. So much blood had rushed to the orc’s cock it was becoming painful. He winced, palming himself over the strained trousers. He frantically pulled at the strings of his waistband, the fabric pooling down around his thighs. “Ah!” Gods, the noises that were coming out of his mouth were sinful.

He ran a hand down the trail of hair leading to his cock. “O- oh. F-fuck.” He wrap one hand around the base, already fucking himself in and out of his fist. He won’t last long. Not with the memory of your scent still fresh in his mind. He would bet his right hand that you taste just as sweet.

It felt so wrong, but Gods when you walked into that town square wearing that dress. He knew you had used the spice he gave you. And on that day, it was wrapped so pretty against your body. Around your waist. Around your breasts. The briskness of the spring morning making your nipples poke through the gauzy fabric.

He didn’t last long, his hot milky cum dribbled over his fingers. He couldn’t do this again. It was an insult to you. It was filthy. You were kind. You were generous.

From this day forward, he was determined to court you. Properly.

~

The sky was purple and orange in twilight. The street was uncharacteristically vacant that evening, but you didn’t think much of it. You didn’t think to watch the front door. And you certainly didn’t hear the person who had quite silently slipped through the entrance.

You screamed. You really screamed, when you felt an arm snake around your waist. But there wasn’t anybody around to hear you. “You’re going to die, y/n.” It was Milo and he was very drunk. The scent on his breath stung your nose. “You and your mother are going to die come winter. You can’t work fast enough to protect the rats from your fields. Not with two women. You’re mother can hardly walk anymore can she?”

His grip was digging into your waist, “And when winter comes, I won’t let anybody in this entire fucking town help you. I swear it, y/n.”

Milo was not an honorable man, but you knew this was one oath he intended on keeping. “Don’t do something stupid, Milo. Let’s be reasonable,” You seethed through your biting teeth, “There’s so many girls in this town, Milo. So many girls who are more rich, more beautiful, better family names-“ He brought his other hand to your neck and squeezed just a little bit.

”Do you know what people say? About a rich man who can’t even get the hand of a simple farm girl?”

“I can’t help your bruised ego-“ He squeezed your air pipes even tighter, making you choke on your words. “The Gods have blessed me, y/n. This morning I woke up, and I-“

”Hey.” A very gruff voice came from behind the two of you. Milo released you immediately, leaving a red ring around your neck. You knew that voice.

”You should go from here Milo.” Khargaad didn’t brandish a weapon. To kill a man he only needed his bare hands, after all. Milo trembled, hells even you trembled too. Milo threw his hands in the air light heartedly, “Lover’s quarrel-“

”Wrong. Leave. Don’t come back here.” Khargaad uncrossed his massive arms, taking a step to the side. Milo, the coward he was, stormed out the open door. Not before spitting on Khargaad’s boots. The orc didn’t stop him, stepping between you and the doorway. His eyes stayed trained on Milo as he stormed down the street.

You massaged your aching neck, the orc had a troubled look on his face, “Are you okay?” You weren’t. Of course you weren’t. You brushed him off, “I thought you were going to kill him.” He crossed his arms again, “I considered it. Trust me, I did. But what would you do after that? The son of the richest man in town. Killed by an orc. In your presence, in your shop after hours.” He was right. But there was a part of you who would’ve risked it all just to see Milo snuffed out.

Khargaad cleared his throat, “What was he talking about? With you and your mother? And the Farm?”

Shit.

————————————————————————

Me: I’m gonna write something beautiful and meaningful :)

Also Me: Orc man experiences post-nut clarity in the forest >:)

As always: Hugs and smooches to everyone who asked for part 3 ❤️

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123

[traumawhomst]

Ok but yandere Orcs yes please

Tw: Physical abuse not done by a side character, and physical violence to a side character.

(1,300 words)

Part 1

There had been a “War” with the Orc Empire for as long as you could remember, but honestly from what you could tell it was really more along the lines of scattered boarder skirmishes, one side would take ground and the other would eventually get it back.

It wasn’t really talked about much, other than the soldiers who passed through your Uncle’s Tavern, who’d rather talk about cards or romantic exploits.

You’d come home late one night from working, only to one of the barn doors was propped up instead of hanging on the hinges. A closer inspection revealed that it had been pulled off its hinges and then leaned against the other door to make it look like nothing had happened.

It was probably due to the fact that you’d been awake for roughly eighteen hours that spurred you to grab an old carving (probably dull) knife and kicked down the barn door.

The door hit the floor and a thick cloud of dust rose up and around the fallen door. It got in your nose and eyes and you couldn’t help but sputter taking a step backwards.

Your mind froze when you heard another coughing before it then started to think of the worse possible scenario. You wiped your eyes clutching the hilt of the knife and looked into the dark barn.

To find an Orc only as upright as the back wall could support, one hand raised and the other pressed against what looked to be a stab wound. Blood seeped from between his fingers and soaked his shirt and pants.

There was no anger in his eyes, his body loose and defeated. He apologized for the door and the mess he was making, promising to leave as he tried to stand up. He couldn’t get further than a single knee before collapsing again.

You couldn’t speak or move as he tried to leave, your mind struggling to understand everything that happened. Well you didn’t move until he fell again, then you told him to stop moving and you’d be back.

You nor no one else ever said you were smart, and that’s the reason you gave yourself as you grabbed clean bandages and water. You sighed at yourself before also grabbing a blanket as well.

He’d stiffened when you silently approached him until you showed him the water and bandages. He almost laughed when you knelt next to him and started to do your best to clean it. He didn’t fight or argue though, at first watching you before closing his eyes and relaxing.

He was passed out by the time you’d finished, exhaustion and blood loss finally took its toll. You watched for a while making sure his chest rose and fall before you tossed a blanket over him and did your best to prop the barn door back to how it was before.

You overslept the next morning, no time to eat before running to your work much less check on a half dead orc.

You found yourself thinking about him often, wondering how he was feeling. If he was comfortable, if he was alive. The worry was enough to keep you awake for the hours of sleep you’d lost to him.

You took more food than you usually did stealing it off plates where it had been untouched, carefully wrapping it and hiding it before your uncle could see. Just in case.

He was not dead, when you returned and was more than surprised to see you splitting the food you’d brought silently handing half to him before you stood up.

That was the first time he touched you actually grabbing your wrist without any real force. You looked at him and could see a hundred questions swirling in his eyes. Instead of asking those he just asked to eat together. He’s not used to eating alone.

And you do, you sit back down and for the first night you eat in near silence, as you two got comfortable just being near each other. He didn’t stop from leaving a second time.

His face did light up when you wished him a goodnight though

So you fell into a comfortable if odd routine. You’d spend the day working, him trying to heal in your barn and then come together for dinner. You both were orphaned before the start of adulthood, and it was nice to speak to someone about it without worry of how it would spread.

He was funny and charming, you found yourself laughing and smiling more in those few nights than you had in the years since your father died. He was easy to talk to and he seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. It was probably the fifth night when you found yourself excited to go home and speak to him.

You knew that this was dangerous, the longer he stayed the more likely he get caught the more likely you’d be thrown in jail. You told him he could stay as long as he needs to.

On the eighth night you came home later than usual, a bounce in your step that you hadn’t had in years. Even the regulars at your Uncle’s pub had noticed and started to speculate on who or what had made you smile so much. You still had to hide it, any smile would be taken as offense by your uncle who seemed to think he owned your emotions along with your father’s debt.

But tonight you managed to get twice as much as you normally did and you were excited to sit and talk with him.

And he was gone.

Panic clawed at you as you looked hoping to find him in some corner tucked away but no. He was gone. Your heart sunk as you realized there was only two options.

Either he was found by soldiers. Or…

He left without saying goodbye.

Hurt threatened to tear open your chest as stand again alone in the silence. You try to tell yourself you were an idiot to think he’d say before leaving, of course he was always going to take what he could and run. A meaner part of yourself told you that this would happen with everything you loved and enjoyed.

You shoved the food in your mouth, not even tasting anything as you just tried to eat as much of it as you could. Your stomach hurt but you’d manage to stop crying by then. You told yourself how much you didn’t care.

You slept in the barn that night unable to sleep anywhere else.

You’d over slept for maybe the first time in years ending up showing late to your Uncle’s pub. He did not take it well, throwing things and screaming, hitting you more than once.

And then someone pries him off you, and you look up and see a massive figure in armor and boots that added at least three inches. He held your uncle up in the air one hand around his neck. You watched your uncle struggle and turn purple and only then to do you think to move.

You look at the figure again, and realize they’re wearing a helmet made to look like falcon completely covering their face. They turn towards you as you scramble, dropping your uncle to the ground.

You didn’t get very far before, one solid hand grabbed your shirt and yanked you towards him. You tried to fight but they was much stronger than you and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

They pull you to the door where two Orc Soldiers waited and moved when the figure pulling you barked an order.

Three massive horses waited outside and you tried to struggle again, firmly but gently you are pushed on the up on the horse, your captor behind and the four of you were off.

[otherworldly-tresses]

"Enough. Bring them to their knees."

Several rough, battle-worn hands drag you down to your knees. Other hands pin your arms behind you, tying them with rough, grassy rope.

The orc chieftainess approaches you, nude but for her jewelry, gold and bone clinking together. She positions her cock in front of your face, already half-erect. She smirks down at you, licking her lips in anticipation.

"I hope what they say about human mouths is true. Open up."

You open your mouth. The tip of her cock presses against your parted lips, urging them apart.

"Wider," she growls. She pushes in deeper. The hands that hold you down shake you roughly as you struggle to obey, taking in her massive girth. She pushes in deeper, filling your mouth with her deep, powerful scent and taste. She groans appreciatively, grabbing your head by the sides with her massive hands.

Her hips suddenly jerk forward, the tip of her cock slamming into the back of your mouth. Tears spring to your eyes as your gag reflex activates. She thrusts again with a guttural moan, chains and gold and bone clinking. You hear the other orcs' breathing get heavier, all of them watching the spectacle with rapt attention.

The orc chieftainess's starts thrusting into your mouth with a rhythm, your only leverage the hands around your head and the hands keeping you upright. You taste precum in the back of your throat, your jaws aching around the orc chieftainess, drool dripping down your chin. There is nothing you can do but to take it, listening to her moan and curse, and listening to the other orcs behind you begin to pant, wanting to touch themselves, wanting a piece of you too.

The orc chieftainess's hands grip your head harder, her thrusts growing frantic. More hands support your head, forcing you to take the chieftainess's entire length. You can taste more of her, feel her throbbing cock expand in your mouth, filling every inch with orc flesh.

Finally, the strong taste of cum fills your throat and flows down your throat. Shuddering growls fill the tent as she releases into you, thrusting with every wave of pleasure. The other orcs mutter amongst themselves, eagerly awaiting their turn.

The orc chieftainess puts up a hand in the final throes of her climax the other orcs, all the while pumping out the last of her seed. She finally slides out of your mouth, relieving your jaws of pressure and allowing you to catch your breath.

"Patience. Soon, there will be enough for everyone. But first... Pin them to the floor."

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [10 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: You see that the grass sea does truly have an end.  

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: 👀 as always, reblogs and feedback of all kinds are appreciated and always welcome! thank you! mind the warnings ❤️

Steve wakes you before dawn. 

You’re still tired from the hard rides in the days before, only managing to stay upright on your horse through sheer force of will alone. The others are more experienced at sleeping in the saddle than you, who begins to slip out of it just as soon as your eyes drift shut. 

Riding in the middle of the pack had meant you had no responsibility other than to keep ranks, to follow the path set in front of you. But at the front, Steve had had different requirements. 

Hold your hand like this, Sweetmeat. Which way’s the wind leaning? 

Ride up ahead, Little One. Tell me what you see. 

You see the first stars on the horizon? Good. Spread your fingers like this—ah. See? That tells us how far we have left to go. 

When his hand falls upon your shoulder, you lurch in the saddle, a hand flying to the hilt of your short sword as the other grips the reins. 

“Easy, Sweetmeat.” You feel Steve’s hand close around your own, re-sheathing your partially drawn sword with a click. “Ready for battle?” He asks with a chuckle, and your cheeks burn. 

“Shouldn’t I always be?” You shoot back, before stifling a yawn. The sky is still dark above you, only just beginning to turn orange and indigo at the edges.  The shapes Steve had taught you to look for—Tirth’s Throne, Ginza the bear—are high in the sky now, directly overhead. 

“Is something wrong? We haven’t lost course, have we?” 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “No, we have not.” He seems almost… Proud. “How dutiful.” It is not the most flowery compliment to be sure, but it makes you bite your lip and look away anyway. Perhaps it is the look of admiration that makes you nervous—yes, nervous. Certainly that is what the trembling is in your belly, the reason you look for something to do with your hands. You settle on smoothing out your skirt. 

“That was your purpose in teaching me navigation, was it not?” You ask, and he laughs. 

“If you like.” His horse falls into step beside yours. Even his horse is a massive beast, larger at least by half than the mare you sit astride. 

“Then why wake me?” 

The smile that creeps across the Orc’s face makes you look away for the pounding in your chest. 

“I promised you wondrous sights, did I not?”

—

At his bidding, you had handed Carol the reins to your horse, stammering and staring at the ground you wished might open up to swallow you. You can feel the eyes of the pack on your back, Steve’s especially. Carol elbows you, the force of it making you stumble. 

“Not one but two, eh?” She grins so wide her tusks poke into the apples of her cheeks. Your whole body prickles.

“I do not know what you mean.” You loop a stray curl away behind your ear. “Take good care of my horse, will you?”

“Mm. Like my own.” 

You return to Steve, who holds out his hand, beckoning. 

“It is faster with just one,” he explains. Your hand seems tiny in his as he grips it and swings you up in front of him. Hopefully he cannot feel how hard your heart is beating, or hear how fast the blood rushes in your veins. He’s warm behind you, the bare skin of his tattooed chest pressing against you through the back of your dress, and touching you where the sleeves had been torn off for convenience. You stiffen as he lowers his head to speak directly into your ear. 

“Hold onto the saddle.” 

You do, yelping as the horse rears back before taking off. The beat of its hooves is tremendous as it races into the horizon, pounding against the earth like a great drum. Carol is a speck behind you in moments, lost in the shifting grass. You ride until you are sure the pack lies many leagues behind you now, and the sea has well and truly swallowed them. But finally Steve brings the beast to heel, slowing, and you see that there is an end to the low hills and little rivers of the zikaegina—here, at least. Countless days and nights from the village you’d known but there is at least one place where the grass sea does not truly meet the sky. 

The air smells of water and something familiar but unidentifiable, and as Steve slows, you see the grass is shorter, windswept and crusted with white. He dismounts behind you, before helping you down. You run a hand over the stiff, almost frosted grass, and then bring a finger to your lips. 

Salt.

There is a sound almost like wind through the tall grass but louder, like deep and resounding thunder. 

“What is that?” You turn to stare at Steve, wide eyed. He looks up from hobbling the horse, a small smile gracing his features as he loops the reins around the remains of a stunted tree. 

“Go and look. Mind the edge.” 

You creep forward, pushing your way through the grass until it’s almost a normal height, brushing against your knees. And the dirt—it’s looser, grittier, nothing like the hard packed red clay beneath the village, or the dark, moist soil of the grass sea. It is littered with tiny dried shells, circles and spirals and little five pointed stars, crunching beneath your feet. The grass ends in a sharp drop—a cliff. The salt-water smell is stronger than ever now, as is the wind and e sound. As you approach the edge with cautious steps, you see it—

Water. 

Deep and endless blue, like the green that stretches on forever behind you.  

Infinity meets infinity.

The waves slam against the sheer rocky cliffside, and even up here, miles above, you can feel the cool spray. You have never seen this much water at once, roiling and crashing. What swims beneath those waves, you wonder, what stares up at the sun through the shifting mirror of its surface? A curious, childish joy wells up in you at the sight of it, at this new wonder you behold with wide eyes. 

“What is this?” You shout to be heard over the cacophony of wind and waves and crumbling stone. The Orc who had been your captor is now behind you, you can feel his presence, like the world simply bends around him, held like a suspended breath. You do not know what you would call him now, as “captor” no longer seems fitting. 

“The sea.” You turn to face him, the wind whipping wildly at your hair and skirts. 

“It’s beautiful.” You turn back to watch the water, staring at place where it meets the horizon, a lifetime away. 

“Yes,” Steve says quietly. “It is.” Together, you watch as the sun rises, orange-red and shimmering from the depths. You sit in the grass, folding your legs beneath you as the glorious spectacle keeps you riveted. It isn’t the first time you’ve watched the sun rise, but now it seems incredible, beautiful instead of mundane.

“Did the sea come up here, once? Is that why there’s sand?”

“Once.” He nods. “I believe I told you of Molroch.” 

You nod. “You said he split the sea.” Steve smiles. 

“So they say.” He gestures at the grass sea, and at the sharp stone edge. In the distance, you see it curve around, stretching on for uncountable thousands of leagues before disappearing into the horizon. “And what do your people say?” 

“They say that Gods and giants dwell on the other side of the mountain.” The village sat as most settlements did in the Kingdom of Light—in the shadow of the mountains. They traveled parallel to the grass sea, hostile and uncrossable. It was forbidden anyway, a land shrouded in choking mist and marked by a chasm so deep that the bottom could never be reached. “They say Halith reached down and pulled up the mountains so the giants could never reach us again. That she went up into the sky to shine down upon us and shun them from her light.” 

You look back at the sea. “Is there anything on the other side?” 

“I don’t know, Sweetmeat.” He rises to his feet with a stretch. “Perhaps one day we shall find out. But today, we lead the pack to Tarrath.” Steve offers you his hand, and you take it. You stand, brushing sand and dry grass from your skirts as you do. 

“We’ll get there today?” You ask, wide eyed. Steve laughs. 

“Perhaps by nightfall.” You begin to make for the grass and his horse. “Wait.” He reaches for a pouch at his waist, and from it he pulls a cone shaped spiral shell, perhaps half the size of your palm. It’s pearly and iridescent, shining beautifully in the sun when you hold it up. Your cheeks heat. 

“A token.” He says, turning back toward the grass sea. “So you always remember. Hold it to your ear and listen.” He pantomimes holding it up, and you do, pressing your ear to the hole. After a moment, you hear it, a softer, quieter version of the booming crash of the water against the cliffside. You smile. 

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” 

Steve nods. “It is.” He is not looking at the shell, though. You tuck it carefully into the little pouch at your waist. 

“To Tarrath, then?” You ask, and Steve lifts his chin, tusks gleaming as his lips curve upward. 

“To Tarrath.” 

Brave Masterlist

next chapter

[hush-writes-preg]

Spooky Season Day #21

There's an orc balls-deep inside of your very wet, very pregnant pussy.

You're in an incredibly awkward position, bent over the side of a sofa with your knees on the cushions, your belly pressed against the fabric, one hand gripping the edge of the cushion for balance and the other hanging on to the back. Your swollen tits sway pendulously beneath you, and a large orc is hunched over you from behind, fucking you hard enough that his leathery sack is slapping your thighs.

His hands rest on your shoulders, holding you in place. The muscles of his legs, covered in dark, thick hair, are rhythmically flexing as he thrusts in and out of your tight pussy. You've already come twice on his cock. You're about to cum again.

"Don't stop," you pant, closing your eyes.

The orc groans and speeds up his pace, his long, thick shaft pumping in and out of you like a piston. His claws dig into your shoulder.

"Mmm, yes! Fuck me! I'm gonna come! Don't stop!"

He snarls and pushes your head down against the cushion, forcing your ass higher up in the air. You feel your orgasm approaching, and your inner walls clench and flutter around his cock.

"FUCK!" he growls, slamming into you one last time before he erupts inside of you, pumping his hot seed deep into your occupied womb.

Your pussy quivers and spasms around his pulsating cock, and you scream your release into the cushion, your knuckles white from clutching the upholstery. Your knees tremble and threaten to give out, but the orc is there, holding you upright, still inside of you. He doesn't let you go, doesn't move, until the last tremor has left your body, and you're panting desperately for air. 

Finally, he pulls out of you, and a gush of warm, sticky fluid follows his cock, spilling out of your freshly fucked hole and running down the inside of your thigh.

Gods, if he hadn't already knocked you up, you can't imagine walking away from this without an orcling in your belly.

(A Spooky Season story.)

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

The Voice of Hunger

Chapter 7

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You and the company need to make a quick departure from Rivendell, and the journey seems much more challenging now that you have begun your survival fast. How long can you keep your plan a secret, and how long can you keep yourself from strangling Thorin in your hangry state?

Warnings: hangry!reader, no use of y/n, implied eating disorder, mentions of smut, mentions of starvation, fainting, panic attack

author's note: I hope you are all ready to experience a tale as old as time: a hangry woman trying to restrain herself from committing murder😂

Word count: 1598

“Be on your guard,” Thorin calls out from farther ahead on the rocky trail, “we’re about to step over the edge of the wild. Balin, you know these paths, lead on.”

You keep your eyes glued to the ground beneath your feet, with one hand braced against the cliffside to help maintain your balance. Of all the places for the dizziness of hunger to kick in, why did it have to be here? 

The paths are narrow and treacherous. One misstep could easily send you toppling over the edge to meet the jagged rocks far below.

True to your word, you haven’t had a bite to eat since dinner. With the sun rising overhead you wouldn’t think it was that long ago. Except that being on the road for so long already meant rationed portions between you and the rest of the company. All of you had been deprived of a decent meal for quite some time now. And your anxiety over the orc pack on your tail and your fast-approaching cycle seemed to take even more out of you. 

Your entire body felt too heavy to carry. Your feet drag against the rock beneath you as you fight against the fatigue and dizziness slowly consuming you. 

“Master Baggins,” Thorin calls to the hobbit who keeps stopping to look back toward Rivendell. No doubt feeling conflicted over having to continue on without Gandalf for now. 

“I suggest you keep up,” he warns the hobbit. Both you and Bilbo know Thorin would leave him behind in a heartbeat, so he scampers off after the others. 

You hurry to pick up your pace, not wanting to fall too far behind the group. In your haste, you fail to notice the loose rock directly beneath your feet until it slips out from under you, sending you tumbling forward. 

A strong hand grabs you by the arm to catch you before you can fall onto your face. You catch yourself on the cliffside again with your free hand and look up to see a very concerned Thorin studying your face. 

“Careful, lass,” he says, his hand still on your arm holding you upright. 

You try to laugh it off weakly but he doesn’t find the humor in it.

“Are you alright?” he asks, taking a step back to look you over from head to toe. 

“You’ve been acting very strange ever since we left Rivendell.”

You should have known Thorin would notice something was off with you. Of course, he would. Even after all of the time the two of you spent apart, he still probably knows you better than anyone else in all of Middle Earth. The thought should comfort you but it doesn’t. Instead, it brings back a feeling all too familiar to you whenever you’re in his presence: anger. 

“I’m fine,” you snap and yank your arm out of his grip and brush past him to continue up the trail after the others. 

He doesn’t say anything in response to your sudden outburst but you can hear the heavy thud of his boots following behind you. 

How dare he act all concerned about you. And how dare you let yourself get that close to him in Rivendell. Honestly, what were you thinking? He abandoned you all those years ago, and ever since you stepped foot out of the shire he has done nothing but question you and your right to be there. And how do you respond? You let him finger you in the pool!

You try to suppress a growl of frustration, but instead, it travels down into your stomach to let out a roar of hunger. 

“Are you hungry?” Thorin asks from behind you, clearly trying to suppress a chuckle. 

“No!” you snap, throwing a glare back at him from over your shoulder. 

“You’re certainly acting like you are,” he mutters under his breath. 

You freeze in your tracks, curling your hands into fists at your side. 

Don’t do it you hear the voice of reason in your head beg, don’t pick a fight with him right now. But unfortunately for both of you, the voice of hunger seems to be the one in control right now. 

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?” you snap, pivoting on your heel to stomp towards him. 

His eyes widen in surprise as you bring yourself nearly face to face with him, tipping your head back to look him right in the eyes. 

“Do you think, you get to act all concerned about me now? Like I’m supposed to believe I can trust you with my well being after everything you’ve done?” 

He opens his mouth but doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“What? Do you think you’re obligated to care about me now because of what happened in that pool? Well, let me assure you that what happened between us was a one-time thing! It meant nothing! So if you think-”

“I think you’re cranky and need to eat something before you rip us all to pieces,” Thorin replies so calmly it only pisses you off further.

“Well I think you’re a pain in my ass!” you growl and stomp away from him again. 

Thorin lets you go without a fight, and you could swear you hear him chuckling softly from behind you. 

After a while, the high rocky terrain gives way to grassy fields. At first, the even pathway seemed like a welcome change, but the afternoon sun now hangs high overhead, beating down on your company hot and sweltering. 

Before your abrupt departure from Rivendell, you had the opportunity to change into more travel-worthy garments. You swapped your slippers for thick riding boots, and your flowy gown for trousers, a tunic, and a loosely laced corset. You had clasped a fur cloak over your shoulders to keep out the evening chill. It had long ago been discarded and shoved into your pack.

Despite the layers and layers of fur your kin wore, it seemed that you were the only one affected by the heat. They carried on unbothered, while you roasted away beneath your remaining layers. You tugged at the edges of your clothing, trying to air out the layer of sweat coating your skin. 

While the others laugh and chat amongst themselves without a care, you pull up the rear a sweaty, cranky mess. Thorin must have warned the others to give you a wide berth because they leave you to suffer in peace. Knowing better than to try and pull you into mindless conversation in your current state. Kili and Fili take turns wordlessly passing you the water flask every so often. You’re too tired to refuse their help.

After several hours pass in the hot sun you decide you can’t take it anymore. You groan in discomfort and reach for the laces of your corset. You tug and pull until the offending fabric is loose enough to be blissfully removed from your chest. You shove the corset into your pack and tug at the fabric plastered to your sweaty skin, letting it air out in the nonexistant breeze.

Almost as if he could sense you were removing clothing, Thorin looks over his shoulder at you. He raises an eyebrow in alarm and opens his mouth to comment. But you beat him to the punch, shooting him a look that dares him to try to start something with you right now. He closes his mouth and looks back at the path ahead, but not before stealing a quick glance at the curves of your upper body, now exposed from the way the sweaty fabric clings to your form. 

Fili hands you the water flask again and you silently take it with a long gulp. 

This is better, you tell yourself. Your stomach has stopped growling and you’ve convinced yourself that the dizziness and slight shake in your hands is a side effect of the heat, not your survival fast. The sun will go down soon and everything will cool off. You’ll be able to rest and gather your strength for the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next…

You try to find your inner strength by thinking of your home. Erebor. Those vast halls you grew up in. 

Halls now housing Smaug. The fire-breathing dragon that will most likely still need to be killed when you arrive. That is, if the orcs don’t get to your group first. 

Suddenly these approaching enemies and your all important quest all press down on you at once. Your breathing becomes more rapid, as your chest heaves, heart pounding. 

Why is it so hot?

Maybe if you take your tunic off as well you’ll feel better. You start to reach for the edge of the fabric but your fingers suddenly feel too heavy. Everything starts to become fuzzy, moving as if in slow motion as the world starts to spin around you. 

You think you hear someone call out your name, but you can’t tell. Your mind refuses to focus on anything else but the heavy weight pressing down on you.

Your legs finally give out and you collapse, the darkness closing in around you as a strong pair of arms catch you and gently lower you down. 

A frantic chorus of voices are calling your name but they all seem so far away and you can’t find the strength to care as you give up the last of your strength to surrender to the heavy darkness, drifting off into unconsciousness with the scent of smoke and iron heavy in your lungs.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline

[utilitycaster]

Hi! Hope you don’t mind me asking but, I’ve seen you comment about a “fjord moon” theory every so often in your tags, and I’m quite curious what’s it about? I don’t think I’ve ever heard about it, is it something more prevalent in twitter spaces?

It started in Reddit spaces but it had a moment within the fandom at large during Campaign 2, especially after a YouTube video surfaced shortly after the campaign had come back from hiatus in August 2020. It hasn't come up lately since Campaign 3's plot pretty thoroughly debunked it, which wasn't necessary for reasons I will cover below.

I talked about how stupid it was at the time, and will do so again but I don't feel like looking back through my archives to find that post, so: the idea was that Fjord was from Ruidus. I call it a theory because its creators called it a theory but it was really just a lot of incoherent yelling that unfortunately happened to fall into the hands of a prolific and popular but talentless video maker and was boosted by a prolific and popular but deeply stupid figure on CR Twitter.

You can read it here but in short he basis was that Fjord was actually a Spelljammer Space Orc (Scro; yes this is just Orcs backwards; Spelljammer is not exactly the most brilliant of concepts) because he was intelligent and walked upright, ignoring that Spelljammer was, at the time, from D&D 2e only which can generously be described as "wicked racist in the depiction of orcs". Not that 5e is not without its foibles, but it had largely 86-ed the worst of the racism that pervaded earlier orc depictions. Also Garthok pre-dated Fjord and was a half-orc with the same intelligence, but what are facts to an idiot. So anyway this guy working off a deeply racist older concept for orcs spun this into a wild conspiracy theory involving the fact that Travis likes Dragonball Z; something about the film Spaceballs (as far as I know Travis has said absolutely nothing about this, this is just that the Mel Brooks Star Wars parody and my personal childhood favorite Spaceballs exists I think?) and various other random pulls from science fiction media. This guy asked a question at a panel and mistook the cast looking at him like he had lost the plot as a sign he was onto something. Somehow, people listened to him.

Here's the thing about theorycraft. It is more important, in writing a theory, that you base it on evidence than that you get it correct. Any dipshit can guess and any lucky dipshit can guess correctly, but if you show that you can't structure an argument for beans, anyone who can structure an argument for beans will rightfully look at you and say "well, they predicted something once, but that's a fucking fluke because they're a fucking joke." Theories should explain something that needs explanation (Fjord having an INT of 14 and the name Fjord and being an orphan does not). They should not solely rest on things the cast likes or things that merely exist in-world and certainly not from Spaceballs and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, the connection of which to Critical Role in that Reddit post is not explained, ever.

To give some examples of good, mediocre, and bad but at least not nearly that bad theorycraft: the theory that Ashton was a meteor that was around early in C3 is in my mind not very good, but at least it fits within Exandria canon and explained something about Ashton needing explanation at the time. The theory that The Emissary is the source of the stasis bubbles is in my mind a very good one explaining several key mysteries (source of stasis bubbles; why Erathis sent him rather than coming himself). The theory that Bor'Dor was a dog was fucking stupid and made no sense nor did it explain anything that needed explanation (and also wildly misjudged how border collies behave) but did at least not say "also, the TV show Lassie...exists in our reality, and this is evidence" The Fjord Moon Theory is maybe the stupidest and worst CR theory I've seen in my entire life, and it's up there for fandom theories over all. I get that it was August 2020 and I don't begrudge people who were very bored and scared from joking about it while not taking it seriously, but I do begrudge those who did take it seriously because like, come on.

Anyway, I bring it up in tags sometimes because many of the worst C3 takes on Twitter that make it to me via "can you fucking believe this" screenshots in the groupchat are either started or propagated by Former Moon Theory People.

[itslulabee]

Participation (Ch.5)

~

Concubine

Thorin x OC (smut!!)

(part one, part two, part three, part four, part six)

Description; This fanfic is posted to my AO3 as well, it's basically just pure filth with my OC Kaia and five members of Thorin's Company, our final dwarf, Mr Oakenshield <3

MINORS DNI !!! they shag, duh...

AN; There's like no build up at the start we're jumping right in where we left off! NSFW shit right from the get-go under the cut ;)

Translations for any Khuzdul will be at the end! <3

~ <3 ~

Kaia and Dwalin stayed together on that rock for a while… long enough for Dwalin to make Kaia finish three more times. He was relentless, insatiable, turning Kaia into a sweaty, writhing wreck with his words, fingers, mouth and cock.

After Mahal knows how long, Kaia was sat on his lap, his arms wrapped around her and dragging his hand through her hair. Kaia could do nothing but lie against his firm body, humming in appreciation for his gentle caresses.

“This feels right.” She murmurs, nuzzling into his neck.

“Aye, it does, doesn’t it?” Dwalin says, his voice rumbling like thunder all around her. “Our sweet girl.” Kaia smiles against his chest, pressing a kiss to his peck before extracting her head. Giving him a dazed smile, he helps her stand up.

After being thoroughly fucked by four different dwarves, her body was certainly feeling it. Her legs were shaky and unstable, not to mention her hips ached and she was sure she was covered in bruises and hickeys across every inch of her skin.

But she had never felt so complete.

Dwalin rested a hand on her waist, his other coming to hold onto her hand. He kisses the crown of her head, and Kaia was taken back by how gentle he was in this moment. She had seen the grizzled warrior slaughter orcs by the dozen, wielding his axes as if they were an extension of himself, barely breaking a sweat in the process.

Mere minutes ago he had been holding her against him, bouncing her up and down his cock with the strength and fervour of a wild animal, his blue eyes on fire as he held her head in place to keep their eye contact.

But here he was, holding her upright as if she were a precious jewel, delicate and priceless. Kaia smiled up at him, and was rewarded with seeing his smile in return.

-

As the two approached camp, they could hear a loud conversation. Unmistakably the voices of Nori, Dori, Bofur and Bilbo, the latter sounding horrified.

Entering the small clearing, the conversation became clearer, and Kaia could clearly hear from Nori and Bofur that they were explaining Dwarvish customs in great detail to the hobbit, who was bright red and holding his hands over his ears. Dori was also red faced, telling Nori and Bofur to be quiet.

“You see, Bilbo, when a dwarrow cannot satisfy his One, it is custom for her to bring in another to satisfy her, sometimes her husband will even watch-” Bofur rambled.

“Please stop.” Bilbo says, deadpanned as he stared at the dirt below.

“Aw, give Bilbo some peace, Bofur.” Kaia calls, patting Bilbo’s shoulder as she passes.

The group turns to look at the new arrivals. Bofur’s face lights up at seeing her, whilst Nori’s eyebrows sky rocket into his hairline. Taking in Kaia’s dishevelled appearance, and the relaxed way Dwalin holds her, the group begins hollering.

“I cannot believe it!” Nori says, shaking his head. “She’s got to have broken a record for the amount of lovers taken in one night!”

“Watch your tongue, Nori.” Dwalin warns, walking Kaia over to sit next to Balin. Kaia gives the older dwarf a careful smile, anxious about his reaction to this new information.

But Balin beams, giving her a small hug, “Welcome to the family, lass!”

“Aye, welcome to the family, Dwalin!” Bofur says, wrapping one of his arms around the formidable body of the warrior in a half-hug, who rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath.

“How did the conversation with Thorin go?” Kaia asks, trying to keep her nerves at bay.

“Oh, I imagine it’s going fine.” Balin says, patting Kaia’s shoulder beside her.

“They’re still talking?” Kaia looks over at Bofur, “Why are you back?”

“Well the conversation got a bit heated and Fili basically shoved me out of it... I imagine our king did not appreciate my jokes all too much.” Bofur chuckles, walking over to Kaia to sit on the ground in front of her, his back to her. She opened her knees and he reclined back, sighing contentedly as she played with one of his pigtails.

“They’re arguing? About… well, all of us?”

“Can’t imagine it’ll be better when he finds out about Dwalin, too.” Nori shrugs, and Dori smacks him around the back of the head.

“I wouldn’t worry, dear. I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”

“Dwalin!” Thorin’s voice booms across the camp, and all heads spin to see the King Under the Mountain standing at the edge of the clearing. His eyes are fiery, narrowing them at everyone present. Both of his nephews are behind him, Fili rolling his eyes and Kili looking nervous.

When his eyes fall on Kaia, his expression is tense yet unreadable, he looks away from her quickly, giving Dwalin a pointed look, before turning on his heel.

With a quiet sigh, Dwalin stands, walking over to where the king is stalking away. Fili follows after his uncle, and Kili stays put to catch Kaia’s eye. When he does, he gives her a sweet smile, looking like he wants to say something, before Dwalin grabs him around the scruff of the neck and drags him to follow the others.

“Well, that’s just fantastic.” Kaia sighs, wrapping her arms around Bofur’s neck. His large, calloused hands wrap around her forearms, pressing delicate kisses along her skin.

“I’m sure it’s fine, lass.” Balin says, but his eyebrows are knitted together.

“Why’s he mad at Dwalin?” Ori asks, scribbling away into his notebook, his eyes flickering to Kaia and Bofur every so often.

“I imagine he heard him and Kaia going at it like rabbits.” Nori says, nudging his brother.

“What?!” Kaia asks, eyes wide and heart thumping, “Did you guys hear us?!”

“No, lass-” Balin starts.

“Luckily for us.” Bilbo cuts in, his head in his hands.

“-but Thorin, Fili and Kili were talking in the cave… it’s not too far from where you and Dwalin were… well, you know.” Balin’s voice is comforting, but Kaia can feel her stomach in knots.

“They heard it?!” Kaia says, feeling her face flush red.

“I heard it.” Bofur says softly, nipping her thumb with his teeth, a clear smile on his lips.

“Oh for the love of-”

“Kaia!” Another booming yell from Thorin, and Kaia jumped in her seat. “A word.”

Looking at Thorin, she could not figure out what he was thinking. He looked tense, his body maintaining his usual kingly posture but his hands were balled up by his side. Sighing, Kaia rose from her seat, crouching to whisper in Bofur’s ear.

“If I don’t return, he’s thrown me off the cliff.” Kaia says, kissing Bofur’s temple.

“See you down there then, lass.” Bofur jokes, giving her knuckles a kiss as she leaves.

Walking over to where Thorin stands, Fili, Kili and Dwalin pass her on their way back to the group. Fili kisses her cheek, giving her a hand a squeeze. Kili rests a hand on her cheek, nuzzling her nose.

“It’ll be fine, Amrâlimê.” He murmurs, kissing her gently before he follows after his brother. She watches them go, and feels a pair of lips against her temple, as Dwalin passes.

“Don’t let him scare you, lass.” Dwalin murmurs, before grabbing her ass, “You’re ours.”

Kaia blushes as he walks away, before turning back to look at the King Under the Mountain. He inclines his head behind him, and storms away. Sighing again, she follows him.

-

The pair end up at the mouth of a cave, Kaia following after Thorin as he stomped along the edge of the cliff. They were silent for a moment as Thorin looked out at the trees around them, and Kaia bit her fingernail as nerves crept up her spine.

Neither of them had had a conversation longer than a few seconds. He would throw out commands and thinly veiled insults about her being a human, and she would offer back her own, even less conspicuous complaints about him. After a while of this, Balin and Gandalf had told them to cease their childish behaviour, and the two had left it alone. Whatever they said to one another was a short question and a one worded answer.

But now, Kaia was courting his younger nephew, fucking his older one and heir, as well as his head of guard and closest friend, and the very eager, musical miner who just so happens to be a part of his Company.

Kaia worried if he thought this was some kind of power play. Seducing three of the most important people in his lives to get to his head. Perhaps he just thought she was a whorish human who had no right to be in any kind of relationship with the heirs of Durin. Mahal knows, but Kaia had a bad feeling.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Thorin sighed. He turned from the trees to look at her, his face blank but his eyes held a fire in them. Kaia gulped, readying herself for the verbal ass-kicking she is sure to get. Hopefully it’s just verbal…

“I hear you and Kili are courting?” Thorin asks, his voice gruff.

“Uh… yeah, he braided my hair this evening.”

“I’ve been told there is more information than that.” Thorin scoffs, walking over to the cave wall to lean against it, arms folded, “Why don’t you tell me, from your point of view, what has transpired this evening.”

Kaia’s mouth hangs open, finding herself lost for words for a moment. Thorin raises an eyebrow, waiting for her to start speaking.

“How much… do you want to know?” Kaia asks, avoiding his eyes.

“Do not leave out any details.”

“Surely the others have told you enough-”

“I said,” Thorin cuts in, his voice loud and commanding, “Do not leave out any details.”

Kaia swallows thickly, feeling her heart hammering. A small part of her was a little turned on by this side of Thorin, the kingly side of him. But, she really did not need to be distracted by those thoughts when he was clearly enraged by her.

“Alright.” Kaia murmurs, clearing her throat.

“Speak up.”

“Okay!” She exclaims, feeling her cheeks go red. “The others explained dwarvish courting rituals earlier, and made me and Bilbo aware of the concept of ‘lovers’. After, I, uh, went to bathe in the river. Kili came to talk to me, and… well…”

“Well…?” Thorin urged, growing impatient.

“He told me he cared about me. Then we… well, you know.”

“Assume I do not.”

“We… made love.” Kaia mumbles, and feels herself flush harder at Thorin’s condescending laugh.

“You ‘made love’?” He laughs, and Kaia feels herself grow angry.

“We fucked.” She says, her voice louder and stabler. “He told me he wanted me, then we kissed and I pushed him against a tree and took him into my mouth. Then he fucked me against the ground.”

Thorin has gone still, his eyebrows slightly raised to indicate his surprise, but the rest of him dares not move. His breath leaves him in a short huff, and he clears his throat.

“Go on.” He says, his voice slightly raspier.

“I didn’t cum.” Kaia shrugs, “Kili was very eager and I focused on making him feel good. Fili discovered us, and was outraged to find that Kili didn’t make me cum.

“Aye, that is disrespectful, and unbecoming from a son of Durin.” Thorin muses, shifting slightly. “What then?”

“Then Fili fucked me.” She continues, feeling emboldened for some reason. Perhaps it was because she could see a slight blush across the kings cheeks, and his breath was coming out more shallowed. “He used his mouth on me, made me cum with his tongue and his fingers. Then he also fucked me.”

“How many times did you cum?” Thorin asks, his eyes dark under his thick eyebrows.

“Three times.”

“Good.” The king states, resting his head back against the wall, his eyes half-lidded as he watched her. “Continue.”

“After, Kili asked me, formally, if I would wear his courting bead. I agreed, then I went to bathe, finally. Your nephews are very distracting.” A teasing lilt to her voice made Thorin sneer slightly at her, but she could tell he was trying to keep his kingly composure.

“I do now want to hear your snide comments, girl. What happened once you went to bathe?”

“Bofur found me. I had been gone a long time and he thought that the river would be free. It was not. I was in there… wet, naked…”

Kaia lifted her hand up, dragging her finger along her dress collar, a small gesture which could be seen as nothing, but she did it with intent.

Thorin’s breath quickened slightly, but he kept himself still, his eyes trying and failing to remain on her face.

“Bofur was sweet. He was unsure about joining me at first, he did not want to make me uncomfortable. But I wanted him, and he wanted me. We fucked on the bank.”

“How?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How did you fuck? What position?” Thorin’s voice is strained, his jaw ticking as one of his hands twitched beside him, wanting nothing more than to relieve some of the pressure his trousers are applying to his stiffening cock. He had to remain stoic, but Mahal he wanted to know… he wanted to hear it from her lips…

“I rode him.” Kaia states, her hand drifting down her torso, down the valley between her breasts to settle atop her stomach, the tips of her fingers playing with the buttons.

Thorin keeps his eyes on her face, his own stony. His hands remain by his side, his head tilted back as he watches her. But he refuses to let her win this game they have started.

“Did he make you finish?” He asks, voice even.

“Yes.” Kaia smile slightly, “Twice. He let me use his cock as I rode him, and I made him cum by pulling his hair… it seems your dwarvish obsession with your hair translates to the bedroom, huh?”

Thorin scoffs, shifting his shoulders to move his hair back. It cascades over his shoulders in dark, silver tinted waves. Kaia wonders what it feels like against her fingers, if he will cum feeling her tug on it the way Bofur did…

“You seem to be unable to be fully satisfied, Kaia. You had both of my nephews and Bofur, then decided you needed Dwalin as well?”

“Four talented and handsome dwarves offered themselves to me and you think I would refuse?” Kaia scoffs, rolling her eyes, whilst Thorin’s own narrow. “I have needs, Thorin… ones which have been thoroughly seen to.”

“I am glad, because they will not be being seen to again. Not by any member of my Company.”

Kaia’s face falls, she feels her heart stop in her chest at his words. He stares at her with indifference, and Kaia feels rage bubble up inside her.

“Is that so?”

“it is.”

“And how will you go about keeping that rule in place?” Kaia asks, taking a step towards him, “Will you keep an eye on all four of them to make sure none of them sneak away? To make sure none of them lay a hand on me?”

“I will take you back to your farm if I have to.” Thorin sneers, his voice clipped, “I will not have you jeopardising this quest with your feverish desires.”

“They are not just my desires, are they Thorin?” Kaia bites, crossing her arms over her chest, “They all wanted me as much as I wanted them-”

“You are a distraction-”

“I know. You’re distracted now, aren’t you?” Kaia cannot stop the words from tumbling out, but she feels greatly rewarded by the shock on the King’s face. His mouth hangs open slightly, his eyes wide. “Is that it?”

Thorin’s jaw tightens, and he narrows his eyes at her as she walks closer to him, standing right in front of the King Under the Mountain.

“Maybe you are just upset that you didn’t get to have me first… that your cock was not the one I was fucking myself on this evening-”

“Watch your tongue!”

“Why should I need to, you can watch it for me?” She darts her tongue out and drags it over his neck, expecting Thorin to shove her away. But he gasps, his head leaning back further to give her better access. Kaia hums, licking along his jaw and pressing a kiss to his beard.

“If you wanted me too, you could have just said.” She smiles against his skin, and she can feel him swallow hard.

“I’m their king, their leader. I cannot find myself distracted by urges like this, by desires you have put into my head.”

“Have you been distracted, my king?” Kaia murmurs, feeling hm shiver against her at the formal term, “How long have you wanted me?”

“Since the morning after the storm.” Thorin responds, far too driven by his lust to care about the repercussions of his honesty. “You have bewitched me.”

“Have I?” Kaia chuckles, leaning her head back. “I am no witch, Thorin Oakenshield, whatever you feel for me is caused by no spell.”

“It might as well be.”

Kaia pouts, taking a step from him. His hands move to pull her back, but he stops himself, cursing his immediate desire to keep her close.

“If you do not want me, my king, then all you have to do is say.” Kaia says, shrugging. Thorin glares at her, his jaw tense as he looks into her eyes.

“I am a King. I am not going to be some humans lover, least of all the woman bound to my nephew.”

“Ah, see, I knew it was your pride getting in the way.” Kaia laughs humourlessly, shrugging, “If that is the case, then I shall go. If you wish it, I will return home-”

Kaia turns to leave, but as she turns her back, she feels Thorin grab her wrist. He tugs her back, pressing her against his chest.

“No. No, you will not go.” He murmurs, his mouth close to her ear. “I do not want you to.”

“I thought you said you would not become a humans lover?”

“And you were right, it is my pride speaking…” He says, his tone quieter and gentler than it had been mere seconds ago, “I… I do want you… I care for you. But… it is not easy. I feel as though the weight of the world is on my shoulders, Kaia. I do not want to do anything that would put our mission at risk. I do not want to find myself falling for you and being unable to focus on the task at hand…”

The honesty takes Kaia back, and she lets out a shuddered breath, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

“I know, Thorin. You have so many responsibilities, but that can make you feel alone.” Kaia murmurs, turning herself around in his arms. Thorin’s head is bent slightly, his hair like a curtain around his head. “You do not have to be ashamed about having desires, about caring about me. And you do not have to be ashamed to admit that you cannot do this all alone. Let me be here, for you. Please.”

He rests his forehead against her own, his eyes screwing shut.

“And if I become yours, Kaia, what then? I have lost so much in this life, what if I lose you too. What if we all do? Kili loves you, as does Fili, I can tell. I have only ever seen Bofur be serious when he talks about you, and I know Dwalin would never take a lover unless she was special. You are special, Kaia. I could not bear to give my heart and body to you just to lose you as well.”

“You won’t.”

“You do not know that.”

“Neither of us do.” Kaia shrugs, tucking his hair behind his ear, “If we lived our lives in fear of what could be, we would never feel any joy. You deserve joy, Thorin. Please, let me be the one who gives it to you.”

Thorin looks up at her, his eyes soft beneath his knitted eyebrows.

“Even if we did survive this quest, and we take back Erebor… I would be king. I would be your lover, but I would also be your king. Your One’s uncle-”

“Yes and I have already bedded his brother in front of him” Kaia laughs, kissing Thorin’s nose gently. “Stop looking for reasons why this cannot be, my king. Whatever problems and issues we come across, we face them. I know that I love Kili, I know that I adore Fili and Dwalin and Bofur, and I want you to be a part of us.”

Thorin stares down at her, his eyes soft as a small smile appears across his face, “You’re going to have to ask me formally.”

“Oh, do I?” Kaia smirks.

“I’m a king, little human. I’m not a miner who you can just fuck on the side of a river, you must ask me properly.”

Kaia sighs, rolling her eyes good naturedly. Taking a step away from him, confusion flashes across his face. Before he can assume she has rejected him, Kaia gets down on her knee.

She assumes the best imitation of bowing in front of a king as she can, bending her head down as she extends one hand to him, with the other on his chest.

“Oh, noble King Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, king Under the Mountain and uncle to my One. Would you do me the honour of becoming my lover? Would you fuck me hard, make me scream, drive me to the point of insanity on your cock, fuck me in every corridor of Erebor when we get there, and-”

She is cut off by Thorin taking her hand and pulling her up, right into his arms as he laughs against her hair.

“That’s good enough, ghivashel. Not very formal, mind you.” He chuckles.

“Hey, I used all of your official titles!” Kaia laughs, and Thorin wraps his hands around her waist, pressing her closer to him.

“When we reclaim Erebor, I will do you the honour of fucking you on my throne.” Thorin’s voice rumbles against her neck, and she moans as his hands travel over her body.  

“How about we start off with you fucking me in this cave, your majesty?”

Thorin pulls back, raising his eyebrow at her, “You fucked four different dwarrows tonight, and you want to go again?”

“I haven’t had a king…” She murmurs, dancing her lips against his own. He groans, pressing his lips to hers in a searing kiss.

Kaia wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as he glides his hands over her waist and hips, groping at her ass with an appreciative hum, before he grabs her thighs and lifts her up.

She squeaks as he lifts her, wrapping her legs around Thorin’s waist as he walks her back to press her against the cave wall. His lips never leave hers, biting her lower lip and causing her to yelp, giving his tongue access to her mouth.

Every moan she finds escaping her is swallowed by Thorin, who digs his fingers into her thighs as he grinds himself against her.

“Fucking a lady against a cave wall, is very unbecoming of a king.” He murmurs, dragging his teeth over her pulse point.

“Well we can save the ‘love-making’ on satin sheets for when you have your kingdom back, your grace. Right now, I need you to just be Thorin.”

“Thorin would definitely fuck a lady against a cave wall.” He chuckles, securing her weight against the stone as one of his hands lifts up to pull down her sleeve, kissing her shoulder.

“Then get to it, Oakenshield.” Kaia moans, tugging on his hair.

“As you wish, Halwûna.” Thorin groans, reaching his hands up to tug on her dress. It falls away easily, the back of it having already been destroyed by Dwalin’s hands. Thorin shifts her higher up, giving him easy access to her tits.

One of his hands remains on her thigh, the other glides over her torso, the callouses on his palms delivering delicious friction against her skin, causing her to bite her lip and drop her head back.

Kaia can feel his beard drag along her chest, his lips pressing kisses along her collarbone before delving deeper, pressing kisses to her nipples. They pebbled against the cold air, and he groaned against them. His tongue darted out, licking a long strip along her right breast.

The hand in his hair clenched, and he growled against her tit, latching onto it with his teeth.

“Fuck! Thorin!” She cries, the pain and the pleasure sending a shiver through her body.

“Quiet, girl. You don’t want the rest of them hearing us, do you?” He murmurs, before looking up into her eyes, “Do you?”

“I think this Company is far past secrets.” Kaia chuckles, breathing harshly as he continues to suck on her tit, dragging his teeth over them to illicit more noise from her.

She threads her fingers through his hair, tugging harshly every time his teeth bit down onto her, and he rewards her with a groan every time.

“It seems Fili got his love for teasing from you.” Kaia breathes out, and Thorin chuckles against her skin.

“Does it turn you on to bring up my nephews while I’m sucking your tits, ghivashel?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his rumbling voice.

“Perhaps.” Kaia says, grinding her lower body against his strong stomach, “Does that bother you?”

“No. In fact, I have half a mind to call them here to watch as I ravage you.” Thorin says, kissing her breast once more before lifting his head up to give her an evil smirk. Kaia can only groan as he pulls her down the wall, readjusting her thighs until they are wrapped around his hips.

Thorin presses a kiss to her jaw, growling slightly, “No. I think I’ll wait for another time to share you. Right now, you are mine.”

With quick, rough hands, he lifts her dress up to bunch around her waist, pressing his hips against hers to keep her upright.

“I want to see you.” Kaia murmurs, dragging her hands over his clothed torso. Thorin raises an eyebrow, seemingly unwilling to take off his tunic.

“It’s cold.” He says.

“Yeah, I realised. If you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing my dress as a belt right now.” Kaia laughs, playfully punching Thorin’s shoulder. His face breaks out into a small smile, looking over her body with loving eyes.

���That is fair, sweet girl.” Thorin says, keeping his hips pressed to hers to keep her up, whilst his hands grab at the hem of his tunic, tugging it over his head.

Kaia feels a blush creep up her neck at the sight of him. He’s covered in thick muscle underneath tanned skin, decorated with dark and silver hair, tattoos and scars. His muscles ripple as he tosses his shirt away, and she cannot resist the urge to touch him.

She drags her fingers over his chest, admiring the dark hair and the roughness of his skin. Thorin watches her as she looks him over, his expression guarded as he begins to feel self-conscious. Kaia was beautiful, soft skin and delicate imperfections which made her so real. The King Under the Mountain was riddled with memories of war, he was old and withered. What if she was disgusted by him?

“You’re beautiful.” Kaia says, softly.

Thorin blinks at her, taken aback by her compliment. But he sees only honesty in her eyes, her pupils dilated as her fingers draw circles down his stomach, gently caressing the scars littered along it. Overwhelmed by the affection displayed by the human in front of him, he kisses her gently. She sighs against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him even closer to her.

“No-one’s ever called me beautiful, Gêdel.” Thorin murmurs against her lips.

“Well get used to it.” Kaia smiles, leaning back to look into his sad, blue eyes. “I’ll spend the rest of my life telling you how beautiful you are, if you let me.”

“Only if I can repay the favour.”

They share a smile, before resuming their kiss. Their lips start gently, dancing together in an unspoken confession of adoration, getting to know each other more and more with every breath they shared.

Over time, they grew impatient. Kaia felt his hands rubbing against her hips and thighs, causing goose bumps to erupt over every inch of skin he caressed. She moaned against his mouth, demanding for more. Thorin kissed her harder, his tongue seeking her own out as their hands wandered.

“Are you sure about this, sweet one?” Thorin asks.

“Yes, I am.” Kaia whispers, biting at his jaw, “My king.”

Thorin groans, kissing her shoulder and her neck as one of his hands leaves her. Kaia can hear his belt buckle being undone, and her body thrummed with anticipation. Thorin shoved his trousers down to his thighs, gasping as the cold night air hit his cock.

The heat from both of their bodies was both stifling and not enough, the winds of the forest caressing the pairs bare skin. Kaia wrapped her arms snug around the king before her, pressing her chest to his. He hummed against her skin, one hand holding her up whilst the other moved to play with her cunt.

Kaia gasped as she felt his finger drag along her inner thigh, before reaching between her legs. His index finger caressed along her folds, feeling how wet she was for him.

“Oh, mahal…” He murmurs, his cock throbbing at the feeling of how soft and wet she was.

Pressing his finger into her, Kaia moaned and bit her lip, feeling her body shudder with the intrusion of his thick digit. He pushed into her, deep until his thumb pressed against her clit.

“Thorin…” Kaia breathed, her head hitting the wall behind her as she shifted her body, begging for more.

He obliged. A second finger joined his first, and his thumb began dragging across her clit in rough, stable motions which made her gasp. Pumping his fingers, Thorin watched Kaia’s face as her jaw went slack.

“Does that feel good, ghivashel?” He asks, knowing the answer but demanding praise. He needed to hear her tell him he was good, I needed it like a drowning man needed air.

“Yes! Thorin you feel so good! Please, please don’t stop…” Kaia pleads, her hips bucking slightly to fuck herself on his fingers.

“Good girl, ride my hand. That’s it, you look so pretty coming undone.” Thorin praises, fucking her faster on his fingers as he feels himself grow even harder watching her expressions.

Her face twists beautifully, eyes fluttering closed as her chest heaved. Unable to resist, Thorin lowers his head, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. She moans, grabbing onto his hair to keep him in place.

“I’m gonna…” Kaia murmurs, rocking her hips against Thorin’s hand.

“Are you going to cum, ‘arsûna?” Thorin asks, kissing along her breast as he flicks her clit harder, “Are you going to reward your king by cumming all over his hand?”

“Yes! Yes!” Kaia gasps out, feeling her peak nearing.

“Do you deserve to finish to soon?” Thorin chides, “Have you earned it?”

“Please, Thorin!” She begs, feeling her legs shake as she gets closer. But Thorin’s hand stops.

“Please, what?” He asks, his voice low as he talks against her skin, looking up at her with fierce eyes.

“Please, my king!” Kaia practically screams, her body thrumming on the precipice.

“Good girl.” He says, biting down onto her tit as three of his fingers enter her, fucking into her fast and hard, his thumb rubbing her clit with renewed ferocity.

Kaia chokes out a sob, her scream getting caught in her throat as she cums. Stars and flashes of lightning erupt in front of her eyes, and her body shakes against Thorin’s own. His fingers do not cease, coaxing her through her orgasm as Thorin groans against her.

The feeling of her cunt strangling his fingers has Thorin’s cock pulsing, begging for the warmth her cunt provides. He needed her, but he held back as he felt her slump against him.

“Are you alright, ‘Ibinê?” He asks, his voice raspy as he feels the blood pumping through his shaft.

“I am, sweet king.” Kaia murmurs above him, running her hands through his hair, causing him to sigh contentedly, “Are you going to fuck me or are you waiting for something?”

Kaia chuckles above him, and Thorin presses another kiss to her chest, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He says, his voice gentle.

“I’ve fucked four dwarrows and came a dozen times tonight, Thorin. Nê akhshum.” Kaia says, her voice soft. Thorin looks up at her, surprised by her use of Khuzdul. Kaia shrugs, “Balin has been teaching me, Bifur too.”

“Oh, why?” Thorin asks, kissing her jaw.

“He said there would be need for it, eventually.” Kaia smiles, “I don’t know if he meant this, though.”

“He knows more than the rest of us, Halw Kurdu.” Thorin chuckles, kissing her cheek, then her nose. “Are you ready for…” Thorin clears his throat, suddenly nervous.

“Your cock?” Kaia asks, smiling at Thorin swallows thickly, “Yes, I’m ready, my king.”

“If you keep calling me that, this will not last long.”

“Do not sell yourself short, Thorin, it appears dwarrow stamina is very impressive.”

Thorin grins at her, kssing her hard as he lifts her up slightly. Kaia gasps as she can feel his length pressed against her. He’s huge and thick, and throbbing. Thorin releases his own groan at the feel of her heat beneath him, and the two take a second to breathe before, Thorin pushes into her.

The tip of him is enough to make Kaia’s head spin. She bites her lip at the feeling of him stretching her, the all too familiar sensation of penetration a welcome sting after tonight.

Thorin, however, feels as though he is about to burst. Her tight heat envelopes him hot and wet and oh so tight. His mind blanks as he pushes forwards, the sound of his own heart, his lovers breathing and the wet noises of their coupling like music to his ears.

“Mahal… you feel… gods, Kaia…” Thorin can barely get out the words as he sinks deeper, his mouth hanging open as he stares into her eyes, loving the look inside of them as he slowly pushes all the way into her.

“Thorin… my king…” Kaia murmurs, her hands on his shoulders as he presses his hips to her, causing her eyes to roll back into her head. “So… big, fuck….”

“I need to… please, Kaia, can I move…?” Thorin begs, surprising himself with how breathy and eager he sounds. His mind is clouded, the only thing he can feel is the tight space between her legs and the softness of her skin underneath his fingers.

“Move, Thorin. Fuck me hard, please…” Kaia commands, her words disappearing into a high pitched whine as he quickly pulls back and thrusts back into her.

His pace is rough, hard and sloppy. Gone are his worries and his desire to remain kingly, now all he wants is to fuck her fast and hard, claiming her cunt. Every time he pulls his inches out, her cunt tries to pull him back, and he is more than happy to oblige, surging forward hard enough to cause them both to let out a strangled gasp.

Kaia keeps one hand on his shoulder as the other disappears between them, rubbing against her clit and feeling where his cock enters her. The feeling of her nails dragging along his length makes Thorin wince, but the slight pain just brings him closer.

Thorin fucks her wildly, his cock never leaving her for a second as he pumps himself in her, his balls slapping against her as his tip snaps against her cervix. Kaia feels as though she could die on his dick, the air leaving her every time his body shoves against hers. Her hips feel bruised, her tits rubbed raw against the hairs on his chest, and the beautiful sensation of his kingly cock fucking her hard enough to carve it’s shape into her cunt.

Another orgasm is fast approaching, and Kaia can only grip onto him with one arm as the other continues to rub her clit. Thorin shakes and shudders against her, panting as he uses all of his energy to pound into her. His forehead is covered in sweat, and he drops it against her shoulder as he gets lost in the feeling.

Thorin presses her thigh up higher, getting better access to her cunt. After a few more sharp thrusts, Kaia screams as her orgasm crashes over her. Her cunt strangles his cock, causing Thorin to gasp and murmur out Khuzdul, his eyes rolling back. His hips do not stop, desperately fucking her through her orgasm.

“Thorin! Please, let me go, I can’t-!” Kaia pleads, her orgasm subsiding and the brutal pace of his hips making her squirm with overstimulation.

It takes great effort, but Thorin releases her, and she slides out from him. Thorin feels as though he might die if he does not finish, but he would never keep going when she tells him to stop.

Kaia looks down at his cock, glistening and red, and drops to her knees. Thorin opens his mouth to tell her not to, but the second she wraps her lips around him, his protest dies in his throat.

She wastes no time in taking him into her mouth, pushing her head down as far as she can go. He’s so thick and long, and when he hits the back of her throat he’s barely halfway in. Kaia swallows around him, hearing him gasp and groan as one of his hands wraps around her hair. She removes her mouth for a second to drag her tongue along the underside of him, before wrapping her lips around him once more.

Her hands aid her efforts, pumping up and down the rest of his shaft in circular, up and down motions. That and the suction she applies to the top of him, has Thorin almost collapsing on top of her. Kaia looks up, watching as he leans over her, his forearm resting on the stone wall while the other grasps onto her skull.

Thorin’s eyes stare down at her, half-lidded and full of desire as she bobs her head along his shaft. The King Under the Mountain tries to keep himself from fucking her face, his hips stuttering and his hand flinching with the effort to not move her head the way he wants her to.

Kaia can see his internal battle, and she releases him from her mouth, pumping him with her hands as she looks into his eyes, “Fuck my face, my King.”

Thorin groans, spluttering slightly at her words, before the hand in her hair tightens and pushes her back to his shaft. Kaia eagerly opens her mouth, accepting his appendage when it glides through her lips.

All restraint is gone from Thorin now, he’s too close and too desperate to feel her mouth around him. He begins thrusting into her face, forcing his length further and further down her throat until she is gagging around him. Kaia does not protest, nor does she try to move. She keeps her throat as open as she can, taking deep breaths through her nose as the King vigorously fucks her.

It's so erotic, her eyes flitting up to watch the normally composed King under the Mountain as he becomes a writhing beast above her. One of her hands leaves his shaft, going south to her clit, and she begins grinding on it, the vibrations from Thorin fucking her face providing her with effortless friction that makes her body spasm with pleasure.

Thorin is a mess of sweat and groans above her, his eyes rolling back even though he tries his hardest to watch the scene below him. She is truly the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and watching as she takes almost all of him down her throat and pumps him with her hand makes his chest feel as though it will collapse.

His balls are tightening below him, and he can feel himself getting close. The arm pressed against the wall is the only thing anchoring him from falling into a void of ecstasy, and he presses his forehead against it to try to keep his breaths even,

Kaia can feel him getting close. The hand in her hair grips even harsher, providing an almost painful sensation. His thrusts are getting sloppier and harder, and Kaia feels herself gagging almost constantly.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Thorin’s mouth is releasing a string of gibberish, moans and words of praise, she would find the gagging embarrassing, but the sensation of it is heaven for Thorin Oakenshield.

She rides her hand with more fervour, feeling herself getting closer as the dwarf above her begins stuttering out begs and pleadings.

“Oh, my sweet girl, make me cum, please… you feel so good, abnâmul, mahal maharuma, you’re going to make me cum… fuck!” He gasps out, on the edge of cumming down her throat.

Kaia wants to feel his spend in her mouth, needs it to finish herself, so she moves her hand from his cock, bringing it down to grab onto his balls.

Thorin bellows, thrusting his cock down her throat as far as it can go as he finishes. His cum comes out in hot spurts down her throat and across her tongue. The sensation of it and the sound of Thorin’s groans makes Kaia orgasm, her fingers pruning with the wetness of herself.

Thorin pulls himself out of her mouth, uttering a small apology for finishing in her mouth. But Kaia simply smiles at him, swallowing down what he gave her and wiping her mouth. He takes another breath, before pulling her up and wrapping his arms around her, his face in her neck.

They stay like that for a few moments, leaning against the wall for stability as they caress each other, soothing one another gently. Thorin murmurs against her skin, words she can barely hear and understand, but his tone makes her feel warm and safe. She kisses his jaw, nuzzling against the roughness of his beard.

“We should probably go back. They’ll be wondering where we got off to.” Kaia murmurs, and Thorin lifts his head to give her a dazed look.

“You’re right.” He says, reaching down to pull his trousers back up. The two begin pulling their clothes back into place. A rustling sound catches their attention, and Thorin sighs.

“Bofur get out of those fucking bushes!” Thorin bellows, and Kaia looks around as a hat pops out from one of the nearby shrubs.

Bofur looks over at them, wide eyed and red faced, clearing his throat.

“Apologies, Thorin! Was just wondering what was going on!” He calls.

“You were wondering ten minutes ago, you dolt!” Thorin sighs, buckling up his trousers.

“Enjoy the show, sweet dwarf?” Kaia asks, chuckling to herself.

“Very much, lass. I’m also very glad Thorin and you are on the same page!” Bofur laughs, trying to conspicuously fix his clothing.

“Were you touching yourself, Bofur?” Kaia tuts, and Bofur flushes red again.

“If I catch you watching us again, I’ll tie you up so you can only watch and not reach any kind of satisfaction. Understood?” Thorin says, his voice back to its commanding lilt.

“Heard loud and clear!” Bofur salutes, winking at Kaia as he runs off back to the camp. Kaia laughs, and Thorin gives her an exacerbated look. “You’re going to have to get used to that, darling. You’re sharing with four other dwarrows.”

“I’m well aware.” Thorin says, kissing Kaia on the forehead. “But we’re really going to have to have a conversation about boundaries.”

“Sure, my king.” Kaia teases, and Thorin growls before he dives in for another kiss.

-

Woo, final smut chapter done! There will be an epilogue chapter next, just to conclude it all!

BUT, because so many people enjoyed this fanfic on AO3, I'll be making a few one-shots continuing on with this story! So look out for those!

Translations <3

Gêdel – Joy of all joys

‘arsûna – hot one

‘Ibinê – my gem

Nê akhshum – Don’t Worry

Halw Kurdu – Sweet Heart

[whumpsday]

Give the Little Man to the Dogs (Dungeon Meshi fanfic)

Writing masterlist / AO3 link

content: whump, hurt/comfort, starvation, animal attack, captivity, temporary character death, broken bones, autocannibalism, kinda death wish, begging, infected wound, rescue, amputation

Whumpmas in July Day 6: Left Behind

what's this, a fanfic? from me, oc-torturer extraordinaire? i wrote a 4k-word dungeon meshi whumpfic? yes. thank you to @heffawhump to inspiring me with her own chilchuck whump!

(this fic is intended for a whump audience, if you got here from a dungeon meshi search please... be mindful of the tags...)

this is an AU spiraling out from this situation in episode 13:

“A little man, a depths-dweller, a long-legs, and a long-ears! Interesting! I’ve never killed a long-ears before. I’ll handle it.”

As the orcs’ captain spoke, the pressure eased from Chilchuck’s back, where one of the orcs had him pinned to the floor. Before he could even think about running, he found himself lifted by his neck warmer, breathing suddenly a struggle.

Their wargs eyed him hungrily, huge doglike beasts easily more than twice his size, their sharp teeth bared to nip at his feet. He pulled his legs up with an attempt at a gasp, curling himself into a ball.

“Give the little man to the dogs. They’re craving some entertainment,” she continued.

“Wait,” Senshi cut in before Chilchuck could say a word in protest, “You are–”

It all happened so fast.

The captain plunged her spear through Senshi’s throat, his beard suddenly wet with blood.

“Senshi!” Chilchuck shrieked, struggling fruitlessly against the orc’s hold.

“For moles, they don’t put up much of a fight,” The captain remarked. With a sickening squelch, the blood-slick spear pierced the unconscious Laios’ and Marcille’s unarmored chests in turn, before twirling upright and ready in her hand. “Well, long-ears don’t die any way special.”

“No! Stop!” he cried out, his voice growing weaker with his neck warmer digging into his throat. He tried to kick at the orc holding him, hoping it might at the very least surprise him into dropping him, but the orc simply held his arm further out, dangling him above the wargs.

“Enough out of you, mole,” he huffed, giving Chilchuck a little shake that felt like he was being hanged. “Like the captain said, to the dogs.”

He broke away from the group, the captain’s musings on elves barely audible over the rushing in Chilchuck’s ears. Only the wargs followed, as though they understood they’d been promised a treat. Were his esophagus not clamped shut, he might have been sick.

The orc roughly snatched the tool pouch off Chilchuck’s belt and tossed him through a metal-barred gate. Like everywhere in the area, the floor was all hard cobblestone, and the wounds Marcille had freshly healed ached again as he took the fall. He coughed and retched, trying to catch his breath so he could say something, anything, but the orc was gone before he could speak.

He barely had time to push himself to his feet before the dogs followed.

Chilchuck scrambled to the back wall of the warg pen, but it was no use. The orc locked the gate closed and left, trapping him here as the wargs bounded for him.

If his protests had been useless to the orcs, they were even more so against their dogs. A sharp “Stay back!” may as well have been an invitation, the beasts knocking him right back to the floor and not letting up. A giant paw pressed against his abdomen, claws threatening to poke through the protective padding of his vest.

Their teeth did more than threaten. One went for his ear, its gaping maw so close to his face, and tore. Chilchuck screamed as blood burst from the wound, the warg chewing on his flesh and cartilage like a dog bone. Another chomped at his right ankle, the joint uttering a horrible crunch that somehow still failed to capture the agony of it. His boot came loose with it, snapped up in the warg’s fangs.

Somehow, Chilchuck was able to think through it all, a single thought dominating: SURVIVE. As soon as he could wriggle out from under the warg’s paw, he curled up again, protecting his vital organs and weak points. If worst came to worst, he could live without a leg. He couldn’t live without his stomach, his drink-ridden liver, his panic-rapid heart. He balled his hands into fists in a desperate attempt to save his fingers.

He cried into his knees as the dogs bit and tore, his ruined clothes stained redder and redder. The wargs batted him around like a toy, and still he stayed firm, forcing breath after shaking breath.

When the wargs finally got bored and let up, Chilchuck was still alive.

Everything hurt. He had thought the dragon was bad, but that was nothing compared to this. His head was gushing blood; his leg felt like it had been mulched. One of them had broken through his vest and clawed down his back, and the sharp pain whenever he breathed told him a rib or three were broken despite his best efforts. And this time, Marcille wasn’t here to heal him.

His sobbing intensified as he thought of the bodies in the next room. They were dead, but not gone, not yet: they still had time. Chilchuck had been revived enough times himself to know that.

But who would do it? Marcille was dead, and the chances of other adventurers stumbling across them this many floors down were astronomically low. Falin could, but she’d disappeared, and something was wrong with her. Even if she managed to clear her head and make it here, the orcs would just kill her, too.

Falin could get help. If she could somehow make it back to the surface alone, if she could work out that something had happened to them, she could hire another party to come to their rescue, like they’d done for her.

With what money?

Deep down, Chilchuck knew the truth. No one was coming. Namari and Shuro were right, he never should have come on this doomed expedition. Why had he done something so stupid? They’d defeated a dragon and saved Falin against all odds, and they’d all die before they could make it back home to tell the tale.

Unless he managed to escape. Unless he was the one making sure it got done.

Chilchuck sucked in a pained breath, then another. He needed to stop the bleeding before anything else, and all he had were the clothes on his back. Watching the wargs chew on his boots, he carefully ripped one of the sleeves off his shirt, balling it up and pressing it to the side of his head.

It took him longer than it usually would through the haze of pain, but he inventoried.

He had his ruined clothes. Useful as fabric to stop the bleeding. The wargs had taken his boots, his gloves, and his snapped belt, all reduced to chew-toys. Trying to take them back would be suicide, even if the belt was the closest thing he had to a weapon.

Looking around, he could see bones of various shapes and sizes–any of the others in his party would have been able to tell him whether they were human or not, but Chilchuck had no idea. There were three fluffy-looking dog beds made of some sort of pelt, two of them occupied. There were troughs lined up against the side of the pen: one full of water, one scant but for crumbs. Someone would have to come in to refill it at some point.

Chilchuck was fast, but not on a broken ankle. He wouldn’t be able to rush past, he’d be caught immediately if he tried.

The gate itself seemed designed to spite him specifically. The only part of the room not solid rock, its iron grate was still much too small for him to fit through, even at his size. He could stick an arm through, which would be perfect for picking a lock, if it weren’t for two things.

The orc had taken his picking tools, and the lock was twice his height up.

It made sense. If it were lower, the wargs could potentially bite it through the bars, a disaster waiting to happen. But if he tried to climb the grating, even if he managed to keep quiet through the pain, he’d surely draw attention. Even if he didn’t, there was nothing to pick the lock with. That was the first step: he needed something to pick the lock with.

Chilchuck laid there on the hard floor, growing dizzier and dizzier, hoping he would feel better when he woke up.

-

He didn’t.

Chilchuck shot up with a scream as a warg nipped at his injured leg, kicking at it with his good one half-asleep. The warg didn’t like that at all, only clamping down harder on his ankle. A broken cry dragged on as the warg chewed at him experimentally, then released him and went back on over to the others.

He pulled in ragged breaths, trying to get his bearings. He was still trapped in the warg pen, his party still dead. The bleeding had stopped, at least, dried blood caked into his clothes. The ringing in his ruined ear was almost as unbearable as the pain, and his mouth was dry, his throat longing with thirst.

He waited until he could take a clear breath, then shouted: “Oi! Hey! Somebody!”

An orc holding a spear stepped into view, bewildered. “You’re still alive?”

“...Yes.” Chilchuck did his best to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Talking his way out of this was his only option, and he’d never been good at that. He wished Senshi was here. “Now that we’ve established that, let me out of here. You made your point. I’ll take my friends’ bodies and we won’t bother you again.”

And how are you supposed to get them out of here? You could barely carry Marcille without a broken ankle. There’s three of them, they’re all bigger than you, and you can’t walk, his rationality pointed out. But he had to try something. He would figure it out when he got there.

The guard averted his gaze, uncomfortable. “S’not what the captain said to do. You broke into our camp.”

“We weren’t spying on you! We were running through the walls and ended up here by mistake–”

“Listen,” the guard cut him off, “You’re not making it back up to the surface on that leg. You’ve gotta know that.”

“So what?” Chilchuck snapped, shrill. “What are you suggesting?”

“When the captain said to give you to the dogs, she meant as, you know, a one and done deal. Dog food, basically. Now, they’re taking their time with it, which isn’t… great for you. I don’t like doing this, but, uh, if you really want, I could… make it quick?” The guard tapped his spear, still refusing to look him in the eye. “So it doesn’t hurt so much.”

“Don’t you dare come near me with that thing!” Chilchuck grabbed a pebble off the floor and hurled it through the bars, where it bounced harmlessly off the guard’s chest.

The guard shrugged, walking away. “Works for me.”

Chilchuck’s heart pounded. It was an offer, not a threat, but that didn’t make its barbs lodge themselves in his heart any less.

Slow death and quick death couldn’t be his only two options.

If he wanted to live, he’d have to do this himself.

Chilchuck dragged himself over to the wargs’ water trough, clenching his teeth through the sharp spikes twisting in his ankle at every movement and freezing entirely whenever he caught the wargs’ attention. It was slow and agonizing, and when he finally made it there, utterly humiliating. But he did it.

He dipped his head into the trough and drank.

-

On the third day, Chilchuck was awake when the wargs were fed.

It wasn’t anything appetizing, scraps and bits of meat left on bones and animal feed, but his mouth watered at the sight. He hadn’t had anything to eat since they got captured–since he got captured and the rest killed–and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Two days without food used to be nothing to him.

“Where’s mine?” he asked the guard as the wargs gathered ravenously around their feed.

“You’re not even supposed to be alive, and we barely have enough for ourselves,” he dismissed. “No way the captain’s signing off on wasting food on a dead man right now with how short we are on everything. Offer’s still on the table.”

Chilchuck flipped him off.

“Right,” the guard grumbled. He left Chilchuck there with nothing but the sound of the wargs enjoying their meal.

He had to be patient.

Chilchuck watched them for hours. Even after the wargs abandoned the trough, he waited, biding his time.

It was only when all three wargs appeared fast asleep that he made his move.

As quietly as he could manage, he dragged himself over to the food trough. There was nothing left, really, just crumbs. But if crumbs were all he could get, he had to. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been eating weirder stuff just days ago.

The second he reached a hand inside, a force tackled him to the ground.

A warg pinned him by the chest, a growl low in its throat.

“Fuck,” Chilchuck whispered. He tried to pull away, but he would have had trouble with that even at his fittest.

The warg clamped its maw around his thigh.

Chilchuck wailed, trying desperately to get away, but it was no use. The warg growled and ripped and tore until it managed to bite a chunk of flesh out of him, bloody and raw. It swallowed it happily, trouncing back to bed, where it spat up the piece of fabric it had torn out of his pants.

He panted, a trail of blood following behind him as he pulled himself back to the opposite side of the pen. Another sleeve went as he frantically wrapped his wound, soaked thick with red almost instantly. But there was little else he could do.

Still hungry, he sobbed into the floor until he lost consciousness.

-

Somehow, Chilchuck woke again the next day, a small, sticky puddle under him.

He couldn’t wait for an opportunity anymore. The guard had been clear about what he was: dog food. And if the orcs barely had enough to feed themselves, there was no doubt he would be taken apart piece-by-piece until he died. And if he went much longer without food, he would be too weak to act when an opportunity presented itself anyway.

Biting the inside of his cheek to muffle the evidence of his pain, he picked through the bones littering the floor until he found one small and pointy enough that it might work. It was nowhere near as sophisticated as his usual tools, but it was all he had.

It was lucky that the leg the warg had bitten last night was the same one where his ankle swelled like a balloon. Better to have one real-bad leg and one good one than two gone to shit.

Now, he just had to do this.

He ripped strips from the bottom of his shirt, makeshift cords. He tied his chosen bone to the longest he could find, the leg of something obviously not human, and lifted it up high.

It took incredible concentration for him to feel the motions of his tool so far down from it. It was barely a tool. There was no way this was going to work, but his only other option was to lay there and die, so he did it, hiding the bones whenever someone passed by.

Hours and hours and hours, his leg and ear throbbing, his stomach empty and his arms weak.

By some miracle, after what must have been close to the full day, he heard a click.

With bated breath, Chilchuck carefully pulled the door back.

It opened.

Eyes wide and alert, he undid the cord connecting the two bones, stowing the small one in his pocket and hoisting himself up by the other as a cane. He hobbled out of the cell, looking for an exit: he had no hope of getting his party out of here, he’d have to send help to come back for them–

“Hey! Mole’s out!” This wasn’t the same guard he’d talked to before.

“No! Stay away!” Chilchuck cried. He hobbled away as fast as he could, but the guard caught him with ease, scruffing him like he’d been on the first day. “Stop!”

He wailed, kicking his good leg, but the guard tossed him back into the cell. He screamed as he landed on his bad leg, a shock of agony running through his whole body.

The click as the lock he’d worked for double-digit hours to open closed once more rang through him all night. He couldn’t make the tears stop.

-

The wargs went for him again.

It was two of them this time. One had its jaws around his arm, his better arm, his lockpicking arm. The other gnawed at his bad leg, dangerously close to the wound on his thigh, but not quite there.

Chilchuck didn’t dare move. Neither was ripping chunks out of him, just chewing, like he was some kind of dog toy.

Entertainment, the captain had called him.

He kept his hands clasped over his mouth, trying to keep quiet and still. Even though they weren’t being as violent as they could, they were still rough, and it hurt. He shook, and he couldn’t tell if it was from pain, fear, or all-pervasive hunger. Small whimpers escaped him despite his best efforts.

Eventually, the wargs grew bored and left him gasping on the floor.

Hours later, someone came to take the wargs. It was something Chilchuck had witnessed often, and he didn’t bother appealing for freedom anymore.

But this time was different. They took all three wargs at the same time, something that hadn’t happened since the day he was captured.

It had been four days since he’d last eaten.

Chilchuck dragged himself to the food trough. It was more difficult to move every time he tried, but he’d started leaving himself by the water trough instead of the door for precisely that reason, so at least he was closer.

There were only crumbs in it, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to feel humiliated as he dug out every miniscule scrap he could manage, crying at the taste. It was nowhere near enough to fill him up, but it was all he had, and he licked them up like they were the best meal he’d ever tasted.

He was slow. He was slow with everything, now. Slow to move, slow to drink, slow to think.

Terror shot through him as he heard the wargs approaching.

“Wait,” he begged, trying to get away from the food trough. “They–they’ll–they can’t see me. Can’t let ‘em, they’ll bite again, just wait, please.”

The orc outside stopped with his hand on the door. “Oh, uh, sure. Go on, then.”

Chilchuck let out a ragged sigh of relief and made his way back over to the water trough, grunting with every movement. His only mercy, the orc waited as requested until he’d collapsed on the floor to let the wargs back in.

-

Something was happening to his wounds.

They hurt more and more every day, especially the one on his ankle. Pus showed itself among the blood in greater and greater amounts, everything was swollen, and the area all around was angry and red.

It didn’t take an expert to figure it was infected.

Chilchuck was dying. He knew he was dying. Even if he weren’t, he’d be dead soon from something else. Wargs or starvation or something. The only question was what would do him in first.

There was another option, of course. One besides slowly dying of infection or starvation, or being torn apart by the wargs.

The guard’s offer to spear him became more tempting with every moment of agony. He was starting to see how the offer was made in good faith.

And he was considering it.

It could be over, just like that. No more pain, no more hunger. He could join his friends in death sooner rather than later.

His friends lingered in his mind. They were counting on him, the only one who could save them from death. Not that he would be able to succeed in that.

Chilchuck closed his eyes and thought of his daughters.

He knew, as long as he remained coherent enough to picture their faces in his mind, he wouldn’t take the guard’s offer.

But if he wasn’t taking the easy way out, he had to eat something. And if he couldn’t get close to the wargs’ food without being attacked, there was only one thing left to eat.

He curled in on himself to hide his actions from the wargs. He didn’t want them getting any ideas.

Chilchuck had gotten a lot of practice riding through pain in the past week. By some miracle, he managed to keep mostly silent as he methodically gnawed the flesh off his arm.

-

He couldn’t remain conscious for long anymore. He knew that one day soon, he’d stop waking up.

Given that, it was a miracle that on the day marking a week in the wargs’ pen, he was awake to recognize a familiar voice outside the bars.

The other orcs. The ones from the third floor. The ones who were friends with Senshi, who had let them pass through and shared a meal with them. That’s where he knew that voice from.

“Zon!” His voice came out raspy and broken, but he made it as loud as he could. “Zon! Zon, help!”

“Huh?”

There he was, just there, beyond the bars. Zon. The only friendly face he’d seen throughout this whole nightmare. 

“What’re you doing in there?” he asked. He turned to someone Chilchuck couldn’t see. “What’s he doing in there?”

“You know him? That’s a mole who snuck into our camp!” the captain said. “He’s still alive?”

“Zon,” Chilchuck pleaded. “Help.”

Consciousness faded once more.

-

A sharp pain tore through his leg. Chilchuck screamed, awake for only a moment before he went out again.

-

When he woke up, he wasn’t in the warg pen.

He was cradled in strong, fuzzy arms, the world swaying as the person carrying him walked. His ankle hurt more than it usually did, and that was already a pretty high bar. He couldn’t feel his foot.

“Where’m I?” Chilchuck asked.

“You’re safe,” Zon assured him. That’s who was carrying him. His fur was soft and warm, the first nice thing Chilchuck had felt since his capture. “We’re on our way up to the third floor.”

“I’ve got your friends,” Zon’s companion piped up, another orc Chilchuck recognized but couldn’t place a name to. His arms were piled high with the corpses of his party, looking worse for wear after a week. “Also your foot. Still revivable, we think.”

“My–my what?” Chilchuck asked.

“It was infected bad,” Zon explained, “Had to cut it off or you might’ve died before even making it to the surface. Your friend can probably put it back on with her magic once she’s alive again.”

It was something he should have been freaking out about, but he just couldn’t gather the energy. “Okay.”

He watched through half-lidded eyes as they made their way back up to the third floor with an ease his party never could have managed. Zon set him down, and before he knew it, there was a warm bowl of stewed vegetables in his hands.

Chilchuck didn’t even wait to be given a spoon, tears running down his face as he ate.

A large hand gently patted his pack. “There you go. Eat up,” Zon encouraged.

Zon had to leave shortly, but someone else came to take care of him. It was a blur as someone applied a poultice to his wounds and draped a blanket around his shoulders. He mumbled a “Thank you,” trying to keep himself conscious.

Someone tried to take the empty bowl out of his hands, and without even thinking about it, he held it close and growled. The orc chuckled lightheartedly and let him keep it. They didn’t understand how serious it was.

He fell asleep clutching it in his arms.

-

“Chilchuck?” Marcille asked, waving her hand a little. “Are you okay?”

It had been a week since they’d returned to the surface. Chilchuck stared down at his plate. It was the first meal he’d ever eaten made by Senshi outside the dungeon. There were no weird monster ingredients, and it was just as good as his food usually was, even a simple lunch of sandwiches and chicken noodle soup. Chilchuck wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to turn down food again, even the monster stuff.

“Huh? Yeah,” he said. “Why?”

“You got that look again like you’re somewhere else,” Laios supplied helpfully.

“Laios,” Marcille hissed under her breath.

“I’m fine,” Chilchuck insisted.

Senshi patted him on the shoulder and took a seat. Chilchuck could tell he wasn’t fooling anyone. Even Senshi, the most subtle of them, had served him first, and he had a look in his eyes while he did it. Somehow, Chilchuck got the feeling Senshi knew more than he was letting on.

“You guys are really going back down there?” he asked.

“We can’t just leave Falin,” Marcille pointed out.

“The dungeon is my home,” Senshi added. “I don’t like being up here on the surface.”

“Mm.” Chilchuck took another spoonful into his mouth, warm and savory.

He wanted to beg them not to go. He wanted to warn them. But he knew there would be no convincing them, and… he got it. The thought of Falin down there all alone… he wouldn’t want to be left there like that, either. He was lucky he wasn’t. Everyone kept telling him how lucky he was. Lucky he wasn’t dead, lucky he made it home, lucky he didn’t lose more than a foot.

The patch on his arm didn’t match what he’d taken out of it. No matter how much else he ate, he swore he couldn’t make the lingering taste of his own flesh leave.

“Laios?” he piped up.

Laios looked up. “Yeah?”

“Sorry I called you weird for wanting to eat monsters.”

oneshots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

@paperprinxe

-

@what-if-i-just-did

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps​

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@sowhumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

-

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

@whumpy-wyrms

@alextries

-

@wolfeyedwitch

@starfields08000

event:

@whumpmasinjuly

[grey-gazania-fic]

Hands

Maedhros, Elrond, and Elros. Rated G.

"You're really going to teach us to fight?" Elros asked, eyeing the practice swords that lay on the ground near Maedhros' feet. They were wooden and sized for the boys, and now he knew what Taraharn had been so busy with for the past few days.

Maedhros nodded. He was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, his long hair pulled back from his face, and he was leaning on a wooden sword of his own, this one much longer, more suited to his great height. "You're old enough to learn," he said, "and I would have you able to defend yourselves. The wilds are a dangerous place. You know that."

"Aren't you afraid that we'll kill you someday?" Elros said. Elrond shot him a disapproving look, but Elros ignored him; he had always been more blunt than his brother, and he had no qualms about bringing up the truth of how they had come to live with the Sons of Fëanor.

"I do not fear death, Elros," Maedhros said. It was a sentiment Maglor had voiced before, but unlike Maglor, when Maedhros said it he spoke the truth. "Besides, I believe you have more sense than to try. It would do you no good."

Elros had to concede the point. Even if Maedhros and Maglor refused to defend themselves from the boys — and that alone was a big if — there were certainly people among their followers who would not hesitate to avenge their lords. "That's true," he admitted.

Elrond rolled his eyes. "I don't feel like killing anybody except Orcs," he said. "Let's stop talking and get started."

That got a half-smile from Maedhros. "Take up a sword," he instructed. "It doesn't matter which; they're identical in all the ways that matter."

Elros and Elrond looked at each other, shrugged in unison, and each picked up the sword closest to them.

"These are meant to be used with one hand. Maglor will teach you the two-handed method, for obvious reasons," Maedhros said dryly. "Now, hold it like this, but in your right hand. We'll start with your dominant arm." He demonstrated with his own sword, and the boys copied him. "Good," he told Elrond as he examined his grip.

Elros received no praise. Instead, Maedhros handed his sword to Elrond, saying, "Hold this." Then he took Elros' hand in his own, adjusting the position of the boy's fingers. "You want your thumb here," he said. "It minimizes the risk of injury to your hand if you block a blow close to the cross-guard."

Elros nodded, but his mind wasn't on Maedhros' words. Instead it was fixed on the calloused, scarred hand wrapped around his own — a hand that was celebrated in song for its owner's deeds in the Dagor Bragollach, but also a hand that had slaughtered his mother's people twice over. Was it irony that this hand would be the one that taught him and Elrond to fight, or was it simply misfortune?

He didn't know, and he was snapped out of his reverie by Elrond elbowing him in the ribs.

"Elros," Maedhros was saying, "are you listening to me?"

"I'm sorry," he said, looking up. For a moment he thought he saw the dreaded Kinslayer standing before him, but he blinked and the man became simply Maedhros again, tired-eyed but patient. "I was just— I was thinking," he tried to explain.

"Thinking is good, but try to keep your thoughts focused on the present," Maedhros said. "Otherwise there is no point to these lessons." He took his sword back from Elrond and held it upright in front of him. "Now, copy me."

[cauliflowertree]

faramir - kiss me like you want to be loved.

summary: a long-awaited confession.

word count: 2.4k

fanfic no. 041

a/n: boromir lives because i say so.

it was a difficult farewell between the close brothers of gondor. but both were optimistic they would reunite not too far in the future—both were astute and praised warriors, trained from the day each of them could hold a sword upright.

between you and faramir, the cautious goodbye was somewhat tainted in awkwardness. neither of you were brave enough at the present moment to admit the feelings that plagued you both, effecting judgement, sleep and the completion of even minor tasks for many years now.

“farewell, y/n,” he spoke softly, a hitch in his breath, hesitantly raising an arm, wondering if he was crossing the delicate line of propriety.

“farewell, faramir,” you replied, abandoning predetermined notions of decorum as you finished what he had started, pulling him into a quick embrace, the first you had ever shared. and perhaps the last.

when you released him from your hold, his gaze was fixed upon you, awestruck from the emotions that arose within him from such a simple gesture, beginning to regret that he could not take his brothers place and curse the father that did not trust him with the task. with his mouth agape, and eyes almost sleepy, and heart in torment, he watched you back away from him, stepping into line with his older brother.

he was the last citizen of gondor to remain at the city’s uppermost region, watching you and his brother ride off into the horizon. as such, he felt an abyss form within his stomach, guilt rousing it all the more from the words he left unspoken. he had waved his brother off jeopardy, but of his life he was not as concerned as he was with yours. all his youth and adulthood, he had admired you from afar, shadowed you everywhere you ventured, unstable when he was not near you.

and now, you crossed middle earth without him, courage and bravery in your heart as you promised to fight for those who could not, if the task should fall to you. he had failed to seize the opportunity to reveal to you the object of his desires. and now, as you disappeared into the distance, he feared it was too late for another opportunity to present itself.

he may see no tomorrow, what with the armies of mordor inching closer to minas tirith, each time leaving gondor with fewer men to defend its borders.

but he hoped, he let himself hope.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡

the trials of the fellowship had taken much of your spirit, only to be stressed by the fall of gandalf the grey. the elderly wizard had provided you with much wisdom and a perfected skillset, and his absence was dearly felt, but by no one more than yourself, someone he might have considered his family.

frodo and sam had begun the disbandment of your company, leaving you behind to pursue a trickier path, but one they must face alone. boromir had been seriously injured, almost fatally, enough that merry and pippin had been captured by an orc pack. but they had now returned, safe and sound where they belonged. though, dear pippin could not stay out of trouble for long.

and gandalf, it seemed, could not stay fallen for long.

“what’s going to happen to me?” asked pippin gloomily, kicking pieces of hay in the barn as you waited for gandalf.

“nothing is going to happen to you, dear pippin. you are safe from sauron if you remain with me and gandalf,” you assured him, ruffling his loose, curly locks.

“how long have you known gandalf?” asked pippin curiously.

“oh! a long time now—since my infancy. he took me under his wing long ago, and i have much to be grateful for,” you smiled fondly.

“i don’t think he likes me,” pippin frowned. “but then, i suppose, i am very accident prone.”

“i think sometimes you do without thinking. but you are young, and gandalf knows this. but he has lived many years, and can sometimes forget what ails the youth, such as yourself,” you explained, and added: “he cares for your safety, otherwise he would not get so angry.”

pippin seemed to accept this truth with a sunny disposition, his mood greatly improving upon hearing your explanation, taking it for nothing but the truth.

“merry!” he cried, rushing off to greet his friend.

“y/n,” called boromir, offering you a full water canister, in addition to your own. “do send my brother my well wishes.”

“of course, boromir. i am sure he will be delighted to hear of you.”

boromir laughed lightly. “yes, a brother’s bond is strong. though, i am sure he will be much more inclined to be delighted with your return.”

you smiled bashfully, turning away as heat crept into your cheeks. a hearty laugh sounded from behind you, and boromir clapped your back. “i see much,” he reminded you. "safe journey!" he called as he exited the barn in search of aragorn.

with a weepy send off between merry and pippin, you, gandalf and pippin set off for minas tirith. a flutter in your heart arose at the chance of seeing faramir again, barely entertaining the thought that he had fallen to an orc’s sword or axe. faramir was the best of his ranks, no doubt he was alive and well. and boromir’s encouragement did little to settle your nerves—the thought of reciprocation was almost too much to bear.

three day’s ride felt like nothing, despite the tribulations you’d been through these past months, for faramir awaited at the end of your journey. as the white city peeked above the distant horizon, shaded with hues of pink and orange, you pushed faster through the expanse that kept you from your destination.

pippin slept against gandalf’s chest, somehow unbothered by the erratic journey. and before long, your two horses were climbing the streets of minas tirith, warning passersby of your coming. the white tree in pippin's vision stood strong, undead—a ray of hope remained for frodo and sam.

you were home.

some hours had passed in gondor, no faramir in sight, and within that time the steward had made perfectly clear he would not call for aide, nor would he accept the ranger as king. but it all temporarily came to naught as the cries of nazgûl sounded from beyond the city walls.

hundreds of horses raced from osgaliath across the grassy expanse, fleeing from the fight they could not win against such forces. the winged beasts took them from above, grasping several men and horses between their talons and launching them through the air.

your sank through your chest, palms instantly bearing sweat as you feared for faramir’s safe return. he was, quite clearly, outnumbered by many, though he had proved to make a rational decision in the midst of war by ordering his men to fall back. still, the terror that gripped you was all-consuming, almost enough to bring you to your knees, for you could scarcely bear to watch.

you turned to gandalf in silent, desperate worry, and he understood the urge you felt to flee the castle walls and help in some way if you could, if it meant they would be saved.

you and gandalf rode out. a light from gandalf’s staff, bright and unrelenting forced the nazgûl away and brought the army of men to safety, faramir included. you could see him, almost clearly in the ranks of his men, riding fast to the city gate. he dared to turn and meet your gaze. the fear had subsided, though the adrenaline remained, and you breathed a heavy sigh of relief, closing your eyes and letting the wind whip through your hair as you silently thanked silent forces for this fortune.

when the danger had slipped away, faramir dismounted his horse and wasted no time in approaching you. he was breathless, tired, but alert. it was a quick, silent moment you thought he might break with a laugh or a welcoming embrace, but instead, questioned you of his brother, to which you informed him of his safety and health. he turned to pippin with a start next, filling you and gandalf with unbridled hope as he revealed he had seen two halflings alive and well not so long ago.

and afterwards, with as much decorum between the two of you as distant strangers, he walked with you and gandalf to meet his father. quietly, he fell back in line with you, conversing with you rather formally, despite that not ten minutes before he almost deserted decency to embrace you without hesitation. but he restrained himself, for what reason he could not quite remember.

entering the castle, feeling, finally, much safer now that he was deep within the city, he let himself look at you. you seemed well, and he hoped that was how you truly felt too. he thought of you often in your absence, though over time, little details and intricacies of your features had slipped away from memory. but now that they were before him again, he smiled familiarly, admiring you for all that you were.

“i must replenish myself,” faramir informed you, hoping you might follow him so he would be blessed with a moment alone with you.

“yes, of course,” was your meek response.

he hesitated slightly, unaware if you had caught onto his subtle indication and were politely refusing or whether it had passed over your head completely. and so he left without another word, jaw clenched and shaking his head at the fool he had made himself look.

“well, aren’t you going to follow him?” asked pippin in disbelief when he was far enough away that his little comment would go unheard.

“whatever do you mean, little one?” you asked with a scoff.

“that is clearly a man who wishes to be followed!”

you trailed his gaze, catching faramir looking behind, but laughed it off instantly. “i- no. you’re mistaken.”

“i am not!” replied pippin, looking to gandalf for approval.

you looked to the old wizard yourself too, hoping for assurance on your behalf, but found nothing of the sort as he smirked at pippin and raised his eyebrows. with nothing leaving his lips, you understood perfectly the meaning of his silence.

most embarrassed by the scene, you hurried off in pursuit of the gentlemen who had left you behind in the hopes that you would follow. but for all your desires that he might wish for you the way you wished for him, catching the signs of this reciprocation was much more complicated than you might have imagined.

you turned down many passages, walked through several corridors, completely in the dark as to where he might have gone. you were so caught up in looking for him, in fact, that you missed him completely, and only found yourself face to face with the man when he called you back.

he had been staring at an old piece of art in the castle, one he must have seen and admired a dozen times before, but had needed something with which to occupy himself as he waited and hoped to see you.

“i was looking for you,” was all you spoke, unsure of how to begin.

“you found me, it seems,” he laughed. “with a little aid.”

he let his smile fade slowly, searching for the words in his crowded mind so that he might perfectly convey all that he thought in regards to his feelings for you. he gestured to an empty bench before the painting that hung tall, sitting close beside you.

“i have been meaning, for some time now, to tell you that which i have kept from you,” he began, keeping you on the edge of your seat. “from our youth, though i did not know it then, i have felt for you something i have never felt for another. and…” his breath was trembling, his eyes fixed to his hands. you took them warmly into yours, and this forced him to meet your eyes, where he found the utmost encouragement. “and when you left those weeks ago, i have regretted every moment since that i did not tell you then exactly how i felt.”

“and how do you feel?” you asked him, needing to hear it after so long.

“i feel…i feel as if- as if you- no. when i am in battle,” said he, “and my sword is kicked from my grasp, the enemy bearing down upon me, it is not, though perhaps it should be, for my men that i find the strength to stand again, to fight with my bare hands if i must. it is not for the approval of my father, nor even for my brother. when i am an inch from death, i find my strength in you, i find my courage in you. my hope, in the thought that i would see you again.”

“faramir,” you whispered through a breath of disbelief, that an honourable man such as he would care for you so deeply, a wayward soul under the influence of a wandering wizard. “i could not wish for a better man to have said these words to me. you are the best i could hope for, and truly i did hope for you,” you laughed through your tears, struggling to find breath under the weight of this joyous revelation.

“my y/n,” he chuckled, his teary eyes following the down-turn of your head as you pulled his hands up to your lips.

cupping your jaw delicately, he raised your eye-line to meet his, gazing upon you like a revered work of art. softly, he brushed your tears away with the pad of his thumb, leaning in cautiously but eagerly for something which the both of you had craved for an eternity. his mouth brushed yours tentatively, opening your lips to accommodate his own. and the pair of you were set ablaze, suddenly and feverishly reaching for each other as if you were not close enough already—his tunic gripped between your fingers, your hand over his neck while his arm snuck around your waist and fingers tangled into your hair.

distantly, he heard his father’s bellows, and it pulled him from you reluctantly. resting his forehead against yours, he regained much of the breath he had lost in your shared embrace, taking a moment to recover.

“i must go,” he said lowly, the baritone in his voice causing you to shiver.

“come and find me when you are done.”

“i would not think to do anything else,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head before stoically marching towards his father’s inevitable disapproval.

though his approval, in comparison to yours, was trivial.

🏷 @velvetcloxds @entishramblings

[sanjoongie]

Library of Illusions~ Fantasy Section

Horns

📚Part Two for the Library Of Illusions Event

📚Pairing: Dragon! Yeosang x Knight! Reader (f)

📚Genre: Fantasy au, dragon au, strangers to lovers

📚Warnings: oral ( f receiving and giving), dick-drunk reader, special dragon dick! yeosang, special cunt! Reader, degradation kink, knotting, cuts from talons

📚Word Count: 4,261

📚Rating: 18+ MDNI, smut

📚Summary: in the fantasy section, you become a lady knight, here to conquer a dragon. Only the fight has less to do with swords and fangs, and more to do with who can make the other cum first. 

📚Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland the best beta readers a writer could bribe have

↫The Horror Section ↭ MasterList ↭ The Sci-fi Section↬

You rubbed your hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. What was this section going to throw at you? Perhaps you would get to be a knight in shining armor, out to slay a horrid beast? You were far too deep in your head for the dangers that could betray you in the library. As a result, you tripped over something and landed flat on your face. You cursed your clumsiness and looked behind you to see what was the cause of your trip. On the floor was a dark red book, the title Horns and Swords golden on the spine. 

You opened it, prepared this time for the book to fly out of your hands, land upright, with its pages flipping open, until it halted and grew to the size of a door once again. The center for the book was transparent, and within you could see a gently rolling hill and a large stone structure on the top. Before entering, you turned your head, still unable to shake that feeling from within the Horror section that you were being watched.

“Whoever you are, I hope you get off on spying,” You muttered under your breath and then walked into the book. 

You're dressed in armor but it is not the kind you imagined knights wore, covered head to toe in chainmail and plated armor. No, this was the kind that let your boobs bounce and showed off your legs and ass. This kind of armor was meant to seduce and captivate the eyes. What the hell kind of fantasy novel were you in?

You heard a twinkling noise and quickly realized that it was coming from a book that was attached to your belt. You pulled it out and opened it to the first page. Inside was your handwriting, detailed descriptions of monsters you had pursued and how you had defeated them. What you hadn't expected while skimming the notes was the descriptions.

Orcs: big balls, stroke to entice early ejaculation

Centaurs: DO NOT OFFER MISSIONARY! HOOVES!

Mermen: find a rock to seduce him on. Sand is a bitch to get out of your boots

The list went on and on and you quickly realized you weren’t a whore, per say, but a type of knight that ‘conquered’ monsters by bringing them pleasure. Well, at least the book got the knight part right that you wanted.

In the book, your notes stopped and a new page began. The inscription spoke of this part of your book being connected to the great book back at the Citadel, in which the clerical knights wrote the bounties one could take on. You flipped through the small book until you come across a particularly interesting entry:

Time Dragon: Kang Yeosang is wanted for manipulating time in order to increase his hoard. Capture if necessary, otherwise, sufficient proof of conquest is a piece of his horn.

You looked up at the large building that was on top of the gently inclining hill. Clearly you had been deposited right where you needed to be. But what kind of dragon lived in a limestone building? Didn’t they prefer mountains or caves? Perhaps Time Dragons were a different breed. You shook your head. Whatever the case, you had another key to earn. 

You underestimated the climb, making your thighs burn with the effort to climb the hill. Hill was a bad word for it. Huge earth mound that took forever to climb was much better. Thoughts of getting a horse when turned in the dragon’s horn floated through your head. A pretty horse, female and even tempered. One of those white and black horses, what were they called again? Ah yes, Appaloosa! Yes, you would reward yourself with a pretty horse when you completed this bounty.

The limestone building at the top of the hill was much bigger than you had estimated when you were at the bottom. The ceilings had to be five times your height. Your footsteps echoed as you entered the large room. Inside was completely empty. There were only two items: a large stone slab in the middle of the room and a statue at the back. 

There, carved in perfect similarity, was the humanoid form of a dragon. You moved closer to inspect it. The creature was clearly much bigger than a human, and his features were gorgeous. His nose appeared perfect to grind your lower half against--you shook your head again. Curse your thirst for these monsters, your character was pulling you into the story, much like you had been with the horror section. You had to keep it together!

“Why do you enter my mausoleum, Lady Knight?” A rumbling, deep voice scared the living shit out of you.

You raised your chin, challenging the statue that had spoken. “I am here for Kang Yeosang. He has been a bad dragon as of late.”

The corners of the statue’s lips quirked upwards but only in minute detail.  The statue began to move and you were starting to realize he wasn’t a statue. As he moved, color seemed to breathe into his form. Gone was the stark white stone that matched that of the structure and to replace it was bronze skin and dark, flowing hair. That was where the resemblance to a human stopped. He had red eyes with a pupil that was a slit. He had large black horns that grew out of the crown of his head. He also sported wicked looking talons. You were sad to see no tail but the rest of his body was covered in scales, the only exception being his face and neck.

“But I was simply increasing my hoard, Lady Knight,” The dragon continued to speak to you. He stepped down from his throne and walked towards you.

You shook your finger at the approaching figure. “You know as well as I that the Citadel does not approve of time changes, Yeosang. And several at that! You restarted a timeline so many times, the poor villagers couldn't even remember who they were. That cannot stand.”

Yeosang chuckled. “Then we are to fight?”

The sentence made goosebumps cover your body. It seemed your body knew what was to come. You jerked your head towards the stone slab in the middle of the room. “That will be adequate as a place to copulate.” You adjusted your armor, pushing your breasts up and your skirt down.

Yeosang ducked his head in agreement. “As you wish.”

You hopped onto the slab and lied down. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but it would be tolerable. It’s not like you would be on it for long anyways. You were quite confident in your skills as a lady knight. Yeosang would be knotted inside of you quite soon, you estimated.

“These offend me,” Yeosang announced suddenly. Those razor sharp talons began to slice through the leather straps that held your chest piece and skirt together. They clanged loudly as they hit the marble slab. Now your breasts and cunt were available to those red eyes of Yeosang’s.

His taloned hand next encircled your ankle carefully, raising your leg upwards so he could spread your legs. His forked tongue came out to taste the air and he smirked, making his face look somehow sweet at this moment. "You're wet, Lady Knight."

"Of course I am," You agreed, biting down on your lip, "I've had dragon dick before. It'll be a pleasure to take it again." Yeosang grunted, unimpressed that he wasn't your first. You laughed. "I didn't properly introduce myself, did I?"

Yeosang's tongue tickled and caressed your calf and he moved down your leg, to the inside of your thighs. "Would you consider a different race?"

You raised an eyebrow at the dragon. "You want some of my sweet nectar? You don't want to fuck me?"

Yeosang's eyes meet your gaze. "I'll fuck you in victory, I'm sure my dragon dick is much better than what you had before."

"If you win, you can take me however you'd prefer," You agreed wholeheartedly because you knew you were going to win. There hasn't been a dragon that you had not conquered yet.

Yeosang grinned, sharp teeth making you shiver with the slight threat they offered. "Oh Lady Knight, you are quite confident with your skills." 

Yeosang moved to the side of the raised marble slate and leaned over you. You pushed your body so that your head could hang off the slab and give Yeosang's cock a direct path to fuck your throat. The slit that contained his cock hovered over your head and you licked your lips in anticipation. You raised your hand and ran two fingers along the scaled lips of the slit. Yeosang shivered above you. "Have some patience, you cock hungry knight," Yeosang scolded you. 

You shook your head. "There's a reason I'm a lady knight, Yeosang. In fact, I am famously known as Topaz the Temptation."

Yeosang's tongue fluttered above your cunt, almost ready to taste you before he halted. "One of the Jewel Knights? The legendary Monster Ruiners?"

"Give me your dick, Yeosang," You purred, "I'm ready."

Yeosang swallowed audibly. "Open your mouth," He commanded. 

You watched with anticipation as his slit opened and his cock pushed past the barrier. All dragon dicks were self lubricating so the lewd noise it made as it extended all seven inches of perfection were enough to make your cunt even more wet. The arrow head was perfect to part pussy lips, it was curved AND thick, and you could see a bulge at the base.

"You're a mating Dragon!" You cried out in excitement.

Yeosang slid his tongue from your clit to your hole. Your legs clamped down against his head but he easily pushed your thighs apart, hands remaining on your thighs to keep you spread for him. "You've never had one, have you?"

"I haven't!--" Whatever you were going to say next became muffled as Yeosang entered your mouth. His thickness almost stretched your lips and you rolled your eyes in ecstasy. This was heaven, being stuffed this way. 

Yeosang thrusted experimentally and was pushing into the back of your throat easily. "Oh fuck," He cursed.

Your hands braced on his hips, pulling him forward, and encouraging him to fuck your throat. You swallowed when you felt him down your throat and his hips stuttered. "You really weren't kidding about your skills," He mused to himself before he plunged his face and tongue into your cunt.

With Yeosang's cock steadily fucking your throat, and his tongue fucking your pussy, your mind was all white noise. You only had focus for your breathing, the wonderful way Yeosang's cock pressed your tongue flat, and the way his tongue curled inside of your cunt. 

"Fuck, you take my cock well, Lady Knight," Yeosang growled, his voice deep and raw. "I've had many knights think they could take me and whine when I'm too big for them, but not you, hmmmm?"

Yeosang was in complete control at this very moment and he had to be conscious of just how much he fucked your sweet mouth. He pulled out, which did make you able to think more clearly but unfortunately let out a lot of his lubricant and your saliva mixture down your cheeks. It was messy and he had not even released his cum yet. 

Yeosang's tongue was writhing inside of you, almost with a will of its own. He had found the special spot inside of you that made you whimper and buck your hips and was caressing that spot with his forked tip. No dragon had ever been dedicated or delicate enough to make you come with their skilled and forked tongue. You began to worry. 

You reached out and wrapped your hand around Yeosang's wet cock. You moved up and down the shaft, sucking hard on the tip that still rested inside of your mouth. Your tongue circled the tip as you sucked and Yeosang cried out instead this time.

"Stars!" He cried out, "You really want that reward, Lady Knight, your mouth is sinful. Still," Yeosang continued to muse out loud, "I think I want to fuck this cunt instead."

His tongue went to work, moving along your clit at such a pace that you simply had no chance. Your hips thrusted upwards into his face, thighs trembling as an orgasm ripped through you. You let out a sigh of frustration and tears pricked the corner of your eyes. You had failed. For the first time, you had not been able to take the monster down. Might as well say bye bye to that beautiful Appaloosa Mare you planned on making your own. But wait, wasn't there something else you were working towards?

Yeosang receded from your body and you whimpered at the loss of his cock in your mouth and his tongue from your cunt. Yeosang had introduced you to a new version of being double stuffed and you weren't sure you could do without it now. 

"Ruined already for me, Lady Knight?" Yeosang teased you. 

You sat upwards, carefully cleaning your face with the side of your hand. "My pussy is ready for you, sir." With eyes cast downwards in the image of maidenly shyness, you turned on the slab so that your legs were hanging off it now. Your legs were spread, pussy wet and shiny and inviting just for Yeosang. 

Yeosang's red eyes were blown so that his eyes didn't even appear as slits anymore. His body slotted between your legs and his fore talon curled under your chin. "I do look forward to fucking you full of my seed and knotting tight inside of your sweet cunt, lovely."

"Promise?" You whispered, eyes getting heavy lidded at the thought of being stuffed by his self-lubricating cock. 

Yeosang shook his head at you. "Still so cock hungry," He tsked at you mockingly, "Are you ever satisfied?"

You shook your head, "Hardly ever."

Yeosang snorted at your blunt truth. "Then by all means, let me have an attempt at it."

You watched with bated breath as Yeosang's talons curled around your hips and he snaked his cock inside of your cunt. He stretched you wonderfully with his tongue but his cock was what you were truly meant to experience. It filled you in such a way, snug in your wet puss, the base only slightly bulged but already feeling wonderful inside of you. 

"So full," You whimpered.

"Look at how well your cunt takes my cock, lovely?" Yeosang praised you, "You almost suck me in, such a good lady knight, you didn't even protest as I stretched you fully."

You raised your arms around Yeosang's neck and curled your legs around his hips. His scales would have slid against the inside of your thighs and against the sensitive skin of your arms but luckily your armor that hadn't been stripped off by Yeosang was still there; all the better to fuck a dragon, scales and all. 

"That's why I'm such a temptation, Yeosang," You purred, "My cunt is my weapon."

Yeosang thrusted shallowly, barely pulling out before pushing back in. His eyes were closed and his hair was casting a shadow over his face. "Such a sweet cunt," Yeosang murmured to himself. 

“Is it sweet to you?” You cooed, “Is it warm and wet and velvety for you, Drachen?”

Yeosang’s eyebrows lifted into his fringe. “You know the old tongue?”

“I know--” You gasped as Yeosang began to increase the length of his thrusts, giving you more of his cock, “--a lot of things.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows began to furrow as he fucked you. He wasn’t used to a knight taking the entirety of his length. In fact, he barely experienced an orgasm from just the tip being introduced to an orifice. And also… 

“--what was that?” Yeosang demanded, feeling a sensation around his cock that was not something he had ever felt before.

You laid back against the slab, your back arching as Yeosang paused fucking your tiny yet accommodating hole. “When one becomes a Lady Knight, particularly one of a special pedigree, there is a spell cast upon you. It gives you a special power in order to conquer the monsters of this world. My special power is called Dickstrom. So what you’re feeling is my pussy revolving around your dick, forever sucking you in.” 

Yeosang continued to fuck your cunt and groaned loudly. “I’ve never…” He began to pant between his words, “...a rainbow knight! Ah--” 

“Seems like I’m not the only one getting something new this evening,” You preened at your success.

Your pussy continued to swirl around the humanoid dragon’s cock, allowing you to take him deeper and deeper inside of you. Yeosang’s thrusts began to get sloppy and his grip tightened on your hips, enough that he cut the skin there. You didn’t even feel it, however, so deep into your pleasure. 

Once Yeosang came, your pussy would suck in all his seed and you would become even more powerful as a Jewel Knight. You were quite sure that once he knotted inside of you, as you had studied when you were a squire, you would orgasm.

“Fuck me with your knotting dick, Yeosang, fuck me full of your cum and then knot inside of me. I want it, I want it so badly, please let me have it!” You moaned.

"You're lovely in your insatiable thirst for me," Yeosang growled and then came with a desperate cry. His back arched and he threw his head back. He was the picture of perfect male perfection above you: dick deep inside of you, chest heaving in heavy breaths, neck pulsating with working veins and his sharp jaw to finish the picture off.

Then your breath was caught in your throat as Yeosang's knot pushed outwards and gave you the final stimulation against your g-spot to come. It ran through your nerves making your toes curl and you moan Yeosang's name. The feeling of remaining full making you feel content because Yeosang had to remain inside of you until you fully absorbed his cum and that would be hours entangled face to face.

Slowly Yeosang lowered himself until his upper body was braced over yours, forearms bracing on the cold marble. He was letting out a noise that was a mix of a growl and a purr. You could feel your walls were still pulsating around him.

The two of you remained locked together, and yet somehow, Yeosang was tender with you. He ran the back of his talon along your cheek. “You could have won, Lady Knight, had I fucked you. Why did you agree to let me tongue fuck your cunt instead?” Yeosang wondered.

You shrugged. “Perhaps this time I didn’t want to win. Perhaps--” You moaned wantonly as Yeosang adjusted, giving you the overstimulation against your pussy walls that you both adored and hated. 

Yeosang cocked his head. "Did you not want to win?"

Anxiety coursed through you but you didn't know why. Why did it matter so much that you needed to win? The thought was pulling at your mind but you simply could not recall. All you knew is that your fingers were itching to make new notes about a mating dragon and to sketch Yeosang's gorgeous face as well in some nice charcoal.

Yeosang smiled, a genuine one and almost broke your mind with how much sunshine it contained. "You did realize I could rewind time at any moment and reset the timeline so that I could try to win, right?"

You smiled lazily, completely content to be stuffed by Yeosang like this. You would rather the previous double stuffed but this wasn't so bad either. "Then I would experience sex with you multiple times. I don't see the loss here."

Yeosang chuckled, sounding manly and cocky. "Oh, I like you."

The dragon then reached above his head promptly and broke off one of his horns. Your jaw dropped in surprise. "Yeosang!"

Yeosang seemed soft, vulnerable and not like the haughty dragon you had met earlier. "You are the only knight to have taken me completely and also gave me a climax that I haven't experienced in a very long time. Take this and let the entire realm know that I am taken. I am a conquered monster."

"The other knights will also leave you alone if they consider you conquered," You peeked up at him through your eyelashes, "Are you sure?"

"Only if you'll retire with me," Yeosang offered.

You felt a soft smile extend on your face as well. You had never thought to retire, but with Yeosang, perhaps--

Your real consciousness smashed into you with a determined scream. You couldn't settle into this world! "I have more monsters to conquer, Yeosang," You reminded him, not exactly how much you could do while a huge monster was pinning you against a marble slab with his knotted dick stuck inside of you.

Yeosang had the grace to look slightly bashful. "Very well, lovely."

The air tensed, warping and stretching and suddenly it snapped and you were back in the Fantasy Section. Yeosang's arms were wrapped around you but a normal sized man now. He sported a leather double vest, gloves and black slacks. 

It took a moment for your mind to adjust and then everything that happened just hit you like a ten ton truck. “Dickstrom?!” You demanded, “Really?”

Yeosang had a look of mischief gleaming from his eyes, the corners of his lips quirking upwards but he fought it. “The sensation was worth it.”

You hung your head low. “I suppose I should go tell Seonghwa that my time here has come to an end.”

Yeosang lifted an eyebrow at your statement. "What makes you say that?"

Your chest tingled with excitement. "I didn't fail?"

Yeosang shook his head. "Most humans look to conquer in my section. But you were simply seeking pleasure. It was a breath of fresh air, to put it simply."

The demon released you and squatted before a bookshelf full of pastel colored spines and pulled out Horns and Swords. When he opened it, inside was a mini version of the horn his dragonself had gifted your lady knight. Upon prying it out, he offered it to you. "A reward well earned, Lady Knight." Yeosang smiled but he had an air of sadness about him. 

You just took it just like Wooyoung's regret that you couldn't play with him anymore. "Thank you, Yeosang."

Yeosang shook his head. "Don't rub it in too roughly that you got this key as well. Seonghwa has his pride too, you know."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh please, he's probably napping. If anything, I'll get to hear him call me 'human' lovingly again," You scoffed.

Yeosang laughed, a laugh that was both deep and musical at the same time. "Good-bye, lovely."

This time as you approached the desk, Seonghwa had his tongue between his lips in concentration, staring intensely at a board of 3D chess. "You know the way out," He waved you away with a flick of his hand, not even bothering to look at you.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt you, Keeper," You said sarcastically, "Just tell me where you keep my keys and I'll add this one."

"The display case behind me--WAIT A MINUTE!" Seonghwa shouted in disbelief, "You received another one? Who?"

You opened your palm to show the horn. Seonghwa looked simply gobsmacked. "Yeosang?" Seonghwa looked around wildly. "Kang Yeosang, reveal yourself!"

You circumvented the desk and stood before the display case. Inside was black and gold sand, and there was your mask you had received from Wooyoung. You were about to lift the latch when Seonghwa's hand came down on yours in an almost crushing grip. "Do not," He said in a low tone that set a shiver down your spine.

You flicked your eyes upward to meet the demons. "Are you going to add my key or are you going to nag Yeosang's ear off?"

Seonghwa began to grumble and released your hand. "I am the Keeper of the Keys, remember--"

"If you call me human one more time, I will grab a handful of that sand and stuff it down your throat--" You threatened.

Seonghwa snapped his mouth shut and you swore you could see a faint blush across his cheeks. But surely you were wrong. "--that," he finished lamely.

You rolled your eyes. You slapped the dragon's horn onto Seonghwa's waiting palm. "Great, you have a good discussion with Yeosang, I'm going to get another key," You announced as you walked away from Seonghwa who was back to cursing Yeosang--and you--under his breath.

You were genuinely worried about your state of mind. Was it because you adored fantasy so much that the enticement of remaining there was strong. Or was it because with each key you acquired, the game became harder? There had to be something you could do to keep yourself grounded!

All thoughts swirled out of your head when you came across a section that could not be ignored. Bright, neon lights blinked for the Science Fiction Section. You could hear the rumbling of a hover vehicle and the blasting of laser guns. Science fiction was also close to your heart but difficult to navigate due to the terms and the aliens and--you gulped. Surely you wouldn't have to conquer an alien. You blanked your mind, determined to not make the same mistake you had in the Fantasy Section, and walked into the new section.

Tag list: @yoonguurt  @hijirikaww  @flowerboykun  @starillusion13  @flurrys-creativity  @kitten4sannie  @a-soft-hornytiny @mingiblr

Library staff: @kwanisms  @thelargefrye  @anyamaris  @stardragongalaxy  @kpop-stories-21

↫The Horror Section ↭ MasterList ↭ The Sci-fi Section↬

[thepaperpanda]

A Herbal Soup || Thorin Oakenshield x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: the talent you possess in the kitchen gets complimented by Thorin during a stopover in Rivendell.

Warnings: none

Word count: 575

Author: Rouge

A/N: today’s prompt: Dinner Cooking

The journey to the Lonely Mountain was far from easy - you had to face trolls, orcs, spiders, and other foul creatures you never knew existed.

During the quest, you questioned your motives and the fact you agreed to help Gandalf - you were only a human and could add only the skill of wielding a sword; you even hacked heads of a few orcs.

The company was fortunate to have made it to Rivendell where you all could have rested upright for the first time since several days ago. On the night when Gandalf sought Elrond's assistance, you joined the Dwarves at their small campfire while Elrond was translating the Moon-letters on Thrór's Map.

“Have you seen Thorin?” You asked Kíli after taking place by his side.

He nodded while biting into food he held in his hand. "Yes. In fact, he went with Elrond and Gandalf."

Nodding, you immersed yourself in one of Balin's tales. After feeling a little hungry, and since the food the Dwarves had acquired a taste for was not something you longed for, you got up and went to ask the Elves for a cauldron and some herbs. The Elves agreed to let you use their kitchen after hearing your request; it was a blessing and you felt honored. You chopped carrots, celery, and some parsley and its leaves, and added a few potatoes, herbs, and spices to a pot over the fire. You smiled at yourself as you inhaled the herbal smell of the soup you were making.

A sudden question asked in a deep tone echoed from the walls of the kitchen, "What are you doing, Y/N?"

Looking over your shoulder, you smiled at Thorin as he entered the chamber. "I'm cooking soup. Would you like to try it?"

As Thorin got closer, he simply nodded.

A spoon was passed to him and you shifted aside so he could get closer to the pot.

He gathered some liquid on the spoon, then he blew at it a few times and slipped the spoon past his lips. Seconds later, he smiled, "It's really tasty, Y/N. I never thought soup without meat could taste so good. Perhaps I'd add something spicy to it."

"Can you peel a big onion and a few peppers for me?" You asked. "Is everything okay?"

Thorin nodded, doing what you've asked him to. “In some way, yes. Elrond read the Moon-letters, which said: ‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key-hole’, so we are running out of time since Durin's Day is just around the corner,” Thorin said as he passed you the onion and started to chop the peppers.

Over the fire, you fried the onion until it turned golden, then added it to the soup, followed by the peppers. “I’m sure we’ll get to the right place on time, Thorin. Be of good cheer.”

Thorin only listened to you, his expression remained unchanged as he grabbed some peppercorns and threw them into the pot.

Thorin helped you clean the kitchen and threw away the peeling while remaining quiet.

As soon as the soup was ready, you let him try it.

Thorin looked at you after tasting the broth. "It's very tasty, and I take it as a huge compliment from a carnivore," he said. "Who would have thought humans are capable of cooking so well?"

[catsvrsdogscatswin]

Since a lot of people enjoyed the "Legolas bluescreening" joke in my Boromir post, have some further Fun Elf Lore from the books:

Even aside from the reality-bending stuff Galadriel and Elrond can do with their rings, elves casually disregard the laws of physics all the time. Legolas stands (and runs!) without sinking in snow that's chest-deep for Aragorn and Boromir. Elves can also sleep -or at least, gain the same benefits- while walking upright, an ability Legolas taps into several times while chasing the orcs that kidnapped Merry and Pippin.

Middle Earth used to be flat: you could sail west from the coast by the Shire and eventually hit the Undying Lands. Due to a long story of hubris, the gods got pissed and said "Fuck this, *unflats your earth*" and made the world a globe. Elves, however, were broadly exempted from this rule, which is both why they can still sail to the Undying Lands when no one else can and why they have such incredibly keen vision: they can ignore petty human concerns like "there's a horizon in the way" when sighting in on something.

The distinction between elf groups is broadly a matter of academic degree. Middle Earth was created via a Very Large Choir, which foretold the coming of Elves and Men (not dwarves: I'll get to that in a minute) but left the gods with a terribly long wait time until things actually happened. When Elves did finally show up, the gods were ecstatic and invited them all to hang out. The elves that went to the Undying Lands learned magic and wonders beyond mortal comprehension at the feet of Valar, which makes them automatically wiser and more powerful than the elves who loved Middle Earth more and never left. Basically, they went to Elf Uni and got a diploma while everyone else stayed home.

Galadriel was born and raised in the Undying Lands, and Elrond has a doctorate by descent, as does Arwen. No one from Mirkwood ever went to Elf Uni, which may partially explain why Thranduil is Like That.

"Wait why are the smart elves back in Middle Earth if they moved overseas?" A) Not all of them did come back and B) those that left the Undying Lands did so because Feanor involved them in a property dispute so big the Simarillion got named after it.

Who is Feanor, you ask? Feanor was an elf from the Undying Lands who made the shiniest bangingest blinging-est jewels to ever exist, and when they got stolen by Sauron's precursor/old boss Morgoth, he swore an oath to bind his entire line to the act of dire vengeance and dragged half the elven population of the Undying Lands back to Middle Earth after him in search of said gems. Morgoth also killed Feanor's dad on the way out after robbing him, but the patricide is mostly an afterthought to He Stole My Rocks!!!

If the elves of Middle Earth are involved with a non-Sauron-based conflict (and sometimes even when they are) there is a 98% chance that it is somehow, ancestrally, indirectly, the fault of Feanor and That Goddamn Oath. Except Mirkwood's beef with the Lonely Mountain -that's one of the sole outliers.

One of the first Elf-Men encounters was Galadriel's brother Finrod deciding that the best way to greet this new race was by sneaking into a warcamp full of sleeping humans and playing a harp solo to assure them of his harmlessness. This is objectively batshit, but it did in fact work, so Nat 20 for him I guess. He later died after being captured by Sauron; he was mortally wounded while fighting a werewolf in defense of a friend, which he managed to kill naked and weaponless. Another Nat 20, RIP.

Dwarves and elves tend to dislike each other due to Ancestral Curse of Thinking You Have Bad Vibes. Back during the long wait for sentient beings to show up, the smith god Mahal (Aulë to the elves) got impatient and made the seven dwarf lords. When Eru politely if frigidly asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, Mahal humbly explained that the wait was taking forever and he craved people to infodump at teach who shared his love of crafting. Eru felt that that was fair enough and accepted dwarves into the universal family, but added in admonition that "Since they're adopted, they and my eldest aren't going to get along. Also you have to put them back in a hole and wait for the elves to show up because you can't just jump the queue like that."