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gardenwons · 10 months ago

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LET ME IN, PLEASE🥛

SYNOPSIS As the new doorman for the shabby apartment complex, you learn quickly to recognize imposters until eventually a cunning doppelganger entered the building—also making its way in you.

PAIRINGS: doppelganger!jungwon x doorman!reader

WARNINGS: smut with plot, dom!jungwon, making out, unprotected sex, breeding kink, praising, blood, lowkey mean won(?)

A/N: loosely based on "that's not my neighbor," was vv in love w/ the milkman pls he's a sweet boy and it was supposed to be seung but jw my love it is!

5 minutes till the end of shift.

And in the past few hours of your shift, the scene at the checkpoint remained tense yet controlled. Behind the desk, you tapped away as you await the next individual on the list. Hours had been spent meticulously weighing each resident’s reasons and paperwork, a task heavy on your shoulders each time.

You were startled by the sudden creak of the door, which swung open to reveal a tired-looking man. His eyes betrayed his exhaustion, yet he managed a weary smile as he approached the window. "Hello, here’s my ID," he said, placing it on the counter with an air of casualness, his gaze drifting away as he stifled a yawn. His hair, tousled beneath a hat that hinted at his profession.

You inspect his ID with a mix of weariness and curiosity. He seems new? you wonder to yourself, but quickly push the thought aside. "Entry request, please?" you ask, meeting his already fixed stare with a gentle smile as he hands over the necessary paperwork. "Ah, yes... forgot about it, sorry" he mutters apologetically. You accept the documents, scanning them carefully before glancing over to your left. "You’re not on today’s list?" you observe, noting a slight raise of his eyebrows as he shakes his head. "I'm supposed to be there? Probably an error" he mutters, his response prompting a hint of suspicion in your gaze.

Cautiously, you check his phone number and attempt to dial it. "I'm sorry, sir, but you must be on the list to be let–" Before you can finish, he interrupts, addressing you by name. "___?...right?" he questions, his lips forming a tight line as he pleads, "I'm really tired today. If you could just be a sweetheart and–" Suddenly, the phone rings, and you hastily pick it up, your heart skipping a beat as you hear the voice on the other end. "Hello? Jungwon speaking–" The realization hits you– how can the man in front of you look undetectable? His eyes lock onto yours as he blurts out, "Fuck." It's clear he knows he's been caught.

Shaking uncontrollably, you were on the verge of dialling the emergency number when he suddenly slammed his fist against the window, causing you to let out a scream. "Don’t make this hard for me now, angel" he said, his tone surprisingly gentle despite his earlier aggressive action. The encounter with this doppelganger was unlike anything you had experienced before – simultaneously strange and alluring, perhaps due to the handsome facade he wore, and god did he wear it well.

"Let me in or..." he trailed off, a glimmer of malice and lust flickering in his eyes as his lips curled into a smirk. "-I’ll let myself in." Despite the magnetic pull you felt towards him, and the undeniable surge of attraction coursing through your body, you pressed the emergency button. Watching as the metal wall descended, separating you from him. Jungwon's curses echoed loudly from behind the barrier as you continued to dial the D.D.D.

"You have contacted the D.D.D. A group of agents has been sent to your building" the automated voice informed, bringing a momentary sense of relief as you awaited assistance. But his next words shattered that peace. "You know I could kill them all and still get through to you, hm?" he taunted over the metal barriers, causing your heart to race even faster. "Or maybe that’s what you wanted?” Jungwon sighed, clenching your thighs together as you heard him chuckle. “Sweet girls like you shouldn’t play games like this" he scolded with a tsk, following with “It does however, make me want to devour you more”

Huddled in your seat, you listened as the agents rushed in, screams filling the air for what felt like an eternity. For what seemed like so many agonizing minutes later, silence fell upon the room. Trembling, you called out, receiving no response. With caution, you deactivated the emergency button, watching as the metal wall retracted, revealing a gruesome scene before you. Jungwon stood amidst the lifeless bodies of the yellow-suited agents, his back heaving with exhaustion. Blood covered his face and hands, dripping onto the ground.

Unable to find your voice, you watched in horror and awe as Jungwon approached your window, his eyes softened, ruby painted hands clasped together in a pleading gesture as he begged, "Please, I... I didn't mean to. I just wanted to go in." His lips formed a pout, his eyes glossy, yet his face was streaked with blood. Hat nowhere to be found, his hair was ruffled, with some strands sticking to his blood-stained face, "I know i messed up, just let me make it up to you inside" he continued pleading, his lips curving into a genuine smile as he sensed your resolve wavering. Despite the firmness in your stance, his appearance – bloodied, hair tousled, voice filled with desperation stirred something within you, whether you had a clear head you knew the heat was getting to you down there. He gestured toward the green button, the one that would unlock the door, his gaze unwavering as he directly addressed you. "Press that for me, please?" he instructed, as if your better judgment didn't matter. And at that moment, it didn't.

You found yourself slowly reaching for the unlock button, his presence casting a mesmerizing spell over you. "Ah, that’s my girl" Jungwon praised, his words sending a rush of heat to your cheeks. Yet, beneath his seemingly genuine appreciation, there lurked a sinister undertone, evident in the chuckle that escaped him as the doors clicked open.

Without hesitation, he winked at you and slipped inside, leaving you feeling breathless and foolish. "What have I done?" you muttered to yourself, but before you could fully grasp the weight of your actions, the door to the office swung open behind you. Turning, you found yourself face to face with the bloodied man once again, his eyes fixated on you like a predator sizing up its prey. A chill ran down your spine as he licked the stain of blood from his lips. "Can’t just leave without giving my girl a reward, can I?" he teased, his voice dripping with a dark promise.

As you instinctively reached for the nearest makeshift weapon, Jungwon's eyes rolled with a playful smirk. "Aren’t you adorable? If I wanted you dead, I would've done so earlier" he teased. Jungwon’s words hung heavy in the air as he advanced towards you, his expression softening into that same endearing pout.

"You've done so well for me, angel" he cooed, his arms enveloping yours, causing your heart to race as his scent enveloped you—metallic from the dried blood and musky, intoxicating in its allure. Leaning in, his hair falling gently over his eyes, he fixed his gaze on you, seeming to see right through you, transparent in your vulnerability.

"I could be yours, please let me in" he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, waiting for your consent.

Without hesitation, you pressed your lips to his, feeling him sigh contentedly against you. His hand slid to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he gently pulled you closer. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a warm path in their wake. Gripping your hair, he tugged on it, drawing a moan from your lips.

His lips continued their journey down your neck, each kiss growing more intense as his grip tightened on your hair, drawing you closer to him. Jungwon’s breath was hot against your skin, his mouth teasing the sensitive spots just below your ear, sending shivers down your spine. He adored the way your body reacted to him, the subtle arch of your back, the soft gasp that escaped your lips, it all fueled his desire. His other hand slipped down your side, fingers grazing over your curves, leaving a trail of fire in their graze.

As his lips found their way back to yours, his kiss became more demanding, his tongue slipping past your lips in a heated dance with yours. The taste of him so metallic, dark, and utterly intoxicating—clouded your senses, making it impossible to think clearly, to think logically. His hands were everywhere, exploring your body with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. Jungwon pushed you against the wall, his body pressed firmly against yours, the heat between you both intense. His hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers brushing over your bare skin, sending waves of pleasure through you.

Jungwon broke the kiss, panting slightly as he gazed down at you with a mix of adoration and hunger in his eyes. "You feel so good, sweet angel" he murmured, his voice thick with lust as his hand slid lower, teasing the waistband of your pants. He gave you a wicked smile before slipping his hand beneath the fabric, finding your most sensitive spot with ease. His fingers moved with expert precision, thrusting in your walls, drawing out moans from you as he leaned in to kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made. The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourself in his touch, the innocent people already forgotten as the intensity of your connection left you breathless and wanting more.

Jungwon's fingers moved with a skilled rhythm, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His lips trailed along your jawline, nipping gently at your skin as he worked you closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building within you, your breathe coming in shallow gasps as his touch became more insistent, more demanding. He seemed to sense the exact moment when you were about to tip over the edge, pulling back slightly just to tease you, watching with dark, lustful eyes as you writhed in his arms, desperate for release.

A loud smack echoed through the room as his hand connected with your ass, his eyes glaring down at you. "Patience, angel" he whispered, his voice low and husky, filled with a dark amusement. He relished in your need, the way your body responded so eagerly to his touch. Maybe this was just as delicious as eating flesh. His thumb brushed over your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you, making your knees buckle as he held you up against the wall. "I want to see you fall apart for me" he growled, his voice thick with desire as he pressed his lips against yours again, the kiss deep and consuming.

With a final, skilled flick of his fingers, he sent you spiraling into a powerful climax, your body shaking against his as you moaned his name. Jungwon watched with a satisfied smirk as you came undone in his arms, his hand never stopping its movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body. When you finally came down from your high, he gently removed his hand, bringing it up to his lips as he licked his fingers clean, eyes locked onto yours with a possessive intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

With a sudden, forceful grip, Jungwon spun you around, pressing your chest against the cold metal desk. His breath was hot against your neck as he yanked your skirt up, not wasting a moment before tearing away the thin fabric covering your core. "You're mine, aren't you?" he growled, his voice rough and filled with a dark hunger. You barely had time to respond before he thrust into you with no warning, filling you completely, the sharp pain mixing with pleasure as your body adjusted to his size.

"Fuck, you take me so well" he groaned, his hips snapping against you with a brutal pace, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. Each thrust was hard, merciless, and deep, driving you forward on the desk. His hand found your hair again, yanking your head back as he leaned down, his teeth grazing your ear. "You're going to take every drop of me, let me fill you up until you're dripping with me."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the rough edge to his voice only heightening the intensity of the moment. Jungwon’s pace was relentless, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling you back further as he forced you to arch, the angle driving him even deeper. "Good angel" he praised, though his tone carried a mocking edge, a smirk can be heard through it. "You love this, don't you? Being fucked like this, knowing I could fill you up right now” You could only moan in response, the overwhelming sensations rendering you speechless. The slickness of your arousal mixed with the occasional streak of blood from where his nails had dug into your skin, a reminder of the rawness of the situation. Jungwon’s other hand moved to grip your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you intensely. "Say it" he commanded, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me you want it. Tell me you want to be filled, bred by me."

Your body was trembling, barely able to hold on as you gasped out the words he wanted to hear. "I want it" you managed to choke out between moans. "I want you to fill me up please" the coherent you would have pushed him away, clearly realizing this wasn’t even the real Jungwon.

A satisfied growl rumbled from his chest as he picked up the pace, slamming into you with enough force to make you see stars. "That’s right, angel" he groaned, his grip tightening as he drove you both towards the edge. "Take all of me. You’re going to be so full of me, there won't be any doubt who you belong to."

With a final deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body tensing as he released into you. The warmth of his seed filling you sent you over the edge, your body shaking around him as you climaxed, your cries of pleasure bouncing in the room. Even as the waves of pleasure washed over you, Jungwon stayed inside, his hands still gripping you possessively.

Breathless and spent, he leaned over you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, his voice soft but firm. "I knew you would taste so sweet" he murmured, leaning in to kiss you once more, his lips lingering on yours as he whispered, "And now... you're mine, angel." He stepped back, his eyes filled with dark satisfaction, the taste of you still on his lips as he gave you one last, lingering look before turning to leave. You watched him go, your body still trembling, cum dripping down you legs as your mind swirled with a mixture of fear, confusion, and disturbing attraction. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone with the echoes of your own rapid breathing and the scent of him still clinging to your skin.

You slumped against the wall, trying to make sense of what had just happened, the reality of it slowly sinking in. You knew you should feel horrified, disgusted even, but all you could think about was the way he had made you feel, the dark, consuming passion that had ignited between you two. It terrified you, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull you felt towards him, a pull that had led you to do the unthinkable. As you slowly gathered yourself, your heart still racing, one thought lingered in your mind: this was far from over.

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bucketsofmonsters · 2 years ago

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A Diplomatic Error

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

male orc x fem reader

Word count: 9k

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

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

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

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

It didn’t. It just felt lonely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not going anywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But anger was good. At least anger felt productive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you were on the move.

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

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

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

“You’re slow.”

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

“And who is to blame for that?”

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

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

“You shouldn’t have pushed me!”

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

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

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

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

It seemed you were wrong.

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

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

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

You did not listen.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“It’s a river.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were faster this way. That was what counted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you were saved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it. There was no one coming.

He hauled you to your feet, undoing your bindings.

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

“It doesn’t matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. “You could kill me.”

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

“Why didn’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will not fight for you,” you spat.

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

“An attacker. A foolish little man.”

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

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

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

“Because I told them.”

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

“Your people didn’t seem to care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know that’d not what I mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He froze, his shoulders tensing.

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

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

“How could you know?”

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

Your breath caught in your chest. “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About my intention to court you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he kissed you and you stopped thinking altogether.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know, it can’t hurt to try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t seem to care at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snorted.

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

“You reject that fool's advances.”

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

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

That surprised you. “I wouldn't?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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furioussheepluminary · 3 months ago

Text

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, slow burn, strangers to reluctant allies, nonidol au

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Warnings: violence, onomatopoeia, switching btwn chris and chan (but its the same person), russian (there will be translations), mullet chan...

a/n: I liked this piece a lot actually, and I hope you do. dw, there will be more parts (relax...), uhh my longest so far? 5k words? yeahh..if you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't.

next...

Christopher Bang is dead.

The world had been convinced that Christopher Bang was dead.

His funeral was quiet, attended only by select FBI agents and a few grieving colleagues. A closed casket. No family to claim him. A legend reduced to whispers in the hallways of Quantico. They said he died in an operation gone wrong, a noble sacrifice to protect the country. Christopher Bang had never been an ordinary FBI agent. He was a prodigy—recruited young, trained hard, and shaped into one of the Bureau’s finest operatives. His reputation was legendary, whispered in briefing rooms and hushed conversations. He was the kind of agent you sent when failure wasn’t an option. His career had been built on precision, unwavering loyalty, and an unshakable sense of justice. He wasn’t just good at his job; he was the job. His instincts were lethal, his mind sharper than the blade he always carried strapped to his thigh. From high-profile kidnappings to dismantling international crime syndicates, Chan had seen it all. And for a while, he believed in the mission. Believed in the Bureau.

Until he didn’t.

The cracks had always been there, but Chris only started noticing them after Operation Nightfall. Nightfall was supposed to be routine—an undercover mission to infiltrate an arms smuggling ring with direct ties to high-ranking officials. The Bureau had been tracking them for years, their operations spanning across borders, feeding civil wars, and keeping global conflict at a steady boil. This was supposed to be the mission that brought them down. Chan had spent months buried deep in the criminal underworld, assuming the alias of a ruthless gunrunner. He had earned their trust, gathered intelligence, and secured evidence that could take down some of the most powerful players in the game including politicians and government officials who were supposed to be on his side.

That was his mistake.

Because when the time came for the bust, nothing went as planned. The moment his team stormed the compound; they were met with bullets. Not from the criminals, but from their own men. The FBI’s tactical unit, the very people meant to back him up, had turned their guns on him and his informant. It was a hit. Chan barely made it out alive. His informant, his only lead to the bigger players and his best friend, was executed in front of him, and he had been left for dead in the chaos. A staged accident. A casualty of war. But Chan had survived. Wounded, disoriented, and betrayed, he disappeared into the underground before the Bureau could finish the job.

It took weeks for him to recover, to put the pieces together. The truth was uglier than he could have imagined. The people he had trusted had sold him out to protect their interests. He had two choices: fight back and risk everything, or disappear.

Chan chose to disappear.

Faking his death wasn’t easy, it never was but it was the only way to move undetected. He had to erase Christopher Bang from existence. Burn his past. Cut ties. He left behind no body, no trace, nothing for the Bureau to track. The world mourned him, but he watched from the shadows. And from those shadows, he did what he did best.

The glow of your desk lamp cast long shadows across the scattered case flies, illuminating worn folders that had become your life for the past three weeks. The first time you saw Christopher Bang; he was nothing more than a file on your desk. You didn’t mean to stumble onto his case. It had been a late night at the office, one of those quiet, lonely shifts where the air smelled like stale coffee and ink-stained fingertips. Fewer voices, more room to think. Most agents had gone home, the bullpen dimly lit by the glow of monitors. You had been assigned to a different case—routine arms trafficking, nothing out of the ordinary. But in the midst of your research, his name popped up not once and that didn’t sit right with you. At first, it was a footnote. A long-forgotten alias linked to an offshore account. It should have been nothing just another dead man’s forgotten assets. But then, the details started to unravel, one thread at a time. The account had been accessed recently. Money had moved. And whoever had moved it knew exactly what they were doing.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the keyboard of your system as you scrolled through classified financial records, piecing together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. The deeper you dug, the more the numbers twisted into a dead end. As you combed through the financial web, his name resurfaced again. Your breath hitched.

“Ok, what the actual fuck?”

The world buried that name two years ago but here it was, tied to a forgotten alias buried in offshore transactions. “Thats impossible.” You turned in your chair toward the stack of classified files and papers piled on your other desk. Quickly, your flipped through the pages and pushed aside other papers. The alias wasn’t obvious, Chan had been careful but when you spotted it, you knew. The name was one you had come across years ago during a different case, linked to a false identity the Bureau once used for deep-cover work. An alias that had supposedly died along with him. Yet here it was alive and well, funnelling money through ghost accounts. The neatly organised system you prided yourself on was gone, replaced by a frantic need to confirm what you already feared.

“Come on, come on...” you muttered, flipping again past cases that had long since gone cold. The scent of ink and the faint musk of time filled your senses as you pulled open another manila folder, the edges frayed from years of handling. And when you saw it, your pulse spiked.

FBI CLASSIFIED: CONFIDENTIAL – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

BANG, CHRISTOPHER CHAN

Stamped in bold red ink across the top was a single word that now could’ve been a lie.

DECEASED

Swallowing hard, you spread the contents across your desk. A black and white photo of Chan stared back at you, his badge clipped neatly to his suit, a small smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

Name: Bang, Christopher

Alias(es): Phantom, K-Strike, Shadow OP

Date Of Birth: October 3, 1997

Place of Birth: Sydney, Australia

Nationality: Australian/Korean

Last Known Rank: Senior Special Agent – FBI covert Operations Unit

Specialization: Deep cover infiltration, counterterrorism, tactical reconnaissance, financial crimes, high-risk asset extraction

Status: Deceased (as per Bureau records, declared KIA during Operation Nightfall, 2023)

You glanced through the pages of his physical and psychological evaluation, very impressed by his results. On his classified operations list, Nightfall was disclosed as a failed mission declaring his KIA, which should have solidified his name as a martyr in the agency’s war against organised crime. People who die in the field don’t get forgotten so quickly. When you reached the last page however, a small text at the bottom was handwritten which stood out to you;

FILE STATUS: ARCHIVED

NOTICE: Any activity involving this alias or financial transactions linked to Agent Bang should be considered a breach of classified intelligence. Further investigation requires authorization from the Director’s Office.

Signed, M. Reynolds.

You grabbed his mission report, flipping through the pages searching for what you might have missed. Nightfall had always seemed too clean on paper. A mission that ended in disaster, yet conveniently wrapped itself up without loose ends. No body recovered. No autopsy. No real proof of death, only ‘witness reports’; a term that had been conveniently vague. You stomach twisted as you skimmed the list of operatives present during his last assignment. A few familiar names, including higher-ups who were still active in the Bureau today. And one name in particular...

Deputy Director M. Reynolds.

You stiffened. Reynolds had been the one to officially close Chan’s case. If Chan had supposedly faked his death, Reynolds either knew about it or it was one of the reasons he disappeared in the first place.

The weight of the situation dwelled heavily on your chest. You weren’t just looking at a missing agents financial trail. You had reopened a case the Bureau had long since buried. And if you weren’t careful, you’d be buried alongside it.

Deputy Marcus Reynolds was once one of the most respected figures in the Bureau a man who built his career from bringing down high-profile syndicates. But Chan had seen what others hadn’t: the cracks in his so-called justice. Their relationship had always been tense. Reynolds saw Chan as an asset useful but too unpredictable. Chan, on the other hand, never trusted Reynolds, especially after noticing discrepancies in classified reports. The deeper Chan dug, the cleared it became Reynolds wasn’t just complicit in the corruption; he was orchestrating it. His last mission, Nightfall, had been an evident setup. The intel had been too clean and easy. As if someone wanted him in the field open and vulnerable. But when it went sideways, Chan realized too late, that he was the target. And he had to disappear.

Reynolds closed the case within 72 hours, an unusually fast decision for a high-ranking agent’s death. Because if Christopher Bang was dead, he couldn’t expose what he knew.

The next few weeks were a blur of late nights and hushed conversations. You moved quietly, off the books, following leads that didn’t exist. It was dangerous work digging where you weren’t supposed to. But you had always trusted your instincts, and your instincts told you something was very wrong. You kept this new discovery to yourself of course, exposing it may open multiple Pandora’s boxes that couldn’t be closed. You didn’t know why you chased him. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something darker, the need to understand why a man like that would fake his own death. Or maybe, deep down, you knew that whatever he had been running from was still out there. The breakout came unexpectedly. Against the dim glow of your laptop casting shadows across your apartment walls. While cross-referencing transaction time stamps with recent disappearances, you noticed a pattern- each financial movement coincided with a known safehouse burning to the ground. It was subtle, almost untraceable, but not for you. When you saw it you knew. Christopher was surviving. Amongst all the locations you had scouted one hadn’t been touched yet. An old decommissioned safehouse outside the city; a place you remembered from your early years at the Bureau. Officially, it had been abandoned after an op went sideways and unofficially could be Chan’s hideout. If he was still alive.

You grabbed your gear- a discreet sidearm, burner phone, flashlight, and the flash drive with all the evidence. The drive that proved the Bureaus corruption against Chan and why he had to disappear. The drive that could get you both killed.

The night air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth as you navigated the overgrown path toward the building. It stood hidden between skeletal trees, its exterior worn by time, but the security measures were still intact. A rusted fence. Motion-triggered floodlights ones that shouldn’t work but flickered on as soon as you stepped closer. He was here you were so sure of it. Your breath came shallow as you approached the side entrance, pressing against the damp wall. The door had been reinforced new locks, fresh welding along the hinges. Not abandoned at all. He’s careful.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small USB device. It wasn’t the evidence neither was it just a tool; it was bait. Plugging it into the old security panel, you let it do its job—overloading the system for a brief five-second window. It was all the time you needed.

Click. The lock disengaged. Heart pounding, you stepped inside. The interior smelled of dust and aged wood, but there were signs of recent use—a makeshift bed, scattered papers, a half-empty glass of water on the counter. A map was pinned to the wall, red markings circling names you recognized. People who had gone missing. People the Bureau wouldn’t miss. People Chan had eliminated. Then, movement.

A whisper of sound behind you. Before you could react, an arm wrapped around your throat, pressing just hard enough to warn, not to harm. A gun was at your temple, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine.

"Who sent you?" The voice was deep, familiar. You swallowed hard. "You did." A pause. His grip didn’t loosen, but he didn’t pull the trigger either.

"You should have stayed away," he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. Dark. Calculating. But underneath it all—a flicker of something else. Something human. "I couldn’t," you whispered. "Because you didn’t."

A sharp exhale—barely a whisper—was the only warning you had before you were tackled to the ground. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as your wrists were wrenched behind your back, pinned in an unbreakable grip. The cold press of a gun barrel met the back of your skull, and the weight of a solid, muscular frame held you immobile against the dusty floor.

"One last time," a deep voice murmured above you, low and lethal. "Who sent you?"

You gritted your teeth, twisting slightly beneath him. "No one." A pause. The weight above you shifted slightly, but the gun didn’t move.

"Third times a charm, princess. Try again."

His voice was cold, but something about it struck you—not just familiarity, but certainty. You had found him.

"Bang Chan," you rasped. "I found you." That was the wrong thing to say. The grip on your wrists tightened, his knee pressing into your lower back with just enough force to make your ribs groan. You clenched your jaw to keep from gasping. "Yeah?" he mused, almost mocking. "And how exactly did you manage that?"

You sucked in a breath, your pulse thrumming against the barrel of his gun. "Your offshore accounts," you admitted. "One of your old aliases popped up in my case files. I traced the transactions—saw the pattern. You're covering your tracks, but you missed one."

A slow exhale. He was processing. Then, suddenly, he yanked you up. Your legs scrambled for footing as he hauled you to your feet with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine. He spun you around, and for the first time, you got a good look at him. His hair was longer now—jet black, damp at the ends, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. It fell into his sharp eyes, barely concealing the raw intensity burning behind them. The years had refined him, hardened him—his jawline sharper, his muscles defined beneath the tight black shirt clinging to his frame. He adjusted his grip on his gun, holding it lazily by his side but never out of reach.

But what struck you the most was the way he was looking at you. Like he was deciding whether to kill you or let you live. "Prove it," he ordered, his voice softer but no less dangerous. Your breath hitched. "I have proof of the Bureau’s corruption. On a flash drive. I brought it with me." His gaze flickered—just for a moment—before hardening again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then abruptly released you, shoving you back slightly. "Don’t follow me next time," he muttered before turning away.

Your heart still pounded as you watched him move, muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he returned to whatever he had been doing before your arrival.

You took a step forward. "You're just going to pretend this didn’t happen?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yes."

Your frustration flared. "So, what, you’re just gonna keep hiding in the shadows? Killing off whoever you think deserves it?" Chan finally looked at you again, his expression unreadable. "That’s what ghosts do." A beat of silence stretched between you before he turned away again. "You should go back to where you came from," he said, voice quieter this time.

But you didn’t move. Because now that you had found him, there was no way in hell you were letting him disappear again.

Chan had stripped off his tight black shirt, revealing the sharp, battle-worn lines of his torso—faint scars cutting across his chest and shoulders like remnants of a past he didn’t care to remember. He pulled a clean, loose shirt over his head before dropping into his chair, exhaling as he propped his combat-booted feet onto the wooden desk. A plastic bag of heated ramen sat beside him, the faint steam curling up as he ripped open the top. The scent of instant broth filled the air, and with a slow, almost lazy motion, he dug his chopsticks in, slurping up a mouthful without a care in the world.

But when he turned his head, there you were. Still standing. Arms crossed. Stubborn as ever.

His chewing slowed. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"I'm not leaving without an explanation." Your voice was firm, unwavering. Chan let out an amused scoff, flicking his eyes away as he continued eating. "Not my problem."

"It is," you shot back. "You disappeared. You faked your own death. People thought you were murdered, Chan."

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even pause, still chewing. "And?"

"You don't get to just vanish without an answer," she pressed, stepping forward. "You were one of the best agents we had. Then one day, you’re gone? What was I supposed to think?" Chan finally lowered his chopsticks, resting them on the rim of the ramen cup. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, with a lazy, almost bored movement, he reached for the gun beside him. The soft click of the chamber sent a chill down your spine.

Without lifting his feet from the desk, he cocked the gun and aimed it directly at you. "You should go," he murmured, voice laced with quiet threat.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. "You’re not going to shoot me." Chan tilted his head slightly, something dark flickering in his eyes. And then—

BANG.

The sound shattered through the room. A sharp sting cut across her cheek as the bullet tore through the window behind her, the glass shattering into a thousand shards. A thin line of warmth traced down her skin—a graze. He had aimed for the perfect near miss. Your breath hitched, heart hammering as she stared at him in disbelief.

Chan twirled the gun in his fingers before leveling it back at you, still slouched in his chair.

"I don’t bluff, darling," he murmured, lips curling into a smirk.

The weight of his gaze pinned you to the spot, daring you to make your next move. But you wernt going anywhere. And by the way Chan’s lips curled into a smirk, he knew too. The silence stretched between both of you, thick and suffocating only broken by the soft plink of glass shards hitting the floor behind you.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t take a single step back. Instead, you exhaled sharply, leveling your gaze with his, voice steady. "Fine then," she said, brushing a thumb over the fresh graze on her cheek. "I guess I’ll just go back and tell Reynolds where you are. Let him know his little ghost isn’t as dead as everyone thinks—"

The reaction was immediate. Chan’s boots hit the floor with a solid thud as he swung his feet off the desk. His once lazy posture vanished as he stood, slow and deliberate, the air around him shifting into something darker. His expression didn’t change—no anger, no frustration—just a cold calculation in his eyes as he started toward her.

"You see, that’s where you make your first mistake." His voice was smooth, deceptively calm, as he took another step forward. "You think Reynolds is the one pulling the strings."

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. Chan smirked. "Your second mistake? Threatening me. You don’t have the leverage you think you do, sweetheart." Another step. He was close now, towering over her. She could see the sharp lines of his face, the way the dim light cast shadows beneath his jawline.

"And your third mistake?" He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking down as he scoffed. "Letting me get this close."

She stiffened, but he didn’t move—just watched her, eyes scanning every inch of her like he was reading her next move before she even made it. Then, his voice dropped lower.

"How long have you been in the agency?"

She swallowed, keeping her stance firm. "Five years."

"Hm." He studied her, gaze lingering on hers a moment too long. "And in those five years, did you ever stop to wonder why you care so much about this?" She narrowed her eyes. "Because you disappeared. Because none of this makes sense, and every time I get close to an answer, another door shuts in my face."

Chan hummed, considering her words. His gaze flickered between her eyes like he was searching for something.

"And?" he pressed, voice barely above a whisper now.

She exhaled. "And because you were one of us. One of the best. If they turned on you, who’s to say they won’t turn on me next?"

That made him pause. For the first time since she walked in, something flickered across his expression—something almost unreadable. He was quiet for a moment, the distant sound of the city outside the only thing between them.

Then, in a tone laced with something far heavier than before, he murmured, "They already have."

Chan’s gaze flickered back to her, something sharp settling behind his dark eyes. "What’s your name?"

You hesitated for only a second before responding. “Y/N.” He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he walked back toward his desk. Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to her. "Tell me something. Did you tell anyone about this little research project of yours?"

You straightened. "No."

He let out another humourless chuckle. "You should’ve left it alone. Left me alone. Whatever you found, whatever little breadcrumbs you were following, you should’ve buried them. I was doing just fine in the dark." Your jaw clenched. "I'd rather work under the right leaders than serve corruption."

He stopped, tilting his head slightly. He was about to respond when—

A voice. Muffled, hushed yells from outside. His entire posture snapped into something rigid, head whipping toward the sound before his gaze cut back to you, something deadly brewing beneath his calm exterior. "You cleared your tracks, didn’t you?" His tone was laced with sarcasm, but his eyes told a different story, survival mode kicking in.

"I did," you shot back, but even as you said it, her stomach twisted. Had you been wrong? Had you been followed? Chan scoffed, already moving. "Of course you did."

Then, instinct kicked in. He grabbed a duffel bag from beneath the desk, moving swiftly, shoving in stacks of cash, fake passports, and a few flash drives you barely caught a glimpse of. He zipped the bag, yanking open a drawer and pulling out two guns, checking the clips before tucking them into his waistband. The voices outside grew closer. Chan turned to her, jaw tightening. "See what you’ve caused?" Before she could respond,

CRACK!

A bullet shattered through the window. Her body froze for half a second, but Chan was faster. He yanked you down, his grip firm as another round of shots rang out, tearing through the walls. "You just had to come looking for ghosts, didn’t you?" His breath was hot against her ear, voice low and edged with frustration.

You didn’t have time to argue. Not when the next shot nearly clipped the spot where she was just standing. The sound of heavy boots against concrete echoed through the abandoned building, growing closer with each passing second. Mixed in with the rapid orders were voices speaking in clipped Russian. Chan’s body went rigid.

"Чистите здание!" Sweep the building!

His jaw locked. His fingers twitched around the grip of his gun, the muscle in his temple ticking as he processed. Russians. He cursed under his breath. His gaze flicked to her. "Stay close, don’t do anything stupid." You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance.

With practiced ease, he slung the duffel over his shoulder, grabbed your wrist, and yanked your toward the back of the room where the garage was. Another voice cut through the air. "Если увидите его—убить сразу." If you see him—kill him immediately.

Chan’s grip on you tightened. "Move.”

The gunfire had stopped, for a while but Chan knew better than to think they were safe. The silence was worse—it meant they were moving, repositioning. The Russians didn’t shoot blindly; they cornered their targets like hunters. He pulled her through the darkened hallways of the safe house. The air was thick with dust, the only light coming from the flickering emergency bulbs that barely held power. His pace was quick, calculated, and she had no choice but to keep up.

They burst into the garage, Chan’s boots crunching against the concrete floor as he beelined for the nearest car. He didn’t care which one just one with gas and working tires. He threw the duffel bag into the backseat, yanked the driver’s door open, and turned to you.

“Get in.”

You hesitated. Only for a second. But he wasn’t in the mood for second-guessing.

“Now.”

There was something about the sharpness in his voice, the raw edge of urgency, that made you obey. You slid into the passenger seat, barely buckling up before the roar of the engine cut through the silence. Chan reversed so fast that the tires screeched, burning rubber as he whipped the car around and sped toward the exit. The second they burst onto the empty road, the garage door behind them rattled. A second too late—the Russians had reached the safe house, but they were already gone.

His hands tightened around the wheel, jaw clenching as he forced his breathing to steady. But Y/N wasn’t stupid you saw the shift in his composure. The rigid tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerous behind his eyes.

“Who were they?” you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering adrenaline.

Chan didn’t answer immediately. He exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Since I became a ghost and not dead, someone put a bounty on my head.”

“A bounty?” She blinked, processing. “By who?” He hesitated, just for a beat. Then, his lips curled into something bitter. “A former Russian cartel.”

Silence.

“Wait? A Russian mafia?!”

Chan rolled his eyes, his grip flexing on the steering wheel. “Oh, don’t sound so shocked, sweetheart.” You turned in your seat, still trying to wrap her head around it. “You mean to tell me you pissed off the Russians? The same ones who wipe out entire families without blinking? And you thought, what? That they’d just let you go?”

He shot her a look, unimpressed. “I did die, remember?” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. “They weren’t supposed to know I was still breathing.”

“But they do know,” she pressed. “No shit.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I should’ve expected it.”

She stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. “What did you do to them?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there. The headlights illuminated the stretch of road ahead, but he wasn’t seeing it—his mind was elsewhere.

“Something they don’t forgive,” he murmured. And somehow, that was more unsettling than anything else.

The road stretched endlessly before them, a dark ribbon of asphalt cutting through the night. The drive was silent. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the car’s frame and the distant wail of sirens in the city. Chan’s hands remained steady on the wheel, his foot pressing just enough on the gas to keep them moving fast but unnoticed. The hum of the engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of headlights from distant cars.

Then, without looking at you, he asked, “So, are you willing to become a ghost, just like me?” His voice was low, unreadable.

You turned to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “What?” Chan exhaled through his nose, still keeping his eyes ahead. “You found me. Which means others can, too.” His fingers tapped against the wheel, slow, deliberate. “Now that you know I’m alive, you’re at risk.”

You let the weight of his words sink in.

“If you want answers,” he continued, “there’s no going back. You either disappear, like I did, or you keep living with the lie that I’m dead.” Silence settled between them. The reality of the situation pressed against you, suffocating in its finality.

You didn’t know what to say.

All you wanted was the truth—why he disappeared, why his name kept surfacing in places it shouldn’t. But now, you were tangled in something far more dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “I just… I just want to know the truth behind everything.”

Chan scoffed under his breath. “Truth comes at a price.”

You turned back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

And for the first time, you wondered if you were ready to pay it.

Chan's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the dashboard. His mind was running a mile a minute—running through every possible reason why they had found him so easily, why she had been so careless.

Or maybe… she hadn't been careless.

Maybe they were watching her before she even found him.

He pulled into the parking lot of an old roadside motel, one of those places where no one asked questions as long as you paid in cash. The neon sign flickered above them, casting an eerie red glow over the cracked pavement. He killed the engine, but neither of you moved for a moment.

Finally, he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Here’s the deal, Y/N," he said, voice low. "You have two choices. You stay here tonight, in this room with me, and by morning, you’re gone. You forget you ever found me, forget what you saw, and go back to playing by the agency’s rules." He let the words settle before continuing.

"Or…" he leaned in slightly, eyes sharp, "if you're actually ready for this life, if you’re ready to stop working under men like Reynolds and start chasing the real truth—you stay until morning."

A pause.

"But if you stay, there’s no going back."

You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a loaded. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you refused to show any hesitation. You had risked too much and come too far. He was giving you a way out, to turn back and pretend none of this ever happened. Btu you couldn’t do that.

“You think came al this way just to walk away now?” you finally said, arms crossed as you met his gaze head-on.

Amusement flickered in Chan’s eyes. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he muttered.

“No,” you shot back. “I don’t.”

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separatetheyolk · 1 month ago

Text

F1 Drivers X Disabled M!Reader

ʚɞ featuring: Lewis Hamilton, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz

ʚɞ how f1 drivers would react to learning you're disabled

ʚɞ notes: there are multiple disabilities in this. I wanted to cover a range of them eventually but I didn't want like 27 posts and I didn't want this time to be repetitive. Some such as tics and hypermobility are also rather broad instead of nailing it down to tourettes or hEDS for inclusivity. This is also a smidge self-indulgent lol

ʚɞ Also sorry for going MIA for like two months, will get to asks next!

ʚɞ requests are open!

Lewis Hamilton - Tics

He didnt even notice it at first. Verbal sounds would fall into the backround and smaller motor tics would often go amiss. It went undetected for about a year as they progressively got worse, eventually drawing Lewis' attention towards you more often despite your job shifting to a one which tics couldn't interrupt. Cars hurling around a track at such high speeds meant there was no room for error. Your tics caused too much error as a mechanic and you sure as hell couldn't be pit crew. A sad reality, but reality none the less.

Once he caught on, there was no judgment. He'd make sure you'd know there was no need to try and suppress them around him, no need to feel embarrassed.

Often times he'd take the fall for noises you'd make or cups you'd knock over. You'd insisted he didn't need to if it brought him embarrassment. He insisted you lived your life in a constant state of it. If he could take that away even just for a second, he would.

By the time you'd gotten together, your tics had gotten to the point of hurting yourself or others. You'd resigned from your job at Mercedes at the end of the 2023 season, but was still a familliar face around the garrage on race weekends. Often times walking around with icepacks to your neck or hands given to you by Lewis before he'd go out for practice, quali or the actual race. Each time coming back, having a quick shower and continuing with his checkups in more detail

He'd often hold open cups for you, your phone too if needed.

He'd give you something to keep you busy if you wanted him to which would help the tics to ease off.

Times where your voice was too shot to talk, Lewis wold be your voice, times where you'd suspected something was broken, Lewis would drop everything and drive you to the nearest accident and emergency, times where you had damaged a hand, Lewis would act as a spare. Help you with anything you needed without any hesitation

You'd frequently walk into the hotel room with a warm bath already drawn to help relax overworked muscles.

Charles Leclerc - Hypermobility

You'd met Charles when you were young in karting before you'd realised there were issues with you joints. Keeping in touch throughout both your careers and even after you had to leave yours unfinished.

By the time you both started dating, you had been travelling with him throughout two seasons. He'd watched your hypermobility grow worse over the years of friendship but being by your side for two years had really shown him how it affected you

He'd done research on your disability late into the night, researched braces and other mobility aids. He'd get braces for you to try (with your permission) and would buy extra of the ones you liked.

When the realisation you needed a cane at twenty four hit, Charles was right by your side. Supporting you with this new change and any breakdowns that occurred. Once you had eventually gotten it, Charles would keep it tucked away in his backpack wherever the two of you went, just incase. Reassuring you that you didn't "look stupid" when you used it and that if you needed to, you should.

He'd often act as a post for you to lean on if your knees or hips began to hurt too much. Or he'd just carry you if you said he could.

Of course, dislocations always scared him. Regardless on whether you were able to fix it yourself or not. He never liked when you'd do it yourself, scared you'd pinch a nerve or cut off circulation but those times where the joint just would not go, he was always the first to voulenteer to drive you to accident and emergency.

When you'd decided that a wheelchair would be beneficial, he would push you around if you couldn't do it yourself for whatever reason and help you transfer in and out if you needed it

He would be incredibly mindful of the fact independance was something you still needed, only stepping into help when you'd ask. Or if you were too stubborn, when absolutely neccesarry.

Carlos Sainz - Autism

He hardly understood it at first. He knew sometmes things would be too loud, but he didnt quite understand just how loud they could be. He also didn't understand the whole texture thing.

But with a lot of research and countless conversations he started to understand.

It began with little things first, keeping wireless headphones in his bag whenever you'd need them. They used to be his. But he'd ultimately decided he preferred earphones so decided to give them to you.

He'd then learned what stimming was. Shaking your hands, rolling back and forth on the balls of your feet, stepping side to side, walking in tight circles. Once that had been discovered, he started to carry around fidget toys.

Oh and then there were times where you'd go nonverbal. While he couldn't constantly have his phone charged to use the notes app, he did steal a notepad from one of the many hotels you'd both stay in during the racing season. Sometimes you'd use it, which did make it easier, sometimes even the feel of pencil on paper was too much input for you so it would be yes or no questions. Harder to work with, but he'd learned which ones to ask eventually.

Then there was the struggle of clothes shopping. Certain textures were too scratchy, or bumpy or just didnt feel right in ways you couldn't describe. Oh and the people. And the lights. And the sound. Carlos had quickly learned that breaking up the shopping into multiple days throughout the week would be easier. So, you both decided that leaving clothes shopping for the breaks inbetween seasons would be better. No pressure to get shopping done in any timeframe and you knew exactly what shops there were and what ones done clothing you liked.

When it came to travelling, Carlos would bring bedsheets he knew you liked from home. Both of you learning very quickly on the first night of the 2024 season that some hotel sheets were just not right. Leaving you both looking for bedsheets you liked wandering around the malls of Bahrain using every coping mechanism you could think of.

There would probably be talks of assistance dogs. If that was a yes, Carlos would search high and low for the best training services out there. And he would probably become more pissed than you if you were denied access due to your assistance dog.

He also learned what safe foods were after questioning why you'd eaten the same food for the last week. He wasn't a fan of the lack of variety but he'd never push you to eat something you weren't comfortable with.

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sillysiluriforme · 1 year ago

Note

OK it's Akumatized Anon but no longer Anon!!

More questions about HM bc I am sooo curious about him: I

If someone else were to get the Butterfly Miraculous, would they now be connected to the markings left by HM?

Do the Miraculouses create a sort of... blocker (if that makes sense) for those with HM's marking, or do they still function?

Thanks for answering!! You've gotten me totally locked in on Miraculous again lol

No and yes !

- Fortunately for everyone (butterfly holder and akumatized included) the transmission link is between the specific holder and their champions. Once Gabriel dies from his own stupidity the marks of everyone part of his brain network will slowly fade into faaaaaaint outline’s throughout the years.

The butterfly miraculous was designed with the idea that the holder would only have one champion they’d have a deep bond with. Gabriel has thousands he barely knows ! Needless to say his mind is crumbling under this weight.

- somewhat ! Yes ! Another thing I wanna elaborate on more is quantum masking. I think it’s fun when brains go 1/0 = error. They are undetectable by hawkmoth while transformed. He’s got a lot of channels he can access but it’s only a matter of time before he notices the two that are always injoignable at very specific times.

#silu responds #mlb la terreur au #il te voit

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random-posts680 · 1 year ago

Text

•I knew you’d be back•part 2

Part one here: https://www.tumblr.com/random-posts680/748793779031605248/dont-come-looking-for-me-part-1

A/N: guys holy moly I’m so sorry it took me an eternity to finish this but I hope you like it!

Warnings: maybe spelling errors, killing, death, royal family after reader, Feyd, blood, arena fights

Your hair was sprawled out as you laid on your back, it casted over the sheets of Feyds bed. Your arms were comfortably crossed over your ribs. And Your feet dangled off the edge.

Feyd mostly matched your position as he laid next to you. His arm closest to you layed out in the space between both your bodies. He itched to wrap it around you and pull you closer to him.

But unfortunately, how things were currently was as close as he was going to get. He wished to be something more with you, but even just being close at your side as friends kept him content. Silence filled the room before you inhaled to speak.

“Do you miss me?”

Completely taken aback by your question, Feyd turned his head to the side to look at you. His face contorted into an unusual look of concern. Your face stared at the nothingness of his ceiling until your eyes snapped to the side and your head slightly followed

There was no answer from him. He looked from your eyes down longingly at your lips then back up. You were unreal to him, something otherworldly, you were the most beautiful being he’d ever seen, and the most important to him as well. When he came out of his thoughts he looked back to you. Your face still awaited an answer.

“Why would I need to, when you’re right here?” His voice is gentle but still holds a bit of his rasp. Before you thought of an answer Feyd inhaled and continued “And I’ll never have to, I won’t let anyone take you from me.” There was that murderous gleam in his eyes that you’ve seen a handful of times. It was never directed towards you, god never, Feyd-rautha couldn’t stand the thought of you getting injured by his own hands, and it filled him with rage thinking of it being by somebody else’s.

You smiled at him, seemingly grateful at his answer and promise of protection. He returned your smile and inched ever so slightly towards you. His eyes trailed around the features of your face, they stop at your lips once again. This didn’t go unnoticed by you. You glanced down at his pale lips in return. Your faces began to invade the gap between the both of you.

Feyds arm reaches up and his cold smooth hand cups your face and pulls you in. His body heats up at the contact initiated. You close your eyes….and so does he.

Feyd-rautha twitches awake.

His mind recalls the images produced from his sleeping state. He remembers the odd question you asked him and his heart rate picks up when he recollects the end of the fantasy. It was like this most nights. Dreams and visions of you invading his mind, moments he’s had with you and moments he had wished to have with you.

The harkonnen desperately wants you back. It has nearly been 6 months since you seemingly disappeared without a single trace of where you may have gone. You aren’t dead, that is all that Feyd-rautha knows. And it keeps him determined to find you.

———————————————————————

Your ship wasn’t anything fancy. It could stay in space for long periods of time and is undetectable under any radar. It keeps you hidden, and that’s what you need most, especially now.

When you were found out to be residing on Giedi prime, you knew you had fucked up. You remember being awoken by your com that night ringing loudly. Once you groggily picked up, the call consisted of only a few sentences before you were on your feet and moving.

“Y/n, they’ve found you, you need to leave now! We have a ship ready for you at these coordinates!” The lady spoke on the other end. The coordinates were then listed on the screen.

You were grateful for the people at your job who were working to protect you from those who were out to hunt you, they believed in doing the right thing so when they discovered you floating through space, you told them your story and they took you in and offered you a job and their protection.

The truth is, you were the next Queen of your house, the standards for that queen were specific and high, one of the most important being you would need to be able to give birth to an heir. So from a young age you were tested for fertility so you could begin training, learning, and one day be married and give birth to an heir.

That was never fate.

A few weeks before you were to be married a freak accident occurred and it left you injured and to your houses dismay, infertile. Now, in most scenarios it wouldn’t have mattered if you were infertile but in your line of royalty there was information that could take down the entire nation of your planet that only a fit queen and king were supposed to know, and you were no longer of that standard of a fit queen due to your infertility.

You knew everything, and you were no longer going to be queen. This left them to having no choice. They were going to kill you and then begin training a different female relative of yours.

You were smart enough to realize their plans for you, so the night you found out of your infertility, you left. You knew they’d be after you the moment they realized you were gone.

Similar to when you ran away from your home planet you left most of your stuff on Giedi prime. Your heart ached a bit at the thought of leaving behind the good friend you had made here. You knew you couldn’t do anything about it so you at least gave him some attempt at closure when you scribbled down the note that he would later find. You’d miss him and he’d miss you ten times more. It’d drive him mad.

Along with the note that he found he also noticed his missing blade which brought you to the night prior. feyd had been showing you his collection of blades, you knew you shouldn’t have but you took one, you knew that someday your family would find you here and you wanted to be prepared. You hid the blade and as if you had foreseen the event, the very next night was when you would need to make your escape.

You dropped the note into one of your notebooks and slid the blade into your belt. You found the designated coordinates, and there your ship was. It hovered above the ground just enough for you to climb inside. You remeber looking back into the Giedi prime night, hoping that feyd-rautha would follow the one demand on that scribbled piece of paper.

Life after leaving wasn’t easy. You had plenty of battles and worked hard on combat training. The hardest part about leaving though was being away from feyd. You really did miss him. You cherished the moments you two had together and they often replayed in your sleep. With each day your desire to see him again grew.

Which led you to now, 6 months later, you are back, hovering just off of the atmosphere of the black and white planet. You know it’s a horrible idea to pay this visit but you need to see Feyd. The way you left him haunted you, you know you were his only form of support and you just up and left without any warning. You owe him the knowledge that you are sorry and willing to do whatever it takes to make it up to him.

You wonder what he is doing now, you wonder if he ever found that note, you wonder if he’d even cared that you’d left. You wonder if he’s missed you as much as you’ve missed him.

‘What ever he may think, I’ll find out myself’ you think, as your hand pushes the steering mechanism forwards. You ready yourself to enter Giedi prime once again. You flip the switches and type in your coordinates for landing. You push and your ship begins to fall into the planets gravity.

———————————————————————

Feyd-Rauthas arms are outstretched. His muscles exposed to the air within the threshold. Servants gather around him, painting the black shapes over his nearly white skin.

Ever since you left, this has been his only source of enjoyment. Killing those drugged slaves in the arena. His only way to cope with your disappearance.

Once his servants are done, he is handed his blade. The nervous harkonnen male avoiding heavy eye contact as he presents them. Feyds hands graze the tip of it and his reflection can be seen in its polished surface. Every time the blade is brought out he thinks of you and how somewhere in the galaxy you posses the missing one from his collection.

Feyd dismisses his servants, at this they all rush out, desperate to leave the presence of the na-baron. Unfortunately for the last servant to leave, the harkonnens blade penetrates her. The sharp object colliding with flesh sounds about 8 times before the sickening sound of a body against the ground follows.

Feyd-rautha walks out of his chamber Hungry for more meaningless gore. He scans the hallway, waiting for the next person to cross his path. Only about 10 seconds pass before a veiled being in all black turns the corner. Their back turned to him as they continue to walk.

The harkonnen smirks and follows quietly in pursuit. His presence going completely unnoticed by the target. Feyd-rautha readies his blade.

He grips onto the persons shoulder and pushes his blade straight to their jugular. Before he makes his next move, the person speaks.

“I thought you’d be here.” Your voice sounds through his ears.

Feyd-rauthas heart skips a beat, His knees almost go weak, and his hands begin to shake. Y/n? Is it really you? But It can’t be you, you left him without any indication of coming back, how could this be you? How could you have come back? The harkonnens mind races rapidly and his grip loosens.

With that, you slip out of it and turn to face him. You unveil yourself. Feyd-Rauthas heart races and his chest rises and falls unsteadily. His eyes stare down at you taking in the features he had missed so much. It really is you.

As Feyd stands awe struck You wonder what to do. It wasn’t like you could act casual ‘hey, I’m back after abandoning you for months and not telling you where I went!’ That would be arrogant and disrespectful. You know you owe him an explanation as to why you left but right now you are at a total loss for words.

His eyes hold hints of desperation and excitement yet his face displays utter disbelief. You wait to see if he’ll say anything but moments go by and he doesn’t. You take it upon yourself to speak first but regret it instantly when the sentences tumble out of your mouth and merge.

“Feyd-rautha-my lord, I’m terribly sorry that I left..-I I do have an explanation-“

You are cut off by his hands gripping you arms and pulling you into him. You look up at him before he connects your lips. His kiss is deep and full his hands are desperate as they go from your arms to your hair to push your face further in. You deepen the kiss too, making Feyds body warmer as you both stand.

After many seconds you both pull away for air. You’re shocked to say the least, as for the harkonnen he stares at you with desire, his eyes roaming you and his hands now feeling your waist, pulling you closer against his muscular torso.

“I’d like that explanation, we shall talk about it in my room. I will cancel my arena fight.” His voice is low and full of contained urgency. His heart hammers in his chest and it’s as if nothing else matters. You have finally come back to him.

He can’t take his eyes away from you as he leads you to his room. Once you two are there your lips meet once again and he’s ready to live out all the things he’s dreamed of knowing that you’re ready too. You love him and that’s all he’s wanted since the second he had met you.

Feyd-rautha is never going to let you leave him again, especially now. Your entire family and their army could come after you and he would be at the front line defending you with his life.

————————————————————————

Tag list: @freyagallileaevans

@saturnhas82moons

@flower-frog

@ruyaas-world

@aoi-targaryen

@gay-mashroom

@lechat-rouge

@alexa4040

#dune part two #dune x you #feyd x reader #x reader #feyd rautha #austin butler #dune #dune imagine #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd fanfiction #fanfic #yay #feyd x you

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luvjunie · 2 years ago

Text

— Unforgettable ( 4 )

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: angst/conflict (y’all knew it was comin), language, miles being a dunce, gwen and her awkwardness

summary: a bump in with a certain boy at the bodega threatens to ruin your previously perfect afternoon until he offers to fix it. you assumed things would end there, and then you ran into him again. wc: 3,284

a/n: i held onto this for so long my apologies i had to find time to actually sit down and edit it fr fr 😭 i read this a gazillion times to the point i can recite it from memory so if you see any typos or grammar errors no you don’t. recap of part three is in small italics

prev | next

He wanted this. He wanted you.

But any chance for another sensical thought was interrupted when the impossible happened. ‘Impossible’ being the multi-layered hexagonal portal that suddenly opened up on his ceiling, and the blonde-haired, gap-toothed girl he thought he'd never see again, appearing with it. Bright and beaming down at him with a heart-halting grin, Miles felt his stomach drop as soon as she spoke.

"Miles!"

Shit.

. . .

Love tears down your walls and leaves you vulnerable in all aspects. The skin you didn't know you wore as a shield to protect you from the unexpected is shed in one swift layer because you don’t care what the unexpected is anymore. All the space that was left for worrying about what’s to come has been stolen to make room for the one who makes your heart flutter faster than you can blink.

Love is waking up in the morning, and before you’ve even wiped the lingering dream from your eyes, you find yourself rolling over in hopes of discovering a text from your favorite person—a blur of letters you’re barely able to make out, but it causes a smile to stretch across your face nonetheless.

It’s what has your thoughts drifting from your conscious at least five times a day, chin tucked in hand, eyes dreamy with the image of him playing over and over again in your mind, face melted into the stupidest grin you’ve ever been able to manifest. It leaves you yearning for him in ways you never imagined before, wanting to see into the places of his soul he’s hidden from the world and even the ones he loves most.

So if that’s love, what’s this feeling that you have now?

What follows closely behind love is the ugly shadow that trails on its heels like a sinking suspicion you can’t shake; the one that’s never acknowledged because things are just too good for you to be worried about all the cons that come with the pros. That biting feeling that often goes undetected until it’s discovered at the most inconvenient of times.

That feeling, the one you couldn’t put a name to before?

Foolish is how you felt right about now.

As you stood in the middle of a lively party for Miles’ father, who was soon to be police captain. It was bustling with excitement, people laughing and chopping it up in every corner, like you should’ve been right about now.

You’d been greeted by almost all of them upon arrival and even managed to run into Miles’ parents, but for some reason, you still had yet to say hello to the one who actually invited you. And you’d been made aware of the reason why when you’d looked up to find him laughing with a girl you’d never seen before, and she definitely wasn’t a cousin. You knew that because you’d met all of them by now in the time you’d spent searching for him.

Miles’ hands were animatedly flying through the air as he explained something to the girl that you couldn’t make out from this far away, and his eyes were lit up in a way you’d never seen them before. Slowly but surely, even though your mind tried to stop the thought from breaking through, you started to wonder if last night meant as much as you thought it did.

The mini-pep talk you’d given yourself to instill courage was immediately deemed insignificant the moment your feet pushed you to start on your way over to them, but still, you tried to ignore the deepening pit in your stomach. You usually prided yourself on being someone who never jumped to conclusions without having an inkling to stand on, but Miles was great at making things you never even knew about yourself come to the surface. Was this one of them?

Your stomach was bubbling with nerves; a sensation of anxiety washing over you. She was the complete opposite of your image, and it made you feel self-conscious about everything, as if you hadn't fallen in love with your reflection in the mirror just before you'd left home. You began to think about how fuzzy your braids were, how you should’ve taken them down last week and redid them like you’d planned instead of ditching that very plan to hang out with Miles instead.

Was your outfit appropriate enough for a family gathering? Maybe you should’ve worn something simpler. Did he like that little snort you always did when you laughed, or did he find it annoying like the last guy did? Maybe you should fix that.

All these questions did a terrible job of hiding what you were truly worried about.

Miles was so involved in his conversation that he didn’t take notice of you walking over. It must’ve slipped his mind that he told you to meet him here and that he would introduce you to his family. Instead, you were left to fend for yourself until his parents caught sight of you being handed a baby even they didn’t know the name of.

And by the stupidly shocked look he sported as you popped up in front of the both of them, it seemed as if he’d forgotten that he invited you in the first place.

As a reflex, you dipped your hands into the pockets of his coat and forged the nicest smile you could muster as your eyes wandered over to the girl.

“Hey Miles, who's this?”

“Oh! Uh, Y/n, this is Gwen-“ the girl suddenly shot him a look you couldn’t decipher, eyes widened in warning, and Miles instantly froze.

The hell was that?

“Gw-Gwaaanda...” he continued shakily after correcting himself, brows raised toward her in silent question. He then motioned back and forth between the two of you. “Gwanda, this is Y/n. My, uh… My…” Miles trailed off, your lips parted in anticipation, and it looked as if he’d suddenly lost his train of thought.

"Your?" You cocked your head at him the slightest, expectant eyes urging him to continue.

“My friend.”

Gwen stared at him incredulously. His oversized jacket stuck out like a sore thumb on you, but a physical hint wasn’t needed. She was able to guess who you were to him the moment you stepped out onto the roof. Or who you were supposed to be.

“Your friend?” Your brows furrowed when you repeated what he’d said in disbelief. You couldn't even tell if the look he’d given you was one of pity, or remorse.

“Wow,” you breathed a lifeless laugh, lashes fluttering to keep the tears at bay with a small nod. You’d never felt so embarrassed. Your throat had that burning sensation that was all too familiar—the one that feels as if your chest is caving in on itself with the weight of disappointment. Heartbreak, you think, is what they call it. You’ve never experienced it before, but you assumed this is what it must feel like.

Gwen shifted from one foot to the other, her hand awkwardly clasped onto her opposing arm while her wide blue eyes darted between the two of you. The shift in energy was palpable, like there was a visible force pushing the both of you apart.

It was her, she realized.

She’s the force.

She suddenly cleared her throat.

“Is anyone else like, really cold right now?” Gwen's hand nervously gestured towards the air with a stale chuckle. “Cause, boy, it is definitely chilly today!”

“Here,” Your throat pushed down the godforsaken lump that was forming as you forcefully tugged Miles’ coat off your body as if it burned your skin.

“Have Miles’ jacket. I don’t need it anymore, anyway.” Thrusting the bundled green puffer into her loose hold, you ignored the graze of disbelieving eyes burning into the side of your head and adjusted your shirt as if you could somehow make it conduct more warmth. Fuck, it was chilly today.

Gwen, Gwanda, or whatever the hell her name just gaped at you.

“I—“

Miles extended a hand to you in a meaningless attempt. “Y/n stop, it’s yours-“

“It’s not. Never was.”

You weren’t talking about the jacket.

You were gone faster than you came—faster than you’d even fallen for him, which was surprising, to say the least. Ducking your body under the railing and jumping down onto the deck, you pointedly ignored the stairs descending from it. If there had been a faster route than the one you took to haul ass out of there, you would’ve snatched it in seconds.

In just a minute, everything had crumbled right in front of him, and Miles stood there and let it happen.

Gwen recognized the look in your eyes; it’d been the same one Miles had given her last year when he confessed to her and she told him they couldn’t be together. Not because she didn’t want to, but because the circumstances just wouldn’t allow it.

As if things weren’t bad enough already, Gwen spoke cautiously, lips rolled inwards and Miles’ jacket loosely clutched in her hands.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I think she was expecting you to put another word in front of 'friend'."

“Shit.”

His feet were moving before he even realized he was chasing after you. He narrowly dodged the sea of bodies blocking him from getting to you, his eyes scanning the roof in hopes of spotting the top of your head.

“Miles, wait!” His aunt called out to him. “Your mom is about to cut the cake! Where are you going?”

Miles hastily shouted a response to her with a hand cupped around his mouth, his feet moving backwards to keep up with his pace.

“Back in a sec!”

You pushed through the crowd with your head ducked, sincere apologies muffled to those you bumped into, and a few unwelcome tears rolling over the apple of your cheek as you did so.

“Sweetie, wait! You don’t want cake?”

Without making eye contact, you gave a rushed wave goodbye and a thank you to Rio and Jeff, whisking past the pair. That probably didn’t help your case, but what just happened between you and her son could probably be inferred, because you weren’t wearing his jacket like you were just a moment ago, and Miles’ previously giddy conversation looked as if it’d come to a screeching halt as she noticed that the painfully awkward girl she’d met earlier was standing by herself now.

Rio’s shoulders dropped with a knowing sigh as she watched you retreat.

“Ay, I told you that Gwanda girl was bad news, Jeff!” She grumbled with pursed lips, expression painted with disappointment to match her folded arms.

Your temporary wallowing had turned to rage in mere moments, made known in the way your hands shoved the door to the stairwell open with way more force than needed.

“Wait!” He slid his way through the doorway before it could close, managing to step in front of you before you could reach the stairs.

“Was yesterday and everything before then just a joke to you?” You stared daggers into his eyes after you’d whipped around, your gaze flitting between the both of them to find an answer faster than he could verbally give. “Because apparently, when you’re around whoever that is you forget about everything else.”

“What—No! Of course not." Miles quickly shook his head. Somehow, trouble always seemed to find him when Gwen was around. “She’s just a friend. I just, I haven’t seen her in a while—“

“Isn’t that what you called me back there? A friend?” You scoffed, arms crossing as if they could possibly shield your heart from taking any more damage. You knew you weren't giving him much of a chance to give an explanation, but right about now you felt as if he didn't deserve the chance. “Do you make out with all your friends on the roof or was I some sort of exception?”

“Y/n,” His shoulders dropped at that, and you almost found yourself feeling bad for saying such a thing. “I don’t know why I said that. I just—I froze up, and I’m sorry. But you’re more than that to me, I swear.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it.” The saliva that was starting to pool in your mouth was aggravating you, but somehow at the same time your throat was incredibly dry. So dry that it had you struggling to make your voice into something more than whisper when he took a step forward, and when you took one back.

“Don’t.“ you said, shaking your head, and Miles grimaced slightly at the subtle crack in your voice. “Do you know how long I waited for you? How stupid I looked wandering around until I found you when I don’t know anyone but your parents? You invited me!”

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Just last night, he’d made you feel as if you were the only girl in the entire world, but now it seemed like the world had gotten a whole lot bigger.

Whether you wanted to know the answer or not, you had to ask. So with a shaky inhale, you readied yourself for the worst, and so did he.

“Is she somebody to you?”

You watched as he swallowed, hard. Adam’s apple bobbing like his mind was for the truth. Gwen was just a friend. Now, at least. Telling you what you clearly already knew wouldn’t make you feel any better, but lying about it would only make things worse.

Miles bit at his cheek when his gaze drifted off to the side. You felt your heart sink at what came next.

“It… It was a long time ago. But I don’t feel that way anymore.”

Your eyes began to dampen again as they held contact with his for a pain-stricken moment, but a dejected once-over from head to toe and a repulsed frown was all you could spare him.

It felt as if the silence between you was much longer than a few seconds. With his chest rising and falling, Miles' throat was filled with words he knew you wouldn't believe. After what just happened, how would you? There was nothing he could say to rectify how badly he’d just embarrassed you and he knew that. And by the look of betrayal on your face and how your shoulder bumped his arm when you shoved past him, it seemed you wouldn’t even give him the chance.

Miles watched you descend down the stairs, his jaw clenched and his heart cramping with it.

What did he just do?

—

Maybe telling his parents what happened hadn’t been the best idea after all. But after calling you three times and leaving a voice message after each dreaded beep, just to find out at his third attempt that you’d disabled your voicemail box, he truly didn’t know what else to do.

And honestly, it’s not like he really had a choice when it came to telling them. After a couple awkward minutes of standing with a jacket that so obviously did not belong to her, Gwen cautiously returned it to his parents and hurriedly made her exit, which only left them with more questions than they had before.

They realized it was serious when Miles never came back in for a slice of cake.

Tres Leches! Miles never missed out on tres leches.

Rio was more than concerned when she knocked on his door and carefully cracked it open after no response to find her son face down in his pillow, curtains closed and his room in disarray.

She took a seat next to his curled-up form, face tinged with worry. “What happened, papa? Why’d she leave?”

Jeff settled for standing near the foot of his bed. “Yeah, son. She looked a little upset.”

Miles heaved out a sigh as he pulled his body into a seated position, hands running over his face as if they’d erase the memory from his mind. “I kinda… Like—When it came to introducing her to Gwanda, I… hesitated? I guess?” Miles mumbled, his voice raising a slight octave with the last word, as if he were just as confused as they were. Somehow, saying what happened out loud made him realize just how badly he’d messed up.

“Wooo, that’s bad.” Jeff sucked a breath in through his teeth and chuckled quietly, rocking from heel to toe at his son’s confession.

Rio rolled her eyes at her husband who wasn’t much of any help at all when it came to things like this. She lifted her chin attentively at Miles to let him know that she was genuinely listening.

“Well, you introduced her eventually…Right?“

“Yeah,” Miles confirmed, only to wince afterwards. “…As a friend.”

Rio’s mouth dropped. “Miles!”

“I know! I just— I froze! I don’t know why.” His head dropped into his hands in shame, elbows perched on bent knees.

“Alright, son. You gotta help me out here.” Jeff sighed. “So you’re telling me that the young lady who’s in our house almost every week, who we’ve been referring to as your girlfriend when she knocks on the door, isn’t your girlfriend?”

“I— She is, or… she was— isn’t? Anymore?” Something like an agitated groan mixed with a huff left Miles’ lips as he tried speaking again.

“She was going to be. I was gonna ask her up there which is why I invited her, but then Gwen just— showed up out of nowhere last night, and then I kinda sorta invited her too—“

“Last night? You had a girl in here?” Rio arched a brow.

“Who’s Gwen?” Jeff voiced his confusion quietly, eyes glancing to the side.

“Fuck, not Gwen, I meant Gwanda—“

Rio raised not one, but two disbelieving brows as Miles frantically shook his head.

“Damnit, I didn’t mean to say fuck—“ His eyes snapped up to see his parents’ faces painted with pure and utter shock at his choice of words. Again.

“Shit, wait! I—Oh God.” Miles let his head fall back into his hands as he groaned, tufts of hair clenched between his fingers. “Just help me, please.” He whined.

“Yup, that’s all you, honey.” Jeff nodded at Rio and patted his thighs with his hands that were starting to grow clammy, as if he’d actually done something useful before he discreetly slipped out the door.

Rio couldn’t stand to see her son so distraught, so she made the difficult decision to hear him out instead of addressing the string of curses he’d sent their way, or whatever happened ‘last night’.

“Respira, mijo,” She barely had to pull him into her, his body fell into her embrace the moment her hand graced his shoulder. “I thought you really liked this girl... I even invited her for Thanksgiving!” Rio gently rubbed up and down his arm, comforting him in the way she knew how.

“I do!” he insisted. “A lot… I’m just an idiot who messed things up, and now she probably hates me.”

She pulled him away by his shoulders, looking into his eyes intently to make sure she got her point across.

“Listen to me. You are not an idiot, papa. A little slow to understand sometimes, yes—“ Miles rolled his head to the side in annoyance, but she gently brought his face back to her with a hand on his cheek.

“But—you always get there because you’re smart. And I know that, because your father and I raised you to be.” Miles almost managed a smile when Rio softly pinched his cheek. “That also means you’re smart enough to know that you’ve hurt someone you care about.”

“But… What if I can’t fix it?” Miles' voice was heavy with uncertainty. “Then what do I do?”

“Well, that’s life, papa. Not everything is something you can fix, but you won’t know unless you try.” Her hands fixed the crooked hemline of the cotton thermal beneath his jersey, gently smoothing out the wrinkles with flattened fingers.

“It’s a leap of faith, Miles. That’s all.”

. . .

a/n: tres leches was a total self insert that shit is fire

taglist: @burymeinside @secret-ssociety @whatamidoing89 @urmotherswhor3 @valovesyou @inlovewithfictionalppl @edgyficuselastica @motherwanda @mybfmiles @axeoverblade @miumiulicious @sukisprettyface @gwennesy @simpnotapimp @kanvis @cleo-dearts @retirement-home @lunaramune @silas-222 @citrusequalsfrogs @itsberrydreemurstuff @spritecranverry @mewhenimanangel @wisteriaflowersss @chadychadyy2k @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @junipurr101 @bakugouswaif @luvdenisposts @aleluvsuu @wonylxv @attractivepie @cry1ngmyey3sout @silas-222 @idkkk343

masterlist

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse fanfiction #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales x black reader #miles morales x fem!reader #earth 1610 miles x you #earth 1610 miles x reader #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales fic #1610 miles x reader

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choerypetal · 1 year ago

Text

Under the table / Dean Winchester

summary: Dean and your relationship had been lacking a bit of spice. So, you made a deal between the two of you, amidst the teasing and perhaps a punishment or two, to reignite the excitement.

ps: english isn't my first language so i apologize for any little grammar errors

warning; very nsfw no plot hihi

enjoy! xo

Dean was the first to boldly admit to injecting some excitement into the relationship. Whether it was in the car or at the motel, he wasn't shy about spicing things up.

One day, as the two boys delved earnestly into another case's lore, Sam meticulously recounted every detail while Dean casually munched on his lunch. Yet, amidst their focus, Dean couldn't shake the thought of your whereabouts.

The excuse? You had informed Sam that you were out getting groceries, hoping to experiment with a new recipe you'd caught on a TV program. Tired of the usual pasta, bread, and beer that seemed to dominate the brothers' menu lately, you wanted to add something special to the mix.

"She better not make us something healthy," Dean's voice reached you just as you managed to slip under the table earlier undetected. Sam responded with a casual "Mhm," accompanied by a chuckle. Little did Dean know, you were right there with them, setting the stage for a playful tease the next time he wished to spend the night together. If only he knew tonight's menu was, in fact, healthier. You couldn't help but smile, knowing you couldn't laugh and risk giving yourself away.

Fortunately, Dean had taken a seat directly across from you, his familiar shoes and jeans catching your eye. Little did he know, he wasn't prepared for the surprise awaiting him, especially since your absence had been unmistakable.

"You know, maybe we can bring Charlie along," Dean suggested as your name came up once again in discussions about joining the boys on this mission. It was mentioned that your favorite creature was in town, and Dean couldn't bear the thought of you missing out on the action and the chance for a kill or two. Those thoughtful gestures made you blush, prompting a moment of hesitation before Sam and Dean refocused on reading more lore about the case.

Your hand delicately brushed against his bulge, causing Dean's muscles to tense, followed by a cough. You'd do anything to witness his reaction, especially when Sam inquired if he was alright. It was clear you were in for some punishment later tonight as Dean felt your familiar touch, gradually unzipping his jeans, the bulge now more pronounced. "Just a slight sore throat, that's all," he quickly dismissed.

You couldn't help but relish every moment, watching Dean struggle with excuses, particularly when it involved having a bit more fun. What you didn't realize was that even if he knew it was you all along, he didn't want you to get caught, let alone feel embarrassed as if you were fulfilling his desires. "Oh, sweet mother," he cursed under his breath, his back arching slightly as he covered his mouth before brushing it away.

Your hand then tenderly caressed his shaft, fingers deftly moving his boxer out of the way, unveiling his hardened cock. Lust danced in your eyes as warmth flushed your cheeks, leaning in to press a few kisses on its tip, where obvious pre-cum glistened. You delicately picked some on your fingers and licked the remaining. How Dean, cursed himself. When he yearned to thrust his hips the moment he felt your mouth envelopped his cock.

Dean's voice clearly heightened Sam's concern as he observed the redness on his brother's cheeks. Being the caring and protective sibling he was, Sam couldn't help but rise to his feet and check on Dean's potential fever. "I'll need to take Baby and head to the pharmacy anyways," Dean played along, going along with the idea, which meant more time to plan your punishment in return. "It won't be long," Sam said, grabbing his jacket and Dean's car keys before the sound of the vehicle faded away from the Bunker.

Alone at last, Dean removed the table curtain, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he leaned down to cup your face, devouring your lips hungrily. "Did you think I'd let you off that easily?" His voice was husky as he swiftly discarded his pants. Before you knew it, his fingers were tangled in your hair, guiding you to take him deeper. As you wrapped your lips around his cock, his moans grew louder, punctuated by your name. Leaning back in his chair, head thrown back and eyes closed, he urged you on. "Don't stop, love."

Your gaze met his, a look that undeniably ignited his desire, yet he knew he had to resist the urge to devour you right there on the table. It was a punishment he was more than willing to uphold.

"There, just like that," he murmured as you swirled your tongue around the tip of his shaft. Just as you were about to bring him to climax, your hand took over, stroking his cock. You felt his legs tense and his muscles contract as he reached orgasm. When his eyes reopened, Dean couldn't help but admire the sight before him. He knew your arousal was growing, how you longed for him to take you in his lap, but you both understood that you weren't getting off that easily.

"Nah, not yet, sweetheart," his voice grew huskier, his eyes darkening with desire. His fingers tightened around your waist, pulling you out from under the table. Your skirt rode up your thighs, revealing your obvious arousal through showing a glimpse of your damp underwear, his gaze inevitably drawn there. With a sly smirk, he knew it was payback time. "No touching until tonight—"

The door swung open, revealing Sam's incredulous expression. He was clearly disgusted to learn that the whole fever act was not just to save your skin, but also Dean's. "Under the table, really?!" To your surprise, instead of the expected look of disgust, there was almost a look of disapproval on his face.

"A room isn't enough?" Despite feeling a twinge of sympathy for him, you and Dean couldn't help but chuckle. In fact, Dean wore a proud expression and shrugged off his brother's comment. "What about dinner?" Sam then interjected, redirecting your attention from Dean’s.

"I went an hour ago," you said with a smirk. What Dean didn't realize was that it was actually going to be a healthy dinner. When you mentioned this, you could hear Sam's chuckle, a bit of payback in his amusement, while Dean's brow furrowed and he pouted. "One point from you for not returning the favor," you added, leaning in to peck his lips, eliciting a protest from Dean.

#supernatural x reader #supernatural preferences #supernatural imagines #spn preferences #spn x reader #spn imagines #spn imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagines #dean winchester x yn #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean x you #dean smut #supernatural smut #jensen ackles x reader

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silence-ofthe-llamas · 6 months ago

Text

More TexAid Mecha AU-AU stuff!

In this chapter - Vortex continues to be an oversized blender, First Aid has Quite Enough of it.

Pls excuse any errors, the tuxedo cat LOVES to sit on my lap and explore my keyboard when I write and I don't always catch everything.

The schedule board was a large, digital board that could be found in almost every major area. It was also available on their phones, easily viewed by all. The medics had one of the deepest levels of access to assess lone workers, and to track who should be where in emergencies.

And the schedule board was wrong.

PILOT: FELIX ANWYL

First Aid groggily rubbed his eyes at the bright light of the phone being shoved into his half-asleep face.

“Whuh?” He sleepily mumbled. His hand flopped around blindly for his glasses before he gave up and grabbed the phone, pulling it closer.

“You’re scheduled on as a pilot today?” Ambulon asked.

“I’m not a pilot.” First Aid pushed the phone away and flopped back down. “I was on the night shift.” He pointedly said.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Ambulon sighed. “I just can’t figure out why you’re on the list!”

“Someone must have made a mistake.”

It was not a mistake.

It was sabotage.

Red Alert glared hotly at them all as the announcement was made. The schedule had been hacked. Anyone with any information was to step forwards immediately.

The only reason First Aid had gotten away with just twenty minutes of grilling was because he’d been in the medical bay for the night shift, and then immediately gone straight to bed – the cameras showed him yawning as he clocked out at the time when the system was apparently compromised.

It couldn’t have been him, and there wasn’t anyone he could have asked.

First Aid felt the cameras trained onto him burning a hole through him, and tried his best to ignore it.

It kept happening. Every morning, his name would be right there on the schedule. They’d tried to remove it only for it to appear again moments later. Whatever it was, whoever it was, were sitting waiting in the system totally undetected. They couldn’t scrub them out. The mysterious morning memos changed too – songs about wanton longing were quoted instead.

A compromised system was unacceptable. In lieu of a functional digital system, they made the switch back to paper. Every morning, a thick ringbound stack of papers would be dumped in the main areas showing everyones shift patterns at precisely 5:30am. First Aids name had finally been scrubbed – but he’d seen correction tape on the pages by Vortex’s name. He was still managing to infiltrate the system.

Pilots feeling brave or lucky volunteered to pilot Vortex, to prove they were made of the right stuff. First Aid watched and winced every time Vortex staggered back into the hangar, doing that grinding tremble that he did when he was laughing, and having the smell of a corpse hit him even from the wrong end of the catwalk.

He’s consuming them, First Aid thought. They’re offering themselves as sacrifices, he’s an altar to them.

Pharma hadn’t allowed First Aid to go back into Vortex to extract the previous pilot (shovelling into a bucket was more apt now) since he’d been stuck inside. He’d not been caught when he’d sneaked into him that evening, but Pharma knew. Somehow, he knew – he’d changed the positioning of cameras in the medics quarters, he’d changed how the doors logged entry and exits. He’d know in an instant if he went. So, he stayed and had to hope that Vortex could see his expression from where he stood behind the gate.

Instead of being the one to extract them, he was often involved in assisting the autopsy. Pharma lead them alongside Ratchet – a way to keep him under watch and on his best behaviour. First Aid never let Ratchet see him step out of line – his disappointment would kill him. Pharma would look at him each time as he catalogued each part, every chunk and shard and unidentifiable puddle, as if to say ‘this is a warning’. As if to check that he was paying attention, that he would see that this would be what became of him if he went near the mech again.

Only First Aid didn’t believe it for a second. They had a deal. Vortex wanted his expertise, and First Aid wanted his body. His expertise was worth nothing if he was dead, if he were rendered to nothing more than mush that soaked into the fabric of the pilots chair and ran into the gaps between the plating.

The day that Vortex’s visor opened and sprayed the remnants of the pilot on the catwalk and the approaching trauma medics was the day that First Aid snapped.

“For fucks sake I don’t care - he keeps killing them!” He swiftly evaded the grabbing hands trying to restrain him. “Look, that cadet’s been scattered all over the catwalk! How are we supposed to autopsy that?!”

“Leave the worrying about that to the pathologists, Felix.”

“I don’t know about your conscience, but I can’t stand it on mine when I know I can do something about it. I’m going to talk to him.”

“Do you want to die? He’ll kill you.”

“He won’t, he promised.”

“And you trust it?” Disgust blended with disbelief. “That AI is rogue, Felix. It’s… it’s broken. I don’t think it will listen to a single word anyone has to say.” First Aid didn’t reply.

“Let me through.” He politely said to the guard. The guard looked between First Aid and the simmering Pharma behind him.

“I don’t think-“

“Let me through.”

“No can do, Felix.”

Pharma had a smugness about him. “See? Now, let’s behave-“

First Aid took a step back, assessing the height of the barrier. He could make that, right?

“Hey-!” The guards arms flew out to catch him as he jumped over, his foot catching and flipping him over. First Aid grunted as his jaw smacked the floor with a crack.

“Stupid boy!” Pharma scolded. “You’re still healing from the last time you got inside that mech! Don’t add to your injuries!”

“I don’t care!” First Aid snapped. “People are dying! We’re medics! Why aren’t you doing what you can to help?!”

“By climbing into death traps? Don’t be silly, Felix.” Pharma roughly tugged him up to his feet. “You’ll achieve nothing if you’re dead.”

“I’ll do a damn sight better if I go see the mech throwing a tantrum because I’m not in it.”

Pharma’s eyes were hard. “Your potential is not to be wasted on some hare-brained scheme. Do not test my patience again.”

First Aid swallowed hard, feeling his legs go numb. Maybe he’d pushed his luck too far - Pharma looked very serious indeed. He relented, relaxing as best he could into his hold, and mumbled an apology.

It seemed to please Pharma. He apologised to the guard for the trouble his charge had caused, and trotted him straight back to the medical bay.

Pharma made a mistake in thinking that was the end of it. First Aid had made the mistake in going to Vortex when he was still full of a disembowelled corpse.

Nobody minded the medic walking with purpose through the pilots quarters. His heart was in his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears, as he hoped nobody recognised him as the medic who kept ending up on the pilots list. Pretend you’re meant to be here.

Pretend.

His target was a supply cupboard that held spare suits. It was still three hallways away when someone noticed him.

“What are you doing?” Their voice was sharp, piercing. “You’re not meant to be here.”

Perceptor. Of course he would pissing notice.

First Aid silently held up a blister package of paracetamol. He didn’t trust his voice to hold.

Perceptor was someone whom he had looked up to when he was younger - a member of The Wreckers, children far and wide knew their names, their faces, their stats on their Top Trump cards. First Aid knew he should have been more starstruck, that he should have asked for an autograph, but the adrenaline was gripping him so tightly he couldn’t think past the now.

Perceptor wasn’t buying it.

He opened his mouth to challenge him, frowning and folding his arms, cocking his hip to the side-

And the klaxon went off.

They both immediately turned to look at the nearest signboard.

FELIX ANWYL stared back at First Aid, glaring and red and flashing next to Vortex’s name.

Giving him a look that promised it wasn’t the end of it, Perceptor rushed off to answer the call. First Aid took a moment to recollect himself before utilising the chaos to plunder the stores and nab himself a god damn uniform. Passing through the crowds was strangely easy – he blended right in to the mass of bodies, and just his luck – another pilot was already rummaging in the cupboard when he had arrived.

“Can you pass me an S?” He asked. They didn’t even look at him as they grabbed it and shoved it into his hands, flicking through the carefully packaged uniforms as they hunted. First Aid quickly thanked him and shoved it into his bag before swiftly walking out.

It was all on camera. He felt them trained on him, watching his every move.

But he felt somehow assured that nobody would know. Vortex was watching. He’d make sure he left no tracks.

Vortex’s response time had tanked. It had never been so low, even when they were struggling to find seasoned pilots willing to enter his jaws. The brass were starting to sweat. Their sponsors and investors didn’t like mechs that inexplicably failed, especially when the mech was supposed to be the best.

Engineers and the maintenance crew confirmed that he was passing all of his tests – there was nothing mechanically wrong with him. His AI was responding as intended. There were no bugs, no faults, nothing out of the ordinary with him.

But First Aid knew what the problem was. Vortex was throwing a tantrum, and it was only the thought of letting anyone else get their teeth into the quintesson invaders before he did that got him out of the hangar doors. His need for blood always won out when it came down to it – and he’d make a show of it if he needed to.

First Aid wore the thin under-layer of the pilots suit under his medics uniform, and carried the thicker armour in his backpack. He stowed it under his bench, always within easy reach - he’d grab it and sprint as soon as the siren went off.

Vortex was always one of the last to launch. Finding a willing pilot to get inside of him was getting harder, and they’d had to start using new recruits. Fresh, green, and who didn’t have a damn clue who he was or about the rumours of his supposed haunting. And new recruits needed showing the ropes, needed to be shown how the helmet worked, needed to have the reason why his name was on the screen explained away.

So he had about three minutes to get to him whilst they plucked someone from the academy. The medbay was a three minute sprint away if you were an athlete. He could do it in five. It would have to do.

The first klaxon since he’d stolen the suit was a night time alarm. He was dead asleep in his quarters a good twenty minutes away – he was only aware that they’d launched when the alarm in the medics building went off alerting them to incoming casualties. He’d shrugged on his uniform and hopped onto the transport, ready to jet off to the medical bay, and silently cursed his bad luck. Vortex would be so mad.

And mad he was. Apparently, the pilot had been mauled before they’d even left the hangar, the mech continuing on with just a slowly dying nervous system connected to it. Blood had oozed from the visor, loudly splattering down Vortex’s chest. The instructor who had brought the cadet up had cried.

First Aid felt the cameras on him. It felt like Vortex was accusing him of something, but surely he was just imagining that. The cameras looked no different.

Perceptor hadn’t said a thing to him. He also hadn’t said anything to anyone – if he did, First Aid knew he’d have been frogmarched up to the top brass, chewed out until he was but a smear on the floor, and kicked out into the cold unforgiving world outside. Pharma had been the one to protect him when he’d been caught with the infant quintesson – he’d been the one to catch him, to pretend nothing had happened and handled his discipline internally. There wasn’t anything he could do when it came to him stealing a pilots suit.

Especially when one considered that Pharma had explicitly told him to not do this. He’d be watching his downfall with a glass of wine and canapés.

It ate away at him, clawing at his insides. What was Perceptor thinking? What was he planning? Was he waiting to see what he would do?

Relief came in the form of a distraction and of stars aligning. It had taken three alarms, three incidents, three deployments of their mechs, before First Aid was able to make it to Vortex. He had always been too far, off shift or dead in sleep in a building where they weren’t alerted to quintessons.

In the chaos of an attack, nobody paid much notice to the pilot who jumped the barrier. Overzealous, over excited. The guards shook their heads at him. First Aid didn’t catch his foot this time, and was audibly wheezing by the time he got to Vortex. He’d said it was a five minute sprint, but he didn’t say a thing about what state it would be leaving him in. He felt dishevelled. His hair was sticking to him. He’d never felt more awake.

The new recruit was there, bright eyed and excitedly drinking in the atmosphere. The instructor had a guilty look on her face as she let them take one last look at the facility, their last look at life.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m here!” First Aid called as he slid to a stop. “I’m so late!” He gasped for breath, trying not to laugh in how giddy he felt. Pharma would murder him. Ratchet would be so upset. But Vortex had visibly shuddered, his canopy trembling, and he couldn’t suppress his giggle.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” The instructor looked perplexed. “I wasn’t aware the mech had a pilot assigned to them?”

“Felix. Felix Anwyl.” He smiled at them, still breathing heavily from his nose. Was he sweaty? He felt sweaty. He felt hot. He couldn’t wait to sit down.

“But-“

“Thank you for your diligence! Your service will be appreciated, cadet!” First Aid said as he jumped into Vortex, the visor snapping down behind him with a sound of finality. The lock loudly slammed into place, and First Aid threw himself into the seat as Vortex remotely began the start up procedures. The harness seemed to buckle itself around him, holding him firmly into the seat as Vortex roughly shoved off the dock and began to sprint.

“Woah- wait wait wait I’m not ready-!” His hands were scrambling for purchase on anything, hands slipping from the sweat of his earlier exertion.

Vortex shook with laughter.

[WELCOME ABOARD, DARLING~ <3]

First Aid lost himself laughing. “I can’t believe I did that! Look at what you’ve got me doing!”

[YOU’VE GOT BIGGER BALLS THAN I THOUGHT, I WAS STARTING TO THINK YOU’D NEVER COME BACK]

[DON’T WORRY ME LIKE THAT AGAIN~]

He was pressed firmly back against the seat as Vortex left the hangar, speeding up now that he was clear. In the distance, First Aid could see smoke.

The quintessons had arrived. They were closer than he thought they’d be – he’d never realised how close they got…

The adrenaline slowly wore off and the reality of the situation quickly sunk in.

He had disobeyed direct orders. He had stolen a pilots uniform, he had impersonated one, and he was currently in a mech he was not trained or cleared to operate.

“Pharma is going to kill me!” First Aid panicked. “Oh, I’m so dead, I’m so dead!” He pulled his hair in despair. “Oh!” He moaned, burying his face into his hands. “What is Ultra Magnus going to say?!”

[RELAX]

“Easy for you to say! You’re already dead! You don’t get court marshalled!”

[JUST PUT THE HELMET ON, I WANT YOU TO FEEL THIS TOO]

Bright blue blood splashed up onto the visor. First Aid scrambled for the helmet.

Pain shot through him and he cried out, tightly gripping the seats. It had been easier to handle when Vortex wasn’t moving, when he wasn’t busy twirling and slashing and slicing and running around, but there was so much data. So much information he had to take in, and he didn’t have the hardware required to filter it for him. He didn’t need to know that the panel on Vortex’s left foot right by the heel was slightly loose because of how hard he’d started to sprint, but it felt as if something were out of place on his own body and it was all that he could think about.

“Sorry about that, babe. I forget it’s a bit much for you squishies.”

Suddenly, the pressure crushing his head lifted. He breathed a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to his chest as if to hold his heart in place.

“How many did I miss?”

“Three.” He carved through another, the scream loud and cutting off with a wet gargle. “Four, if you count that one. Pay close attention – you’re telling me what to do to the next one.”

He was horrified, but he couldn’t look away. His words had stumbled and tripped, unclear and garbled, instructions lost in translation. He couldn’t think straight and Vortex was moving faster than he could keep up with – he had to. There were so many. It suddenly made sense why their pilots always came back exhausted, why their mechs always needed repairs. It didn’t stop.

But he was learning.

“Come on, honey, don’t make me regret sticking my neck out for you.”

“Can I take control?” His hands hovered over the controls, a joystick nudging itself into his palm.

“If it’s you I’ll allow it.”

The next kill was more like a dissection. The quintesson felt squishier than he thought it would, clasped in his hand. He held it up as he carefully inserted the sword with scientific precision, the blade slowly gliding down to reveal the peritoneum – it shone like an oil slick in the light of the slowly setting sun, and he could see one of its pulsing hearts straining against it. He was sure it was screaming, but he couldn’t hear over the thunderous beat of his own heart in his ears and the endless praise pouring out of Vortex.

“It’s got multiple hearts. That’s fascinating.” First Aid commented. “Okay, carefully does it…” he thought back to his first dissection. His little hamster, Lucky. The feeling of joy and wonder that he had had, the quiet worship that came when one engaged with the natural world around them in a way that left them feeling much smaller than when they had begun.

His hands hadn’t been as skilled back then. He’d struggled to get hold of a knife sharp enough without his parents noticing and taking it from him, he wasn’t even tall enough to climb up onto the counter top – he’d seen a documentary on TV about the palaeolithic and flint knapping, and a few days later had noticed a piece of stray flint on the beach. His parents had been happy for him to take it, thinking he was just excited to find an interesting rock. They never found out that he’d whacked it against the boulder that marked the end of their driveway to break off a piece sharp enough to cut flesh. He buried it with the hamster.

The quintesson dropped with a wet squelch, the peritoneum breaking and its internals spilling out over the fields. First aid tutted.

“Damn it, I didn’t mean to cut that deep.”

“There will be more to practice on. Look, the next one’s headed our way~”

“Am I in trouble?”

First Aid staggered out of the mech, exhausted and giddy and dizzy and bleeding. They hadn’t suffered a single hit – they were fast but Vortex was much faster – but the strain of the connection had proven too much again. Red dripped from his nose to the floor, splashing up onto his boots and the shoes of the opposing officer waiting for them to return.

“Yes.” Prowl said. “Yes, you are.”

Pharma didn’t look angry. Somehow, that made it even worse. He couldn’t look at him as he walked by - he couldn’t look at anyone.

He’d saved the life of the cadet, he told himself. He would saved the lives of countless more – if they let him, that was. The silence was heavy and oppressive.

The walkie talkie on Prowls hip crackled loudly. He slipped it from its holder and held it up to his ear, brow creased in a frown.

A series of short and long beeps proceeded to play. First Aid didn’t understand what the hell they meant, but he recognised it from documentaries on the war.

Morse code. Four letters repeated over and over.

Prowl stopped to turn and stare at Vortex. Water was starting to be sprayed on his exterior, glowing blue running down over his visor. A singular red dot pierced through it – a camera inside of his cockpit. He was watching them.

“What’re they saying?” First Aid asked.

“… Mine.” Prowl quickly turned and resumed a brisk pace. First Aid stumbled after him, Pharma catching him in a firm hand. Blood dripped onto his pristine white lab coat, blooming like flowers.

#tf mecha universe #llama writes #texaid #tf vortex #tf first aid #mecha pilot au

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gortashs-skidmark · 1 year ago

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KAR’NISS HEADCANONS and CANON Facts about DRIDERS - for my monster fuckers out there - get out of bed, come get ya’ll’s food -

I used they/them for Kar’niss. They literally canonically do not have genitals. It doesn’t mean they’re non-binary they could have preference but idfk what they go by and being inclusive is fun.

Not proof read. Will be grammatical errors. 18+ MNDI, MATURE CONTENT FAR BELOW WITH FOREWARNING.

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of suicide, gender mentioning, impact of philogynistic Drow society, sterile peenid cum, smut if you read down far enough, self hatred, religious trauma, religion themes, murder, killing, blood suckin’

Canon first, to back up Headcanons

𝕯𝕽𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕾𝕯𝕽𝕺𝖂𝕾𝕻𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕺𝖂𝕾𝕻𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕾𝕯𝕽𝕺𝖂𝕾𝕻𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕺𝖂𝕾𝕻𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕾𝕯𝕽𝕺𝖂𝕾𝕻𝕴

Okay, let's start with CANON FACTS ABOUT DRIDERS, so ya’ll can dig deeper into the Kar’niss iceberg.

Info Source: Forgetten Wiki Realms

Utilizes 4th and 5th Edition DND lore

CANON

What is a Drider and How Do They Live?

- a Drider by definition is; “drows that had been transformed from the waist down so they had the body of a spider. The transformation was typically a punishment for failing a test of Lolth”

𝕯𝕽𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕾𝕯𝕽𝕺𝖂𝕾𝕻𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕺𝖂𝕾𝕻𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽

- Driders are transformed into Lolth’s Image, supposedly. They are transformed using a Yochlol process.

- Yochlol; “a lesser type of tanari’ri demons also known as Handmaidens of Lolth, although the term “handmaidens” was used rather loosely. The Queen of Spiders had these 8 limbed abominations infiltrate Drow Societies, normally undetected”

- they have four forms available: ooze, humanoid, spider, and gaseous. Their typical (Drider) forms are 8 feet tall and weigh 160lbs. They’re often Black Widow spiders with fangs.

𝕯𝕽𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕾𝕯𝕽𝕺𝖂𝕾𝕻𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕯𝕽𝕺𝖂𝕾𝕻𝕴𝕯𝕰𝕽

- Driders are canonically sexless!!! Lolth didn’t want to have an army of enemy Drow spider babies against her. Clusters of hundreds of spider babies and colonies aren’t possible. As cute as that is.

- they cannot safely live among Drow Society and are outcasts, they leave after they’re turned.

- They’re violent hunters. They’re filled with shame and fear. Explains his dialogue.

- Most of them are suicidal and want to die in battle bc they’re miserable.

- THEY DRINK BLOOD EVERYBODY. They need to sustain life and drink blood every 4 days. I wonder who the unlucky’s at the tower were.

- usually Drow end up killing drider’s for Lolth. Drider’s are super cautious when dealing with Lolthite Drow.

- immune to all poison, they sap your strength, can poison and paralyze for up to 20 minutes. Their dark vision is shorter than regular Drow. Have really really good stealth. Like crazy good hiding skills. Sometimes they’re spies for Lolth among regular Drow society.

- they have about the same abilities at Lolth Sworn Drow that are blessed. But they’re outcasts.

- THEY ARE KNOWN, to be mentally unstable and it’s hard for them to feel fear. When Kar’niss tells about staying in the light he’s mad not fearful.

- Driders walk like spider but cannot walk on ceilings. They’re too fucking heavy dawg.

- only about half of Driders can spin webs.

- the process of turning into a drider is similar to wyll’s, for visual and mental understanding. And it can be undone with a Wish spell.

- Driders typically live alone, or with 1 or 2 buddies. More rarely they can live in nests of other Driders (heaven forbid you walk into 7 Driders living together)

- calling a Drow “eight legs” is seen as a threat

- it’s possible for Drider Living to be temporary with the spell Spiderform, or specialized spell Dridershape.

What is the Rite of Passage given by Lolth?

- it determines loyalty and strength.

- it’s a battle to the death between Drow. The testée(hehe) and a slightly stronger tester.

- Lolth’s loyalty test was placing the Drow against a friend, family, lover, ally who the Drow trusted. Is your god higher than your relationship? Something of that effect.

- if the Drow didn’t have friends or family, a Cleric of Lolth who wasn’t super into their religion was the tester.

- 3 outcomes; the subject that one took the corpses power for a month, you die and your soul is collected by Lolth, if you don’t win or kill the enemy you’re turned into a Drider.

- Drow can suffer memory loss of the entire event (Shar and Lolth have to be on the same wave length) and then Lolth will accuse them of murder of another Drow, which is illegal in Drow Society. So they’re outcasted.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔

Headcanons

• Kar’niss was turned into a Drider because of betrayal. I think that’s why theyre obsessed with being loyal to their moon lamp. They would’ve been obsessed with Strength if they failed that part of it. (They have 127 hp on explorer dude)

• Drow hate the light, they really do. But Kar’niss loves their lamp like a moth. They are so obsessed with the voice in their head and the lamp they carry. I think the Absolute is their new Jesus, obv, but they didn’t need a tadpole to prove it (although they have one bc you can see inside their mind)

• putting a tadpole in their brain was a loyalty test.

• they lived alone before. I think living around other Drider would’ve slightly improved their mind. Even if they’re all mentally unstable. Suicidal roomies with the same mental problems.

• they still carry some pride, and they’re righteously snide with all the Absolute followers. They’ve found some grace again in the Absolute, after they Failed their Loyalty Test.

• They hate Drow. Completely. Look at what an evil-by-godly-nature did to them.

• can’t have sex. 1) they’re kinda mindless 2) they don’t have the genitals bc of Lolth.

• they can feel intimacy. They do a little spider dance to impress you.

• sometimes you clap your hands to communicate with their tippy taps. It’s your silent language you made with them.

• the shorter extra arms near their abdomen, you find them cleaning and wiping blood off themselves with it. Flicking and wiping in a very spidery manner. Uses it like an extra pair of arms. They’ll hold shit with them if you ask.

• their fractured mind is filled with loyalty, light, and determination. You cannot rip this sucker away from the Absolute. The Absolute accepts all and that’s why they love their new Goddess.

• you could convince The Emporer to give them their own mind but then you’ll have to do recon and emotionally de-attach them from the Absolute.

• if you have Minthara in your camp, and you’re tryin’ to romance Kar’niss, you’re getting twice the challenge. She hates them, and they hate her. They’re not buddies, for a long time. She’s Lolthite and a vengeance paladin.

• They get really offended if you squish spiders instead of gently relocating them out of the way, or just leaving it be. They take it personally.

• They’re not fuzzy. Not one bit. They have a hard shell, shiny and rigid. They’re black-widow adjacent. Their fleshy abdomen and face don’t get poked often but it’s the comfiest part to lay on.

• you could boil their legs like crab meat.

• they have traction alopecia like jojo siwa. Not their fault they have extra eyes.

• some of their eyes are blind, or have near/far sighted problems. They have just okay dark vision but the extra eyes don’t help. You tend to guide them via extra web string or they memorize the way your gait walks.

• females have the worst eyesight, thought both sexes use frequencies disturbance on their webs to see. They use the extra eyes for light and motion, they’re kinda really bad at seeing.

• Kar’niss spins webs, they love to chill in hammocks they spin for themself, and you. It’s super cozy and sticky and warm. They will make intricate woven patterns of webs for you to look at (maybe they’re part orbit weaver). Your favorite is when they leave it overnight to collect dew drops.

• Kar’niss has a super phlemmy hum when they talk, it’s very comforting when you’re against them. They also use it as frequency to communicate with you, the deeper the more dangerous, it almost sounds like a roar when they yell. The lighter and more purr-like, the happier they are.

• they’re really cold. Their hard outer shell, and need to feast on blood (they lack it), means they don’t have blood that pumps through their body. Their webs are warm tho.

NSFW BELOW

¥ Kar’niss can’t fuck you with Spider Dick, but if you really want them to have a sex, then they’re sterile. No Spider babies.

¥ if you do give them a sex, it’s at the lower abdomen on their Drow body. Idk kinda hidden. And it’s cut. (Lolth hates men that’s why I think that). It’s rigid, long, the base gets a hard spider shell.

¥ if you don’t give them a sex, they fuck you with those shorter extra appendages near their abdomen. Those are their extra set of arms (in spider terms)

¥ their nails (fucking claws) are super sensitive. You can’t cut them. They’re more like cartilage, and it’s not unpleasant to be fingered with.

¥ their body is super sensitive and aware. They have that 6th spider sense and they’re good at being quiet, if you ask. You could attempt to pleasure them by stimulating their chest, neck, stomach, certain spots on their spider parts, especially the underside of their spider legs.

¥ they just like to be cuddled and holed up with you. They’re not super fleshy, not terrible comfortable, but they love your soft body.

¥ you let them drink blood from you, sometimes. If you’re into that. Astarion has some competition then.

¥ they’re not poly. Although the spider in them would say other wise, they’re still human most days. They need a lot of attention towards their problems and jealousy is something that comes easy to Kar’niss. Not even up for a one night threesome.

¥ if you’re a girl (she/her), they treat you like you’re above them. It’s natural from their original society. Like it’s a bit weird the way they do it. You gotta talk to them to reassure you’re on the same level. Gotta break that habit. Even in bed you’re like okay this praise is turning in a weird direction.

¥ if you’re a man or they/them, they feel more comfortable immediately. It’s common ground. They do not have to suck up out of habit. Which leads to great sex.

¥ you can feel the cut on their lip when you kiss. You can taste the days of hunger they go without blood. Their nails lightly trace down your back. They kiss you lightly, more often than not.

¥ if they’re kissing you hard, it means in that moment they’re feeling an incredible amount of emotions. You can indulge or take a step back. Kar’niss doesn’t feel a lot but when they do it’s important.

¥ they enjoy it when you praise both of their bodies. They get a little flustered about their spider body but you can show them it’s just as beautiful as the rest.

¥ they’re technically naked at all times. Armor isn’t comfortable. They’re bearing themselves at all times. You have access to their body at all times. By body, I mant pednis nd bawls.

¥ their spider dance, is meant to be mating. It’s gonna charm the pants off of you. It’s like Wyll but more cute-bug-core. With a sense of purpose. They will do different dances, and combine purring/humming frequencies toward you with their taps to woo you.

¥ the spider dancing is a lot of abdomen twitching and hip shaking. It’s a jittery court.

¥ btw fun fact; when jumping spiders wave and kinda dance, they’re signaling others to catch prey. :)

¥ male black widows tend to get eaten after giving their sperm to females, the fact Kar’niss is male, is also pretty rare. They should’ve been eaten by a female by now. When you eat their cum it’s alarming on a spider sense level. They know their sterile but like you’re supposed to store it in your body until you want babies. Which is also not possible unless you’re gith. And Kar’niss is sterile, by the grace of Lolth.

¥ Kar’niss was supposed to be a one night stand. Black widows are incredibly solitary, and only meet up to breed, and possibly be eaten after. They feel lust, but they’re not expecting feelings from you after. The fact you even want to breed with a freak like them gets them all giddy and prepped.

¥ after mating, Kar’niss does feel inclined to try and woo you again. A dance, a dinner, play music, give presents (webbed prey neatly wrapped on your tent step). Thought incredibly spooked. They don’t know how you’ll respond.

¥¥¥Don’t bite them during sexy time it scares the fuck out of them.¥¥¥

¥ I am making them out to be very spider like but they’re also just as human. They hum music, sit/looks like crouching on their legs. They can be playful if you open them up. They find comfort in touch and words.

𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚔𝚊𝚛'𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚔𝚊

Checkout my Tiefling Canon Facts for fanfic writers and fanartists! more stuff like this coming soon :) or my masterlist <3

Currently working on; He Who Was Headcanons with Shadar'kai facts and events

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 headcanons #bg3 tav #bg3 karniss #kar'niss #bg3 kar'niss #dnd lore #baldurs gate #bg3 x tav #Kar’niss x tav #karniss x tav #bg3 act 2 #bg3 drider

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